I have often been told that I trust too easily. That I let people in without hesitation, without the caution that others say is necessary. But I have never seen trust as something to withhold, something to ration out like I’m on a trusting diet. My philosophy has always been simple: I have no reason to doubt you until you give me a reason to.
I can’t say that this trust hasn’t been tested, stretched, and wounded over the years. I was bullied, teased, and abused growing up. I endured trauma that could have made me hateful and revengeful, it could have made me retreat behind walls too thick for anyone to break through. Even in adulthood, my trust has been betrayed, and I learned that not everyone’s love is given freely or without cost. When I first married, two months after my 20th birthday, I didn’t know that my cycle of abuse would continue in a different form.
And yet, through it all, I have never lost my ability to trust. Some might call this naïve—gullible, even—but I believe there is a better word for it. Sanguine. I am happily optimistic that people are not, by default, untrustworthy. I feel that they come into my life as their authentic selves, and if that self is one of love and respect, they will remain. If not, I have learned that trust is not a chain that binds me to suffering; it is a gift freely given but not without limits.
Through therapy, self-love, and deep personal work, I have come to understand that my trusting nature is not a flaw—it is a strength. It is not a doorway left open for harm, but an invitation for connection. I no longer hold onto trust when it is not deserved, and I no longer accept love that demands the sacrifice of my well-being. Instead, I trust in my ability to discern, to set boundaries, to walk away when necessary.
To live love through the practice of trust is not to ignore the risks. It is to trust in the goodness of others while also trusting in ourselves—to know when to open our hearts and when to protect them. To trust that love, when it is true, does not ask us to suffer but rather to grow, to heal, and to thrive.
And so, I remain sanguine. I remain open. I remain trusting—not because I must, but because I choose to.
~Candice Carver
