Learning to Trust Myself Again

There are moments in life when we make promises to ourselves out of pain.

Not thoughtful plans.
Not carefully discerned decisions.
But vows born from overwhelm—never again, I won’t put myself through that, this is where I draw the line.

This reflection comes from an early season of motherhood, where my relationship with my own body felt fragile and easily overridden.

For a long time, I lived with one of those vows.

After an experience that left me feeling unsafe and disconnected from my own body, I decided—firmly—that I would never walk that road again. It wasn’t dramatic. It was protective. It was about consent, autonomy, and survival.

And for a season, that vow served me well.

What I didn’t expect was that time would soften it—not through pressure, not through persuasion, but through safety.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, something shifted. My body didn’t forget what it had been through, but it also didn’t insist that the past had to dictate every future choice. Instead of fear, there was curiosity. Instead of absolutes, there was space.

What surprised me most wasn’t the change itself—it was realizing that growth didn’t look like sticking to one approach forever.

I didn’t “flip a switch.”
I didn’t adopt a new identity.
I didn’t suddenly believe everything I once rejected.

I made room for one small experiment.
One contained choice.
One decision that I could say yes to without betraying myself.

And when it didn’t work, I stopped.
And when it did, I let myself continue.

That’s something I’m learning to trust again: the ability to respond instead of rigidly adhere. To release control without abandoning wisdom. To choose discernment over doctrine—even the doctrines I once built to protect myself.

What this season is teaching me is that healing doesn’t always look like reclaiming what was lost. Sometimes it looks like renegotiating the relationship you have with your own body. Sometimes it looks like loosening your grip on certainty and allowing yourself to be responsive to what’s actually happening now.

I’m learning that one-size-fits-all answers rarely belong in deeply personal terrain. What works for one season may not work for the next. What was once necessary protection may later become unnecessary restriction.

And neither of those things means you were wrong.

It just means you’re allowed to grow.

I don’t know what the next chapter will require of me. I don’t need to decide that yet. For now, I’m practicing something quieter and more difficult: listening. Staying honest. And trusting that my body is not my enemy—but a participant in my formation.