Learning to Trust After Survival

They say trust is the foundation of love-
but what if the house was built on betrayal?

What if every outstretched hand 
once held harm?
What if the word “safety”
was just another kind of silence?

As children, we trusted by default—
and were taught,
over and over,

that our instincts were wrong.
That no didn’t matter.
That love could hurt,
and it was our fault if it did.

So we grew up either too open or tightly sealed—
giving everything, or giving nothing.

Both called “strong.”
Both called “independent.”
Both born from fear.

But then—

a moment,
a person,
a pause—
something asked us gently:
What if trust isn’t something you give away?
What if it’s something you watch unfold?

We began to learn
that trust could be slow.
That it could come 
with boundaries.
That “no”
could still be kind.
That the right people
won’t rush us past our wisdom.

We stopped confusing loyalty
with tolerance.
We stopped calling betrayal,
“just how they are.”
We started listening to the feeling
in our chest,
not the excuses in our mind.

And one day,
we found ourselves
letting someone see us—
not because they demanded it,
but because they earned it.

This is the trust that heals.
Not blind.
Not fast.
But real.

Because trust without agency
isn’t trust—
it’s coercion in softer clothing.
To choose who enters,
to name what matters,
to walk away without guilt—
this is the sacred right
of one who now knows:
My boundaries are not barriers.
They are the bridge
back to the moral fiber
that was always mine.