My self-trust era

Self-trust isn’t confidence. It’s more like: “I have no idea, but watch me figure it out.” [13.11.25.]

Motherhood: I’ve failed (again)

Two years into motherhood, and I still have days where I’m convinced I’m failing spectacularly.

I forget things. I get clumsy. I leave paid-for groceries at the checkout and have to do the awkward, shame-filled shuffle back to the store.

And somehow, these tiny moments snowball into a full-blown internal TED Talk titled: Motherhood: You’re Not Getting This Right.”

I know, I know, external failures ≠ internal worth.

Self-trust isn’t about never dropping the ball.

It’s about trusting that even when you do (and you will) you can pick it up again. Maybe dust it off. Maybe laugh at yourself. Maybe leave it there and grab a new ball. The point is: you keep moving.

Your brain is a drama queen

Let’s talk about what’s happening in your brain when self-doubt shows up uninvited, like that one friend who “just happened to be in the neighbourhood.”

Your amygdala (the brain’s adorable little fear alarm) loves to catastrophise.

It’s literally designed to keep you safe by assuming the worst-case scenario (thanks, evolution!)

Super helpful when we were avoiding sabre-toothed tigers. Less useful when we’re just trying to remember if we turned off the stove.

Neuroscientist Lisa Feldman Barrett explains that our brains don’t passively perceive reality - they actively predict it based on past experiences (Barrett, 2017).

So when you forget the groceries, your brain doesn’t just register “oops, human mistake.” It pulls up every past failure, connects the dots into a constellation of inadequacy, and presents you with: “See? You’re a mess. Always have been.”

Your brain is looking for patterns. And if the pattern you’ve been feeding it is “I always mess up,” guess what story it’s going to keep telling?

But here’s the good news: You can train it to look for different connections.

Self-trust is essentially teaching your brain a new pattern: “I mess up sometimes and I figure it out.”

Both things can be true. Wild, right?

Carl Jung enters the group chat

Carl Jung would have a field day with this. He believed we all carry a “shadow self”- the parts of ourselves we reject, deny, or push into the basement of our psyche because they don’t fit the shiny image we want to project (Jung, 1959).

Self-doubt? That’s your shadow knocking. Loudly.

But Jung didn’t say “ignore your shadow.” He said Integrate it. Which is a fancy way of saying: stop pretending you’re perfect and start getting comfortable with the messy, human parts of yourself.

For example:

➜The “I Don’t Know What I’m Doing” Shadow

➜How it shows up:

A meltdown (yours or the toddler’s), conflicting advice, or a decision you’re unsure about - and suddenly the shadow hisses: “Everyone else knows what to do. Why don’t you?”

➜Integration:
- Recognise that this shadow is rooted in fear, not truth.

- Reframe: “Not knowing isn’t failure — it’s motherhood.”

-Lean into curiosity: What do I need? What could help? What’s one tiny step forward?

- When you bring curiosity to fear, you turn the shadow into a teacher.

When I left those groceries behind, my shadow was screaming, “See? You’re incompetent!”

And yet, integration looks like: “Yep, I’m forgetful sometimes. I’m also resourceful enough to go back and get them. Both are true.”

Jung called this process “individuation”(becoming the fullest, most authentic version of yourself by accepting all of yourself, not just the highlight reel).

Self-trust is individuation in motion. It’s saying: I’m not perfect, and I’m not trying to be. I’m just trying to be me, fully and unapologetically.

The Neuroscience of self-trust: Your brain’s new favourite pattern

Self-trust literally rewires your brain through a process called neuroplasticity -the brain’s ability to form new neural pathways based on repeated experiences (Doidge, 2007).

Every time you:

• Choose yourself over people-pleasing

• Set a boundary and stick to it

• Mess up and don’t spiral into self-loathing

• Take up space even when it feels uncomfortable

…you’re strengthening the neural pathways associated with self-trust. You’re teaching your brain: “Oh, we survive this. We even thrive in this.”

It’s like going to the gym, except instead of building biceps, you’re building belief in yourself.

The more you practice self-trust, the more your brain starts looking for evidence that supports it.

