Relearning How to Trust Myself

The sacred fierceness of learning to exist fully

is not for the faint of heart…

I am learning how to trust myself again. And it feels both tender and terrifying.

For a long time, I didn’t realize how deeply I stopped trusting my own instincts.

My body would whisper, “This hurts.”

My heart would beg, “This doesn’t feel right.”

A quiet part of me would tremble and plead to be heard…

But life taught me to doubt myself.

I learned to question what I felt.

To mute discomfort.

To swallow needs.

To bend myself into shapes that felt survivable, even when they slowly erased me.

Somewhere along the way, I learned that disappearing was safer than existing fully. That being quiet was safer than being honest. That staying small kept the peace.

So I shrank.

I softened my voice.

I folded myself down.

I learned to take up as little emotional space as possible.

And when you live like that long enough, you stop trusting your own inner voice.

You stop trusting your yes.

You stop trusting your no.

You stop trusting your longing.

You stop trusting your pain.

You start to believe:

“If I mattered, someone would have stayed.

If I was worthy, I wouldn’t have had to disappear to be loved.

If I chose wrong before… maybe I can’t trust myself at all.”

But that isn’t the truth.

The truth is:

I did what I had to do to survive environments that did not know how to hold me.

I adapted the way trauma teaches the nervous system to adapt.

I made myself smaller because I believed it was the only way to be allowed to stay.

And now, I am doing the brave, uncomfortable work of returning to myself.

I am learning that I am not too much.

Not too emotional.

Not too sensitive.

Not too needy.

I am simply human, with depth, tenderness, and a heart that feels intensely because it has lived deeply.

It is painfully hard work to unlearn disappearing. It is almost unbearable sometimes to say what I want.

To name what I need.

To stand fully in my body and declare that I deserve to take up space.

There are moments it feels like my whole nervous system panics at the thought of being visible.

Of being heard.

Of being allowed to matter.

But I am learning — slowly, bravely, stubbornly — to believe myself again.

I am learning to say:

“This matters to me.”

“This hurts.”

“This feels beautiful.”

“This is not enough.”

“This is what I want.”

And to let those truths stand without apologizing for them.

Some days, I still default to disappearing. Some days I still shrink out of old habit. Some days I still betray myself because self-erasure is familiar and safety often feels like silence.

But other days…

I stay present in my body.

I take up space even when it makes me shake.

I let myself feel deeply and refuse to label that as weakness.

And that feels like coming home.

I am relearning that I am not foolish for feeling deeply. That sensitivity isn’t fragility, it’s truth telling. I am relearning that my needs are not inconveniences.

That my presence is not a burden.

That I am worthy of being here without shrinking to fit anyone else’s comfort.

Maybe one day, trusting myself won’t feel like choosing bravery over fear a hundred times a day. Maybe it will feel natural.

Like breathing.

Like belonging to myself without effort.

But today, this is my healing:

I stay present.

I do not disappear.

I believe my own heart.

And I trust that I am worth listening to, because I finally know I deserve to live fully, not faintly.