What I Trust Now

Wooden blocks spelling out the word "trust" symbolize the foundational role trust plays in relationships and communities.

There was a time when I trusted systems.

Timelines.

Processes.

Authorities that claimed to know what healing should look like.

I no longer trust those things.

What Broke My Trust

I trusted reporting procedures that promised safety and delivered retaliation.

I trusted therapeutic models that prioritized narrative over nervous system.

I trusted institutions that required compliance instead of care.

Trust was not misplaced because I was naive—it was misplaced because the systems were unworthy.

What I Stopped Trying to Fix

I stopped trying to be understood by people invested in misunderstanding.

I stopped trying to heal in ways that made harm easier to digest.

I stopped trying to resolve what was never repairable.

Some things are not meant to be made neat.

What I Trust Instead

I trust the body’s timing.

I trust boundaries that don’t require explanation.

I trust slowness.

I trust refusal.

I trust that safety is not something to be argued into existence.

Trusting Without Surrendering

Trust does not mean openness to everything.

It means discernment.

It means choosing where to place energy.

It means allowing some doors to stay closed permanently.

This is not bitterness.

It is accuracy.

Healing Without Illusion

Healing did not give me closure.

It gave me clarity.

Clarity about what I will no longer tolerate.

Clarity about what does not belong to me.

Clarity about the difference between care and control.

What Remains

What remains is not optimism.

It is steadiness.

I trust myself more than I trust frameworks.

I trust my body more than I trust narratives.

I trust silence when words would cost too much.

That is enough.

Author’s Note

This series was not written to persuade, educate, or resolve.

It was written to tell the truth without rushing it.

These essays do not offer a roadmap. They do not promise recovery. They do not translate trauma into something tidy or uplifting. They exist because some experiences cannot be made palatable without distortion.

Writing them required boundaries—pace, containment, and refusal. Refusal to explain what does not belong to the reader. Refusal to perform healing in exchange for legitimacy. Refusal to turn survival into a lesson.

If you found resonance here, you are not alone. If you found discomfort, you are not wrong. If you found nothing that applies to you, that is also allowed.

This work does not ask for agreement.

It asks only that survivors be permitted to speak without being managed, softened, or corrected—and that silence, when chosen, be respected as much as disclosure.

Healing is not owed. Truth does not require exposure. Authorship does not require permission.

Thank you for reading with care.

— Author Honey Badger

This article is original work written and published under the protected pen name Author Honey Badger. Authorship under a pen name does not diminish ownership, credibility, or rights.

© 2026 Author Honey Badger. All Rights Reserved.