Project Love | Week Ten
Trust what love has shown you
I heard something this week that stayed with me.
You cannot truly trust another
until you trust yourself.
It landed in that way certain truths do.
Not new… but newly seen.
And I started noticing where trust actually lives.
Not out there.
Not in someone else’s consistency or promises.
But here.
In the quiet knowing inside ourselves.
There was a time in my life when I didn’t trust myself at all.
I remember sitting across from a coach during a difficult chapter,
a time when everything felt like it was unraveling. A time when everything felt meaningless and honestly, totally fucked up.
And I said to her, very matter-of-factly,
“I make terrible choices.”
She paused. Looked around the room.
And said something that stopped me.
“I’m sitting in a home you chose.
Surrounded by a life you’ve built.
And from where I’m sitting…
it looks like you make very good choices.”
I remember feeling almost confused by that.
Because in my mind, I had already decided the story:
that I couldn’t trust myself,
that I got things wrong,
especially when it came to love.
But she wasn’t arguing with me.
She was simply offering a different reflection.
One that didn’t match the story I had been telling.
And something shifted.
Not all at once.
But enough to begin questioning the narrative.
What if the issue wasn’t that I couldn’t trust myself…
What if I had simply chosen to focus on the places where things didn’t work out,
and used those moments to define the whole?
This week, I saw something more clearly.
Trust isn’t built by getting everything right.
It’s built by recognizing that even when things don’t unfold the way we hoped,
we are still the one who navigates what comes next.
We are still here.
Still choosing.
Still learning.
Still moving.
And maybe trust begins there.
Not in perfection.
Not in certainty.
But in the quiet recognition that:
I can meet my life.
I can respond.
I can choose again.
When we begin to trust ourselves in that way,
something softens.
We stop looking outside for guarantees.
We stop needing others to prove something to us.
And instead, we meet them from a place that is steadier.
More open.
Less guarded.
Love showed me this week that trust is not something we find.
It’s something we remember.
Something that has been there, quietly,
beneath the stories,
beneath the doubt,
beneath the moments where we forgot.
And when we return to that place…
trusting another no longer feels like a risk.
It feels like a choice.