Rebuilding Self-Trust: From Fragile Identity to Inner Strength

The first step toward self-trust begins with opening the door to yourself.

1. How My Sense of Self Became Fragile

I grew up in the UK during the 60s and 70s—a time when corporal punishment wasn’t just accepted, it was expected. At school, being hit was standard discipline. At home, it wasn’t unusual for parents to smack their children. And out in public, if you stepped out of line, it wasn’t unheard of to get a clip round the ear from a local policeman—or even from another adult. It was a very different world to today.

Many still say, “It didn’t do me any harm.” But for those of us who were more sensitive, more attuned to our surroundings, it did affect us. Even when punishment wasn’t given, the threat of it was enough. It created a background level of fear and vigilance—an atmosphere where being “good” became a way to feel safe.

Being good meant being quiet, helpful, polite, and obedient. You did as you were told. You didn’t challenge authority. You made things easier for others. And so I learned to play it safe. I became agreeable, adaptable, watchful. It wasn’t always about direct fear—it was about knowing how to avoid it.

But being “good” wasn’t just about following rules—it meant learning how to adapt. I had to observe, predict, and sometimes almost be psychic to sense what those in power needed from me. If my dad or mum were calm, all was well. If they weren’t—if they were angry, withdrawn, or unpredictable—I didn’t feel safe. So I focused all my attention outward. What mood are they in? What do they need? How can I avoid making things worse?

I now see that my focus on them wasn’t weakness—it was control. It was my way of creating stability in an unstable world. It wasn’t that I never got what I wanted—but what I most wanted was to feel safe enough to want anything at all.

I often found that safety in solitude—through books, drawing, painting. These gave me permission to retreat into my own inner world, a space where I could feel free, even if only temporarily. But even that freedom had boundaries. The message I absorbed, over and over, was that thinking of others came first. My needs were either secondary, or invisible.

Over time, I became what others needed me to be. I was groomed—not through malice, but through repetition—into a kind of chameleon. I adapted to stay safe. And while that adaptability served me, it came at a cost. I had no solid formation of self. Just a shifting, shape-fitting version of me that worked hard to stay acceptable, pleasing, or invisible.

I wasn’t grounded in who I was—I was shaped by who others needed me to be. Like a mirror, I gave back what I thought would keep the peace, avoid conflict, or gain approval. It felt like control, but it came at the cost of knowing myself.

I often use the analogy of a jigsaw puzzle. We are born whole—each of us with a unique design, made up of thoughts, feelings, values, and needs. But when we don’t feel safe or worthy, we begin handing over our puzzle pieces. We give others the power to tell us who we are, what to think, how to behave. And if we give away too many pieces, others start laying down their own. Their views. Their expectations. Their control. It’s subtle, but powerful. You end up being shaped by someone else’s picture.

Another way I see it is that we all have a natural zone—our internal space, where our intuition, needs, boundaries, and sense of self reside. But if you’ve been conditioned to give up that space—to step aside, to defer, to keep others comfortable—it’s not surprising when someone else steps in and takes it. This doesn’t just happen in close relationships—it shows up everywhere: at work, in public, with strangers, or in professional roles. When you don’t occupy your space, people may talk over you, ignore your input, project their assumptions onto you, or treat you in ways that reinforce your silence. And the more this happens, the harder it becomes to remember that you’re allowed to take up space at all.

2. What Happens When You Don’t Have a Strong Sense of Self

When you don’t have a strong sense of self, you’re left vulnerable. You look to others to validate who you are, because deep down, you don’t quite know how to do that for yourself. Your worth becomes measured in other people’s eyes.

The trouble is—other people don’t truly know you. Not even your closest and dearest. Not fully. We all share different aspects of ourselves in different situations: who I am at work is not exactly who I am at home. We adapt depending on the context—some versions of ourselves feel more authentic, others more polished or performed. But over time, if you’ve spent years adapting, it becomes harder to know which version is you.

This erosion of self-belief doesn’t always scream—it whispers. You might start questioning your gut instinct. When something feels off, you wonder: Is this intuition? Or is it just fear?  You go back and forth in your head. You might ask someone else what they think. But what if their inner compass is off too? What if they dismiss your concerns, tell you you're being irrational—or worse, tell you that something's wrong with you?

Little by little, your internal alarm bells lose their volume. You’ve overridden them for so long that they stop ringing. You stop trusting your own senses—because your senses don’t know how to sense anymore.

That’s the cost of losing connection with yourself. Confusion. Overthinking. Anxiety. People-pleasing. Relationships where your voice doesn’t matter. Jobs where you can’t show up fully. And worst of all, that aching feeling that you’ve somehow disappeared beneath it all.

It’s easy to look at others and feel frustrated—they didn’t see me, they didn’t listen, they took advantage. And that may all be true. But if you want to feel empowered, start by turning the focus inward. This isn’t about blame—it’s about responsibility. Because when you take full responsibility for your inner world, you give yourself the power to change it—with intention, with clarity, and with your own authority.

