What’s Trust Got To Do With It?

Ahh, here we are again. It’s Sunday, and the world outside is breathtaking. Let me take you there.

The sky is a crystal-clear blue, and the sun holds its own space, unbothered by the clouds. Those puffs of white sit low and fluffy, like a heavenly runway. It’s about 70 degrees—still considered winter where I grew up in Virginia. But winter in San Diego? It’s like the playful nibbles of a baby kitten. The cold comes, but then warmth gets jealous and takes center stage.

I can feel the sun pressing against my back as my shadow shields my laptop screen, allowing me to write. So, sit with me. Right here, next to me, while we unpack the three S’s of trust in relationships.

I used to think trust was automatic. Like—of course, I trust you. Why wouldn’t I? Do you see me at 14 years old? Do you see yourself at 14 years old? Yeah. Naivety and trust make a dangerous combination. Why? Because trust is one of the most valuable currencies on this earth. It’s the nails that hold all relationships together. Sure, you can try to build without nails, but the first storm will bring everything crashing down.

This journey with trust? It’s been a rocky road. Full disclosure—I reached a point where I thought trusting someone was like that unreachable place in Pan’s Labyrinth. You talk about it, maybe even chase it, but you never quite get there. That was post-trauma Maria talking, of course. Like Jim Carrey said in Liar Liar, “Everybody lies. Even the wonderful Jerry lies.” One of the best inside-joke films ever, by the way. Okay, one more: “Whatever takes the focus off your head.” If you just laughed, bless you.

But trust is deeper than the stories we tell. Our testaments matter, but they’re only one-third of the trust equation. After all, what we’re really unpacking is—how do you know if you can trust someone at all?

Is it possible? Yes, of course. The disciples of Jesus are a powerful example of the trust we humans are capable of. Each of them endured unthinkably tragic deaths because of their faith in our Savior. Each of them shared the gospel with all their heart and mind, proving to be trustworthy servants.

And yet, trusting people is hard. Because trust is power. It’s like a knife. You can use it to chop vegetables and make a meal, or you can use it to cut someone and make them bleed. What you do with the trust you’re given determines how deep you can go in a relationship. You know that saying, “There are levels to this”? Yeah. That’s it.

At my job, I’m the only person apart from the CEO who has full access to the bank account. I know what everyone is paid. I know all the passwords to everything. I even know the CEO’s social security number. Sidenote: I’m the Operations Manager, so I have to know these things to report accurately and support the CEO. But I don’t take this trust lightly. It’s an enormous privilege—one I guard closely.

I remember the time I needed to buy a tablecloth for the lunchroom. I had the company credit card, approved for purchases like this, but my CEO hadn’t responded yet to confirm. It was just five bucks at CVS. I could have easily swiped the card. It wasn’t for me—it was for the company.

But here’s the thing: trust isn’t built on big moments. It’s built in the small ones.

So, I paid for the tablecloth with my own money. Because in light of the millions I’m trusted to oversee, that five dollars was a test. And I knew—the true measure of trust isn’t just in what you say or do. It’s in what you could do but don’t.

Which brings me to—

The First Pillar of Trust: Safety

Safety—Do You Feel Safe with Who You Trust?

Think about someone you’d go to bat for. Someone you’d search for in every lifetime. The person you allow yourself to experience the rarest form of vulnerability with. Maybe it’s your children, your partner, your best friend, your parents. We all need someone who holds the power to find fault in us, to make us feel foolish—but here’s the kicker: they don’t. Instead, they let us be fully alive.

Picture this—you’re in a store, and there’s a small set of steps right at the entrance. You’re distracted, lost in thought, and then—bam. You trip, and not in a graceful, recoverable way. No, you reinvent falling. You wipe out so hard that all the coolness you’ve cultivated over the years is instantly revoked. Now, who are you sharing that moment with? Not in the “oh my God, I’m mortified” sense, but in the “who would just laugh with me, no judgment, and act like it never happened five seconds later” kind of way—only for it to be brought up at a random time in the future, of course. But, who’s there?

That’s trust. That’s safety. And it feels so good, doesn’t it?

Because the truth is, you can’t be vulnerable with 99% of people. Opening your heart to someone is sacred. So sacred, in fact, that this kind of trust is the most fragile of all.

It’s the five-year-old in us who hides in the deepest corridors of our mind, the part of us that retreats from all of life’s adulting. He runs from relationships, from risk, from anything that threatens his existence. But then—if we’re lucky—when we have children, he peeks around the corner, observing curiously, stepping back into the room. Still cautious. Still protective of his innocence.

He tiptoes into connections, sitting at the farthest point of the couch, watching. But the moment he senses betrayal, shame, or a reason to guard his heart, he disappears. And never comes back.

We must protect our five-year-old self. Because he—or she—is the best, purest part of our soul.

