I don’t trust anybody. There, I said it. Actually, that statement is not 100% true – I trust my daughter. She is about the only person on Earth that I feel has not betrayed me in some way (real or imagined). I recently celebrated my 44th birthday and the days leading up to it were filled with disappointments. People I thought I could trust lied to me, deceived me, were duplicitous and just all-around full of bs. It was as though I couldn’t get a straight answer no matter where I turned. I felt that I really needed to look at why I was attracting so much dishonesty. I began playing over the romantic relationships I’ve had the fortune (or misfortune, depends) to experience. Every man I’ve ever been involved with lied to me, with the exception of my late husband (to my knowledge, anyway). Every single one. WTF??? My father betrayed me by choosing to forget that I exist and go raise another family. Male relatives betrayed me by choosing to prey on me instead of protect me. I have trust issues with my siblings and my mother. I don’t trust the people I work with. I don’t trust anybody and it’s a horrible way to be.
I was journaling about this issue recently and I had to go down the rabbit hole, as it were. The more I wrote about my mistrust of my fellow humans, the more I saw that I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t trust myself because I’ve made ‘bad’ decisions throughout my life – trusted the wrong people; said ‘Yes’ when ‘No’ was what I felt; mismanaged my money, time and talents; kept quiet instead of speaking my truth; not made the most stellar parenting decisions and the list goes on. The more I unraveled this thread of mistrust of myself, I began to see that not only didn’t I trust Ejay, I didn’t trust God. Wow!!! Yeah, that was a ‘two by four between the eyes’ moment if I ever had one.
I didn’t trust God. Why? Because in my mind, God ‘let’ all these terrible things happen in my life and it felt like betrayal and abandonment. I had to sit with that for a little while. I didn’t trust God. That was a pretty heavy realization to come to.
Once I really started delving into my mistrust of God based on the experiences I’ve had in my life, the more I saw that I could (and should) trust God. God was always there, even in the midst of my most trying and painful experiences. God was there when I buried my husband, giving me the slightest glimmer of hope to go on for my and my daughter’s sake. God was there to bring me through every beating, every instance of molestation, every bit of verbal abuse, all the times when I felt unheard and unloved – God was there. God was in that comic strip that made me laugh after I had just cried. God was in my baby’s big brown eyes on those days when I couldn’t find the strength to get out of bed. God has been in every brush stroke, every photograph and every poem brought to life through me. God has been in that moment, however fleeting of feeling that ‘Everything’s okay, Ejay’. God lives in that moment and I can trust that.