I Trust Me, But Can I Trust You?

At the age of 15, I had my first lesson on the contradictions of the word “trust”, particularly the African American community. For most of my life, it seemed like the concept of trust was a friendly understanding - an unspoken child-parental agreement, if you will. Both of my parents provided for my sister and I, and while I didn’t have everything I wanted, all of my needs were met. My parents simply required that I go to church, be respectful of my elders, love my family, and make good grades. As a post-civil rights baby I had an obligation to excel, not just for my individual success but as the only African American often in privileged circles. No brainers, right? I excelled at those requests and I was trusted. Life seemed golden - for the moment.

But when I turned 16, the tide turned for s0me reason. Although I was trusted to make good grades, have perfect attendance at school, be a perfect daughter and grandchild, as I matured romantically and sexually that trust began to wane. For the slow reader: I met a hot guy at my 16th birthday party who was a senior in high school, and they weren’t having it. So began our journey down this path of “Conditional trust factors.”

“I trust you completely, I just don’t trust him/them/the world,” was the adage I heard for the next two years. And so began my true understanding of their meaning of trust. I was to be held responsible for what others MIGHT do – ill-intended or not. Translation: I trust you to do exactly what I want you to do.

So to say I was rebellious after my 16th birthday would be a gross understatement. But my mother endured, and I gave her hell the entire way. She wanted to teach me the value of trust by demanding that I trusted her to keep me safe - physically, sexually, psychologically, and spiritually. Her increased demands drove my further rebellion. And as my chest grew, my hips widened and the boys’ heads began to turn, she waged her own morality campaign. Her approach? Stricter rules, shorter curfews, and hard core church. The result? I equated the concept of trust with “control”. Someone else's control of my body, mind, and spirituality, despite the reality that I was still complying with the original requests to succeed in all the other areas she had asked me to - go to church, be respectful of my elders, love my family, and make good grades. It was clear to me then that being trusted to make good choices was not necessarily predicated on trustworthiness. There needed to be a spirit of submission – a willingness to allow, and in some instance enjoy the efforts, of the one attempting to do the controlling.

By the time I got to college, like everyone around me I tried to define my own reality, proving to myself (and possibly my parents) that my trustworthiness was bigger than the realm of academics, community service, and church. Life was finding and developing new relationships, having the experiences too taboo in a small southern town, but essential to urban living. Through a series of breakups, breakdowns, breakups, loving, hating, persevering - trust became the new “self forgiveness” that I needed to define myself. I had learned to trust myself not as an African American, but as a woman- my choices, my desires, my fears and metabolize how all those feelings intermingled with one another made for my fabulous, yet complicated life. With forgiveness came “compassion”, compassion for myself and compassion for others.

Now I am proudly in my 30’s harnessing the gifts of forgiveness and compassion, I have learned that to trust others is directly linked to the compassion I have for my own experiences – happiness, joy, love, acceptance, and commitment. I know that trusting others begins with me trusting the best in myself and ultimately humanity. Trusting others means allowing he/she to make the best choices for his/her life with the resources they have available, even if it is a bad decision. It’s how I learned to trust myself. Trusting other women means I trust me – trusting that I can make good decisions, powerful changes, and learn from my mistakes.
Can I trust you?

A Black Girl Named Heidi
In honor of the 37th Anniversary of Roe v. Wade