Can I Trust Myself to Be Okay?

Have you ever known you wanted something to change, maybe even known what your next step could be, and still found yourself unable to move?

I have.

And my first response is usually frustration.

Why am I doing this again?

Why do I keep getting in my own way?

I know better.

Lately, though, I've been wondering if I've been asking the wrong question.

Maybe it isn't only:

Why am I afraid to take the next step?

Maybe it's:

Do I trust myself to be okay with whatever happens after I take it?

Those are two very different questions.

I've been experiencing this with work I've created.

I spent months bringing something I deeply believe in to life. There were decisions, problems, setbacks, and endless details. But throughout all of it, I knew what I was supposed to do next.

Keep creating.

Then I finished.

And suddenly the next step required something very different from me.

I had to put it into the world.

Now people could see it.

They could connect with it. They could ignore it.

It could fail.

It could succeed.

And I realized something surprising:

Both directions feel vulnerable.

Failure means disappointment and rejection.

But success means visibility, growth, responsibility, and stepping into a life I haven't lived before.

Neither comes with a guarantee.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about the ways we learn to protect ourselves. We develop patterns that help us anticipate what might happen, stay prepared, and avoid getting hurt.

There can be a strange comfort in that predictability, even when we no longer want the life it creates.

We know that path.

But what happens when we step somewhere we haven't been before?

I asked myself recently what felt so frightening about leaving the familiar path.

An image immediately appeared in my mind:

I stepped out and was run over by a speeding car.

A little dramatic.

But also revealing.

My conscious mind knows there isn't a speeding car waiting for me because I send an email, make a phone call or tell someone about something I've created.

But the image made me curious.

Maybe the fear isn't simply:

What if something goes wrong?

Maybe underneath it is:

What if something happens and I can't handle it?

That question feels different.

Because we can spend a lot of energy trying to make the unknown feel safe before we enter it.

We wait until we're certain.

Until we know the outcome.

Until we feel confident.

Until we can somehow guarantee that we won't be hurt, disappointed, embarrassed or overwhelmed.

But uncertainty doesn't offer those guarantees.

Maybe self-trust isn't knowing everything will work out the way we want.

Maybe it's beginning to believe:

Whatever happens, I can stay with myself through it.

That doesn't mean we suddenly become fearless.

It doesn't mean every risk is worth taking or every unfamiliar path is the right one.

It means we can begin to distinguish between I don't know what will happen and I won't be okay.

I'm still learning that distinction.

There are places in my life where the familiar path continues to have a very strong pull.

Places where I contract when part of me wants to expand.

But maybe I don't need to convince myself that the new path is safe before I take a step.

Maybe the trust I'm building isn't in the path at all.

Maybe it's trust in the person walking it.

Messy, Bumpy, Possible, - Leigh