Rebuilding Trust — With Myself and Others

By Chris Malden, LMFT

As part of my journey and becoming vunerable, in the past two blogs I shared how trauma and addiction shaped my relationship with myself and the world around me—and how recovery began when I stopped running from my story. But what I’ve learned since then is that healing doesn’t end with sobriety or self-awareness. It deepens in the quiet, often uncertain process of learning to trust again.

For myself and other survivors of trauma, trust can feel like a foreign language—something we long to speak but don’t fully understand. Early experiences of betrayal or violation teach the nervous system that closeness is dangerous and vulnerability unsafe. So we protect ourselves the only way we know how: by withdrawing, numbing, or keeping others at arm’s length.

For years, that was how I survived. I told myself I was “fine” on my own. In truth, I was terrified of being hurt again.

The First Trust to Rebuild

In recovery, I discovered that the first relationship I had to repair was the one with myself. I had spent decades abandoning my own needs—distrusting my emotions, ignoring my limits, and silencing my intuition. Learning to trust myself meant slowing down enough to listen.

It meant believing that my feelings were valid. That my body’s signals were worth paying attention to. That I could make mistakes without deserving punishment.

That kind of trust doesn’t rebuild overnight. It’s formed through a thousand small moments of self-respect: keeping promises to myself, telling the truth even when it’s uncomfortable, showing up to meetings or therapy when I’d rather hide. With time, those small acts became the foundation of something I hadn’t felt in years—integrity.

Learning to Trust Others

Once I began to trust myself, I could start to let others in. That was, in many ways, even harder. For people who have lived through trauma, intimacy can feel like stepping into a room without knowing where the exits are.

What helped me was realizing that trust isn’t about certainty—it’s about willingness. Every healthy relationship requires risk. Vulnerability isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the decision to show up despite it.

In recovery rooms, in therapy, and later in my personal relationships, I practiced letting people see the real me—flawed, afraid, and still healing. Some connections didn’t last. Others surprised me. Each one taught me something about boundaries, honesty, and the deep human need to be known.

For me, this process has also meant confronting how trauma shaped the way I relate to men and women differently. For a long time, it felt safer to be open and emotionally vulnerable with women, while trust and closeness with men felt much harder to establish. I didn’t fully understand why at first—but over time, I came to see how early experiences had influenced who I felt safe with and how I connected.

That imbalance created challenges in my marriage. I could share my pain more easily in certain spaces than in the one that mattered most. But awareness has been the first step toward healing. Through therapy, honesty, and time, I’ve learned to recognize those patterns and to bring compassion—not shame—to the parts of me that still struggle to trust. Healing, after all, is not about perfection. It’s about progress, awareness, and repair.

The Healing Power of Connection

Trauma isolates. It convinces us that we are safer alone. But healing happens in relationship—in the presence of people who listen without judgment, who remind us that we’re not too broken to belong.

That’s why community is such a vital part of recovery. Whether it’s a 12-step meeting, therapy group, or circle of trusted friends, connection rewires the nervous system. Every moment of safe, genuine contact tells the body a new story: You can relax now. You’re not alone.

Trust as a Daily Practice

Today, rebuilding trust isn’t something I “achieve.” It’s something I practice. I practice it when I’m honest about how I feel instead of pretending I’m okay. I practice it when I set a boundary, when I reach out for support, or when I choose forgiveness over resentment.

There are still days when old fears resurface—when my first instinct is to pull away. But I’ve learned that courage isn’t about never being afraid; it’s about staying open anyway.

Healing is relational. The same wounds that formed in relationship are the ones that mend through relationship.

So, if you’re on this path—learning to trust again, learning to stay—know that you’re not alone. Trust is possible. Safety is possible. Connection is possible.

We rebuild it one honest moment at a time.

Walk tall,

Chris

If you or someone you know is struggling with trauma, addiction, or suicidal thoughts, you are not alone. Help is available 24/7 through the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline by calling or texting 988.