Have you ever looked back at a moment in your life and thought: I knew.
Maybe it was a relationship, a job, a friendship, a decision or a situation that looked perfectly fine from the outside but it felt very different on the inside.
It was something you couldn’t necessarily explain or put your finger on or even have evidence for. Something you may have spent months or even years talking yourself out of what you were feeling. But somewhere beneath all the noise you knew.
I have had those moments in my life. Times when something inside me whispered long before I was ready to listen. Perhaps you have too.
The interesting thing is that we often call this intuition. But I believe there is something deeper happening and our bodies recognize it first before our mind is ready to accept a truth that is waiting to be honored.
The body tells us when something is “off” and not quite in alignment with our soul. It may show up with a tightening in the chest or a heaviness in the stomach. We may experience exhaustion that we can’t explain or have a sense of relief when we imagine saying no. Or perhaps that feeling of expansion when we consider something that frightens us but it somehow feels true.
Our bodies are constantly receiving and transmitting information. Yet many of us have become extraordinarily skilled at overriding those signals.
We tell ourselves:
I’m overreacting.
I’m being too sensitive.
It isn’t that bad.
Other people have it worse.
I should be grateful.
Maybe I just need to try harder.
And perhaps the most powerful one of all: What if I’m wrong?
So, we look outside ourselves for answers. We ask our friends, we search online, read another book, ask another expert and make lists of all the pros and cons. We gather more and more information. And sometimes all that information is helpful. But sometimes we’re not really looking for an answer at all. We’re simply looking for permission to trust the answer we already have.
The question I have and maybe you do too is: How did we stop trusting ourselves?
Most of us weren’t born second-guessing every feeling. Right?! If you watch a young child, you can see they know when they’re tired, when they’re hungry, when something hurts, when they don’t want to hug someone. They know and they express when they want to laugh, cry, run, rest, explore, or be held.
However, as we grow, life starts to teach us something different. We receive messages that tell us to:
Be nice.
Don’t make a fuss.
Don’t hurt anyone’s feelings.
You’re fine.
Stop crying.
Be grateful.
Don’t be selfish.
And often these messages come from people who love us deeply. They may simply be passing along what they were taught, but slowly we begin learning that belonging requires overriding what we feel. And for many women, that lesson becomes deeply ingrained.
We become skilled at reading the room and anticipating what others need in order to keep the peace. We become dependable, accommodating and incredibly strong.
And yes, these qualities are beautiful to possess, however they can also result in a great cost to us. When we become so practiced at listening outward, we lose the ability to hear inward. Until one day someone asks: “What do you want?” And we genuinely don’t know. This is where I want to offer a little compassion.
It’s easy to look backward and say:
I should have known better.
Why didn’t I leave sooner?
Why did I tolerate that?
Why didn’t I trust myself?
And perhaps you did know, but you just weren’t ready or felt safe enough to act on what you knew. There is a difference.
Sometimes what looks like self-abandonment from today’s perspective was once a strategy for survival, belonging, stability, or love. We don’t need to shame the woman who made those choices. We can understand and thank her. And then we can choose differently. That, too, is coming home.
So, you may be wondering is every feeling intuition? My answer is no. Because fear can be extremely loud. Past experiences often shape how we interpret the present. Anxiety can tell us something is dangerous when in fact it’s simply unfamiliar. Old wounds can make a healthy situation feel threatening because vulnerability feels unsafe. This is why self-trust doesn’t mean blindly following every feeling. Self-trust includes curiosity.
Instead of immediately asking: Is this intuition or fear? Try asking: What is this feeling trying to tell me? Then listen. Because fear may be saying: I’ve been hurt before. Intuition may be saying: Something here doesn’t align with me. Sometimes both are present. The goal isn’t to become perfect at distinguishing between them. The goal is to build a relationship with yourself strong enough that you are willing to listen.
I used to think trusting myself meant knowing I was making the right decision. Today I see it very differently. Because none of us gets that guarantee. We will make choices that don’t work out. We will trust people who disappoint us. We will take opportunities that aren’t what we hoped they would be. We will say yes and later wish we’d said no. We will say no and sometimes wonder what might have happened if we’d said yes. That’s life.
Self-trust isn’t believing you’ll always choose correctly. Self-trust is knowing you won’t abandon yourself when you don’t. It means you’ll listen, learn and adjust accordingly. And most important you will forgive yourself. Perhaps that’s the deepest form of trust we can build. Not promising I’ll never hurt again. But to promise that I won’t leave myself when I do.
Rebuilding self-trust rarely begins with a giant life decision. It begins quietly in tiny moments. You say you’re tired and you rest. You notice you don’t want to attend something and you allow yourself to decline. You realize a conversation doesn’t feel right and you pause before responding.
Each moment carries an important message: I hear you.
And every time you honor that message, something inside you begins to soften. You’re becoming someone you can rely on again. Not someone who always knows or who never makes mistakes. Someone who stays.
So, I’ll leave you with a question and with the request to give yourself permission to ask it: What do you already know that you haven’t yet been ready to acknowledge?
You do not have to force an answer. Just notice what arises. And it’s okay if nothing comes up too. Self-trust cannot be rushed. Sometimes the first step is simply becoming quiet enough to hear yourself again.
And if something does arise, you don’t have to change your entire life tomorrow. You don’t need to explain yourself. You don’t even have to know what comes next. Maybe, for today, you simply place a hand over your heart and say: I hear you. And perhaps tomorrow: I believe you. And someday: I choose you.
Because coming home to yourself isn’t one courageous decision. It’s all the small moments when you stop leaving yourself behind. And slowly, and quietly you remember that you knew the way home all along.