Growing up, I was often praised for taking initiative and handling my responsibilities on my own. Being first-generation, that lesson came early and often. My parents modeled endurance and independence, sometimes out of necessity, sometimes out of hope that we could succeed on our own. Asking for help wasn’t something that came easily in our household—it felt risky, even indulgent. And to this day, I notice that struggle in myself: the tug-of-war between knowing I could handle something on my own and wanting to reach out but hesitating.

In many ways, self-reliance is admirable. It helps us survive, push through obstacles, and figure things out when resources are limited. But I often wonder: what happens when self-reliance is the only tool we know how to use?

When Self-Reliance Turns Into Armor

Self-reliance can become a shield. Instead of helping us move freely, it can harden into an identity: “I don’t need anyone. I can carry this myself.”

The trouble is, when life throws us something bigger than we can hold—grief, trauma, betrayal, the slow burn of loneliness—self-reliance alone can collapse under the weight.

What Self-Trust Offers Instead

Self-trust feels different. It’s less about proving strength, more about believing in your ability to navigate the waters—sometimes by swimming, sometimes by floating, sometimes by calling out for help.

It’s the confidence that says:

• I can listen to my body and know when to rest.
• I can trust my emotions to give me information, not just trouble.
• I can reach for another person when I need to, and it doesn’t make me weak.

I noticed this most when I decided to expand my practice and bring another therapist into Orari. At first, there was a part of me that worried—Will sharing this work dilute it? Will I lose control over something I’ve built? But leaning into self-trust meant recognizing that the act of sharing this work could be meaningful and rewarding in itself. Inviting another person into the space wasn’t just about growing a business—it was about deepening the work, supporting more clients, and creating connection in a more personal, authentic way. That trust in myself—my capacity to hold space, to collaborate, and to maintain integrity—made the experience rich and unexpectedly fulfilling.

Self-trust doesn’t close you off; it opens you up.

A Little Ancient Wisdom

The Greeks etched “Know thyself” on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. But knowing yourself didn’t mean white-knuckling through life alone. It meant living truthfully—with an honest awareness of your strengths, your limits, and your deep need for community.

Self-trust echoes this wisdom: it’s about standing in truth. Not pretending you can do it all, not abandoning yourself either, but learning to meet yourself honestly in the middle.

Are You Trustworthy to Yourself?

Here’s where the etymology gets interesting. The word trust traces back to Old Norse traust, meaning “help, confidence, protection.” Go even further back and you find the Proto-Indo-European root deru—“to be firm, solid”—the same root that gives us tree and true.

So when we talk about trusting yourself, we’re really asking: Am I a place I can lean on? Am I firm enough to hold my own truth?

It’s one thing to expect loyalty from others; it’s another to practice loyalty toward yourself. That might mean keeping a promise you made to yourself. It might mean resting when every voice in your head is screaming to push harder. It might even mean telling yourself the truth you don’t want to hear.

A Gentle Invitation

The next time you catch yourself thinking, “I just need to tough this out,” pause and check in:

• Am I defaulting to self-reliance?
• Or am I leaning into self-trust—into what I truly want, and trusting myself to ask for support along the way?

The difference is subtle but profound. One leaves you carrying the world alone. The other allows you to stay rooted like a tree—both steady and connected.