3. What Changes When You Start Rebuilding Self-Trust

The first step in rebuilding self-trust isn’t easy. You have to step into unfamiliar and often uncomfortable territory. You have to realise—truly realise—that how you feel, what you think, and what you notice about yourself and the world around you matters. In every context. At work. In relationships. In quiet moments alone.

And then you have to stay with it. Not run from it. Not explain it away. Just sit with those feelings, even when they stir up fear, doubt, or discomfort.

Because here’s the thing—it’s real. And if it’s real, it’s worthy of your attention. Only then can you choose what to do next from a place of self-respect, rather than self-abandonment.

For years, you may have seen yourself only through the eyes of others. Your actions, thoughts, and decisions were shaped around their needs, feelings, or expectations. They became the priority. But underneath it all—you were still the driver. Because it was your sense of worth, your identity as someone “good,” or “kind,” or “not a burden,” that was silently being protected.

You weren’t being fully honest—with yourself or others. Not because you were deceitful, but because your survival depended on it. You didn’t want to cause conflict. You didn’t want negative attention, rejection, or to be seen as “too much.” So you postponed your truth. You delayed your needs. You abandoned yourself—again and again.

But when you start listening—truly listening—to your internal experience, things begin to shift.

I remember the first time I said no and meant it. Not aggressively. Just calmly. I felt guilty—really guilty. My instinct was to soften it, to offer reasons, to take it back. But I didn’t. I stayed with the discomfort. I sat in the decision. And in that small, quiet act, I showed myself that I could be trusted. That my no didn’t need to be explained or excused. It was enough that it was mine.

4. How to Start Rebuilding Self-Trust

Rebuilding self-trust doesn’t happen all at once. It happens in quiet, often unnoticed moments—when you start making space to pause, to check in, and to choose from within, rather than react from habit or guilt.

One of the first things I started doing was giving myself permission not to answer straight away. If someone made a request or asked something of me, I’d say, “Let me check my diary and I'll get back to you.”—even if I already felt the pressure to say yes. That simple pause gave me breathing space. Time to ask myself, Do I really want to do this? Am I saying yes because I want to—or because I feel guilty if I don’t?

There were times I felt the emotional pull so strongly—shame, fear of letting someone down, or anxiety about being seen differently. But I began choosing to sit with those feelings, rather than bypass them. That meant some decisions were uncomfortable. Some were messy. Sometimes I changed my mind. But over time, I began defaulting to “I’ll think check my diary” rather than automatically saying yes.

Even when I still wrestled with guilt, I reminded myself: I’m allowed to make this choice. I’m not doing it to hurt anyone—I’m doing it to honour myself.  And slowly, it started to feel more natural.

Over time, I accepted a few key truths. One of the most important was this: I am not responsible for fixing others. Of course, there are exceptions—vulnerable people, those who truly need support. But in general, I am not here to rescue or hold things together for everyone.

And more than that—when I constantly fix or step in, I can unintentionally get in the way of someone else’s growth. How do we learn, after all? Through experience. Through getting it wrong. Through finding our own agency. If I always intervene, I might prevent that process. It’s not unkind to step back—it can be the most respectful, empowering thing I can do.

But here’s what’s rarely talked about: letting go doesn’t feel peaceful at first. It means learning to sit with your own discomfort—guilt, helplessness, anxiety, even fear of being rejected or seen as unkind. As a people-pleaser, you may be used to stepping in quickly, smoothing things over, or solving problems before they get messy. Now, you're learning to pause instead of fix.

That means sitting with what comes after the pause: the discomfort of seeing someone struggle. The discomfort of holding your ground through their disappointment, anger, or disapproval. The fear of conflict. The urge to make it better.

And still—you stay with yourself.

Sometimes I say yes, even when it’s inconvenient—because I see the need, and it gives me pleasure to help. Other times I say no. But every time, I consider me in the equation. Not as an afterthought, but as an equal.

That’s what self-trust looks like in action.

It starts with a simple pause—and a quiet question:

What’s right for me? Is this something I truly want to do? What do I really think?

These aren’t selfish questions. They’re the foundations of becoming a whole, grounded, sovereign self.

5. Closing Thought

Self-trust isn’t something you either have or don’t have. It’s something you rebuild, gently and gradually, by returning to yourself—one decision, one pause, one honest answer at a time.

You don’t need to prove anything to be worthy of your own trust. You just need to start listening—to that quiet part of you that’s been waiting, patiently, to be heard.

When a decision comes, ask yourself: Does this feel good? Is it something I really want to do?Does it serve me, help me, benefit me—or am I doing it from guilt or habit?

And if it doesn’t feel good, ask: Am I still willing to do it—and if so, why?

Because that’s what self-trust looks like: considering yourself in the process. Not always choosing yourself first, but never leaving yourself out.

Sometimes you're No. 1. Sometimes, when it’s about a vulnerable person or someone in need, you choose to put them first. But the point is—you choose. With balance, fairness, and care. That’s where your strength is.

💗 What’s one small way you could honour your inner voice today?

🌿 Ready to Begin Your Journey?

If this blog resonated with you, and you’re ready to reconnect with yourself and rebuild self-trust—I’d love to support you.

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With warmth,

Jane Nevell

True Life Tapping