Remember how your brain loves patterns? Now it’s scanning for moments where you did figure it out.

Where you were capable. Where you showed up, even imperfectly.

You’re literally reprogramming your brain’s search algorithm.

Self-Compassion: The cheat code

Treat yourself as a friend (not an enemy). You’ve heard that again and again right?

Would you look at your best friend after she forgot groceries and say, “Wow, you’re a total failure. This is why your life is a mess”? No! You’d say, “Girl, we’ve all been there. Life is a lot. Let’s laugh about it.”

So why do we talk to ourselves like we’re auditioning for the role of Mean Girl in our own lives?

Self-compassion isn’t self-indulgence. It’s self-preservation. It’s recognising that being human means being imperfect, and that’s not a bug -it’s a feature.

The antidote to self-doubt isn’t perfection. It’s curiosity.

Connection > performance

Motherhood can feel lonely. Someone recently told me it “doesn’t get easier” (ma’am, read the room!), but then she bent down and chatted kindly with my toddler. And somehow… that small act of connection lifted something in me.

Here’s why: Our brains are wired for connection. Neuroscientist Matthew Lieberman found that our need for social connection is as fundamental as our need for food and water (Lieberman, 2013). When we feel seen, heard, and valued by others, our nervous system literally calms down.

Connection heals since a kind word or someone saying, “you’re doing well” can give us the boost we so desperately need.

My yellow-puffer experiment: Taking up space

This November, I made a choice: Self-trust as a daily experiment.

I bought a bright yellow puffer coat. Loud. Unapologetic. Sunny. The kind of coat that says, “Yeah, I’m here. Deal with it.”

It’s a wearable reminder to stop shrinking.

Audre Lorde said it best:

“When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid” (Lorde, 1988).

Showing up bigger isn’t about erasing fear. It’s about choosing yourself anyway.

And here’s the thing: positive psychologist Martin Seligman reminds us that optimism is a skill we can practice, even on low days, by challenging the belief that everything is permanent and our fault (Seligman, 2006).

You’re not born confident. You practice self-trust until it becomes your default setting.

My 3 tiny experiments with self-trust:

Here’s what I’m practising:

✨ Self-doubt → self-trust

Old story: “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

New story: “I can figure this out as I go.”

✨ Playing small → taking up space

Old habit: Whispering my needs.

New habit: Saying them clearly. (Writing them down, telling someone, making them known.)

✨ Invisible → radiantly obvious

Old uniform: Black coat, blend in.

New uniform: Yellow puffer. Enough said.

Small shifts. Tiny rebellions. Micro-bold acts.

These aren’t grand gestures. They’re quiet acts of self-respect that remind me I’m allowed to take up space in a messy, joyful way that says I’m still figuring my s*it out and that’s normal, ok?

Trusting yourself and showing up

Self-trust isn’t about never doubting yourself. It’s about trusting that you’ll show up for yourself when it matters.

Your brain is wired to look for patterns. So give it better ones to find:

🟡 Your shadow isn’t your enemy. It’s the part of you asking to be seen.

🟡 Your mess isn’t evidence of failure. It’s evidence of being alive and trying.

🟡 And that yellow puffer coat? It’s not just fashion. It’s a declaration: I’m here. I’m imperfect. I’m learning.

(And I’m not shrinking anymore).

Here’s to showing up bigger, even when we wobble. 💛

References (APA Style)

Barrett, L. F. (2017). How emotions are made: The secret life of the brain. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

Doidge, N. (2007). The brain that changes itself: Stories of personal triumph from the frontiers of brain science. Penguin Books.

Jung, C. G. (1959). The archetypes and the collective unconscious (R. F. C. Hull, Trans.). Princeton University Press.

Lieberman, M. D. (2013). Social: Why our brains are wired to connect. Crown Publishers.

Lorde, A. (1988). A burst of light: Essays. Firebrand Books.

Neff, K. (2011). Self-compassion: The proven power of being kind to yourself. William Morrow.

Seligman, M. E. P. (2006). Learned optimism: How to change your mind and your life. Vintage.