The Second Pillar of Trust: Storytelling

As a writer, I’ve come to realize that all human interaction is storytelling. Every conversation we have—whether we’re recounting our day, venting about work, or reflecting on the past—it’s all a story. We chart new paths with words, weave meaning from experience, and build bridges through the simple act of sharing.

A long time ago, I heard Oprah say that it’s important to ask the right questions in relationships. I agree. But I’d like to take that thought a step further. You shouldn’t have to pepper your children, your partner, or your closest friends with endless questions just to reach the single source of truth. Candid storytelling—the kind that flows naturally, without interrogation or hesitation—is a vital part of trust.

So why is it so hard to tell people the whole story?

Oh, I know why. Actually, Jack Nicholson said it best. You know the line.

Because most people can’t handle the truth.

They run. They cry. They ghost. They judge. They try to change you. They do everything but listen. They do everything but allow you the full opportunity to love yourself inside of your whole truth—in the presence of another.

No human is perfect.

You know you can trust someone when they receive your stories with the kind of warmth that feels like they’re hugging the parts of you that died. Resurrection happens in their response, in the way they affirm that you are allowed to be hopelessly, utterly flawed—yet still fervently loved.

I remember when I had to tell my daughters something I was deeply ashamed of. I had just finished writing my memoir, and I didn’t want them to read about it without first hearing the full truth from me. I needed to give them more context than what I had written in those pages.

Oh, I was sobbing, dear reader. And not a graceful, glistening-tears kind of cry. No, this was ugly crying—snot running down my nose, my breath catching in my chest. I didn’t want them to look at me differently. I wanted, so badly, to always be their perfect mommy. But I wasn’t. And in that moment, I was terrified of losing my place in their hearts.

I have to admit—I’m crying as I type this.

But I finished my story. I told them my truth.

After a long pause, my oldest looked at me and simply said, “Oh, Mommy. It’s okay. We understand. We love you.”

In that moment, I knew—without a doubt—that the second pillar of trust is trusting our stories with the people we love. And, just as important, it’s receiving their stories with compassion, with empathy, and with the unshakable confidence that trust, when honored, can hold the weight of even our heaviest truths. So, this brings us to the third and final pillar of trust.

The Third Pillar of Trust: Solutions

Do you trust their plan? Do you trust how they problem-solve? Are you ready and willing to walk with them where they’re going?

The answers to these questions will make or break the happiness you experience with the people you trust. Because here’s the truth: everyone is heading somewhere. The question is—where are you going?

When you think about the people in your life whom you trust, do your destinations align? Not in the small ways—your goals, your lifestyles, your quirks. Those are details. The coordinates I’m talking about are much broader than that.

Are they actively trying to become the highest version of themselves? That’s a coordinate.
Can they navigate great difficulty and disappointment without projecting blame or becoming abusive? That’s a coordinate.
Are they a person whom other people trust? (Huge indicator.) That’s a coordinate.
Do they assume the positive when things don’t go as expected? That’s a coordinate.

Here’s the problem: when you’re trying to build trust with someone who isn’t moving toward the same mental destination, you’re both looking at the same image—but from completely different vantage points.

Hold your hand up in front of you, palm toward your face. You see the lines, the details, the marks of your journey etched into your skin. Now imagine someone else looking at that same hand—but from behind. They don’t see the lines. They see only the color on the back of your hand.

You say, Why can’t you see these lines?
And they shake their head and respond, Why can’t you see the back of your hand?

It’s impossible to turn your hand in a way that allows you both to see the same thing. Because the moment you shift, they shift. The moment you turn, they turn. You remain locked in opposing perspectives.

I say all this to underscore one simple truth: it is impossible to build trust with someone who isn’t moving toward your mental destination.

But is it the end-all, be-all, Maria? If I don’t trust someone I love in this way, should I just walk away? Can trust be rebuilt?

Well, I’ll answer your question with a question.

Once a glass shatters, can you piece it back together?

Technically, yes. But it will be painstaking. And there will always be microscopic pieces missing—fragments that cannot be recovered. The glass may still stand again, but I wouldn’t recommend drinking from it.

Now, there’s one more element of trust I haven’t touched on. One that deserves its own space, its own deep dive, its own reckoning.

Do you trust yourself?

You are the common denominator in your relationships, dear reader. Do you trust yourself to create safety? To be fully honest in your storytelling? To offer a solution-oriented connection?

If your answer is yes—God bless your journey.

And if your answer is no—that’s okay. Unpack those feelings. Begin again today. You are worth learning and growing, even if you were the only person on this planet.

Our Challenge?

I thought you’d never ask.

The next time you talk to someone you trust, give them your undivided attention. Even if it’s just for five minutes. Zone all the way in. Absorb their energy. Be so fully present that your affections are unquestionable.

Because you can never have too much cheese.
You can never have too much money.
And you can never feel too safe with someone you trust.

Those things are best in abundance.

Until next time,
Maria 🌹