What If I Couldn't Trust Myself Because I Didn't Know Myself?

I just had an epiphany. If you're someone who struggles to trust yourself like me, do you think it’s because we don't truly know the “selves” we're trying to trust? We're placing our trust in which you? Which me?

Think about it. All of my life, I've struggled with embracing my true nature. And when I say nature, I mean the way I believe I was inherently brought onto this earth to be—before environmental, familial, and social influences, expectations, labels, and perceptions were placed on me. I'm talking about the part of me that feels almost built in: the way I naturally think, the way I naturally respond, the things my body naturally gravitates toward, the environments I naturally feel comfortable in, the rhythms that naturally work for me, and the things that energize me and the things that drain me.

I believe my body and soul have been trying to communicate this natural design to me for years. And I've overridden it. Why? People-pleasing. Being gullible. Accepting other people's perceptions of me as truth. Trying to conform. Assuming that because someone else said I should be a certain way, that must mean I am supposed to be that way. And sometimes the labels people placed on me were so far on the opposite end of the spectrum from how I naturally move through life that I eventually started questioning myself. I didn't know how to trust me.

But recently, something has shifted. I'm learning myself. Not in the abstract, “Who am I?” personality-test kind of way. I'm paying attention to my patterns.

For example, I've learned that my body is completely uncomfortable sitting in my little sister's car. Okay. Noted. If I absolutely have to ride in it, I can make accommodations and prepare myself instead of sitting there wondering why I'm irritated and uncomfortable. I've learned that my body doesn't seem to respond well to raw vegetables, so maybe slightly warming them or cooking them is better for me. I've learned that I prefer allowing my natural body clock to wake me up in the morning rather than immediately submitting myself to an alarm. I've learned that I don't like being somewhere simply because I'm expected to remain there when I've already reached my capacity for the day. I'd rather recognize my limit and respond accordingly.

And I've even gotten to the point of thinking, “Let me teach you how to deal with me, because if you keep trying to make me conform to what you think I should or shouldn't do, you're going to drive yourself crazy.” Sometimes I really do have to laugh at myself.

That doesn't mean I get to disregard everyone else. It doesn't mean every preference I have is automatically sacred, and it definitely doesn't mean I should never challenge myself. It means I am finally becoming curious about the difference between who I actually am and who I've been conditioned to believe I am.

That distinction matters. Because sometimes we call ourselves difficult when we're actually uncomfortable. We call ourselves lazy when we're depleted. We call ourselves indecisive when we don't actually want what we're being asked to choose. We’re antisocial when we're simply in environments that don't make us feel at ease. Sometimes we call ourselves “too sensitive” when our bodies are giving us information we've learned to ignore. And sometimes we think we have an intuition problem when we actually have a self-recognition problem.

How can I trust myself when I don't recognize myself?

That question hit me differently once I started paying attention. The more I notice my natural tendencies, the more I feel this weight coming off my shoulders. I'm not constantly arguing with myself anymore, assuming that my first instinct is wrong, or even trying to explain away why something feels uncomfortable. I'm listening.

And sometimes the answer is simply, “Yep. That's me.”

Yes, I prefer the window seat. And yes, the window shade is going to be open because I like natural light and I want to see the view. Sorry, not sorry.

But there's something deeper underneath these seemingly insignificant preferences. When I start honoring these small truths about myself, I'm building a relationship with myself. I'm learning my language. I'm learning my rhythms. I'm learning what my body says yes to and what it says absolutely not. I'm learning what kind of environments allow me to breathe. I'm learning how I naturally create, rest, work, eat, think, connect, and move. And the more I learn, the more familiar I become to myself.

Maybe that is where self-trust begins.

Not with blindly believing that every thought, feeling, or impulse we have is correct, but with becoming familiar enough with ourselves to recognize when something genuinely feels like us and when something feels like a version of us that we've been trained to perform.

Because how can I confidently trust someone I barely know?

And that made me think about something else I've been asking God for years: Who am I?

I'm finally beginning to answer that question. I'm paying attention to the person who has been here the entire time.

The more I understand that person, the easier it becomes to trust her.

And for me, that isn't separate from God. I believe God designed me intentionally. So learning my natural design isn't about worshipping myself or assuming that everything I naturally want must be right. It's about becoming honest enough to recognize what is actually there.

The truth is, some things will need to change. Mature. Maybe some things I think are “me” will turn out to be conditioning too. That's okay. I'm not trying to create a perfect identity. I'm trying to become acquainted with myself.

And perhaps that is what I'm doing right now: becoming acquainted with the woman I've spent so much time overriding. The woman who has been saying, “This is how I naturally move,” while I kept responding, “Yeah, but you're supposed to be different.”

I'm tired of that conversation.

I want to know what happens when I stop abandoning myself for things that were never truly mine and become more acquainted with who I already am.

And perhaps the confidence I've been looking for isn't going to come from convincing myself that I can handle anything. But it comes from knowing: I know me.

So I'm paying attention now. I'm taking notes. I'm observing myself. I'm letting myself say, “Actually, this works better for me.”

“No, I don't want that.”

“Yes, this feels like me.”

Maybe this is what happens when we stop abandoning the person we were designed to be.

We finally meet ourselves.

And once we do, perhaps trusting ourselves doesn't feel so impossible anymore.