Cultivating Trust

In a world obsessed with doing, performance and control; how can we cultivate the trust in life, in the divine, and in ourselves to ground into the choices of living from what is true?

Isn’t it funny how infrequently we challenge what it is that is given to us—the lives we live and how we decide to pursue them. The mental program we run, the assumptions we live by, and the cycle we feed by buying into them?

It takes a certain kind of trust to even ask the question: What if there’s another way?

From a perspective of lived experience, I’m convinced there has to be. And ultimately, it comes down to trust.

I graduated from McGill with a business degree, and the most profound thing I got out of it, paradoxically of course, was a class called “The Social Context of Business.”

Taught by an elderly man in Birkenstocks who owned an acreage about 50km outside of town, this man was a certified hippy. His name was Louis, and I loved him. Our main assignment was to keep a conscious living journal for the duration of the course—we were asked, for a week, to keep a diary of our daily lives: what we ate, who we spent time with, what we consumed via the media, alongside what we were doing in school; and then throughout the course, start to dissect these patterns and ask ourselves WHY we lived the way we did.

It was my favourite course because it taught us to be discerning of ourselves, our patterns as future leaders and ultimately asked us: What values are you leading by? Most students thought it was a waste of time with little applicability to the disciplines of accounting, finance, and marketing.

I didn’t know it at the time but it planted the first seed of trust—trust that my own self-inquiry mattered, and that my intuition and personal depths might hold as much weight, if not more; than any textbook or societal metric of success.

The lesson was this: our assumptions, our actions, and how we conduct ourselves ripple into spaces far broader than just our own lives. Every action, conscious or not, that we engage in, has impact.

For me, it was an absolute revolution and provided a type of insight I had never before considered.

It wasn’t until this time that I realized how much of my life was on autopilot, how the majority of the choices I made were not my own. That they came from a system I had absorbed—the ideals of my parents, society, assumptions about who I needed to be in order to be loved. 90+% of my actions came from what others wanted, what I was told to want, and not from an authentic place of joy around what lit me up.

Because as a high-achieving 22-year-old, I had no clue who I was, or what I wanted. I decided to go to McGill so I could find a hot, rich husband and live a life of relaxed luxury, never challenged to grow or lean into who I really was. I was delusional, I was hot, I centred men as “above me” unconsciously, and I didn’t have any other aspirations other than to set out to be comfortable- even in a high achievement setting, succeeding- I was settling.

I got into a competitive program and had an excellent GPA, so that must have been worth something, right?

With all the agency to do what I wanted, why wasn’t I? What kind of spell had me bound to those rules of the game—and whose rules were they anyway and what fears were controlling me to obey them?

I hated it. It wasn't until much later I realized that the only stories I was bound by were the stories I was telling myself about myself. And these narratives carried much more weight than I even was aware of, I was stuck in a wheel of victimhood, thinking no matter what I did, how much I was “loved” that nothing would change and I was destined to stay on a timeline where others would have to “save me”

Underneath the self-abandonment was fear. Fear of trusting myself enough to walk a different road and a deep well of shame for my story, for who I was at my core and the belief that I was so worthless and different that I didn't deserve to take up space; that’s for everyone else- for people who’s parents actually wanted them, what business did I have doing that or living large, at the end of the day if anyone found out about my chaotic family situation, I’d be so embarrassed and ashamed and “found out”.

I wonder how many people are stuck in that same pressure cooker, waiting for a catalyst to wake them up to the aliveness of it all, or how many people are performing out of a shield of DEEPLY rooted shame. How many are finding small ways to rebel yet still repressing their desires, staying quiet and numb so they don’t rock the boat—believing a system, a relationship, a career, or anything external will give them security, satisfaction, and social capital to finally feel complete.

I wonder: how many are choosing it all consciously? How many are making their own rules within that system and doing it in a way that brings them their most orgasmic joy and fulfillment? I suspect far fewer than we’re led to believe.

I almost forgot that’s the dominant narrative—that reaching socially acceptable milestones equals happiness. But in reality, the deeper layers often tell a different story of disconnection and replaying loops of trauma.

I had a rude awakening recently while dating a super intelligent, adventurous, sensual man. He was consumed by climbing the corporate ladder—pragmatic, solid, and so fun, yet placing his happiness in external achievements, I knew he was a soulful guy, but I wondered if he even knew it. He said, “I am scared that leaning into yourself and really knowing yourself or letting anything in, jeopardizes everything you’ve built.”

And he wasn’t wrong. It broke my heart because I could feel the magnetic power repressed beneath his complacency but the false-hood that we are fed; that we somehow have control over anything. Beneath the surface life is literally handing us the keys to lessons and higher love and a higher timeline, ALWAYS if we choose to go there.

Not all of us are made for radical. It takes radical trust to let go of the structures you’ve built, to choose your aliveness over the illusion of safety—safety often rooted in quiet desperation and unexamined desires for approval.

What I’ve come to realize is this: not everyone is willing to excavate themselves to live a rich life of depth and creation. Many live yearning for divine connections, craving that level of intimacy yet terrified of what it would require them to confront their lineage, karmic patterns, or past traumas.

✨ But for the ones that do, you’re in for magic beyond belief

The choice to live wholly your own, to create a life that is authentic, unapologetic, and true, is nothing short of revolutionary. Truly knowing yourself and aligning your actions with your values requires a level of self-trust that most of us, myself included, were never taught to cultivate or even believe was possible given the conditioning of our upbringing.

If you have been here a while, you know life did not gently invite me into this work. It hurled me headfirst. Grief cracked me open more than once and the persistent reactivation of childhood wounds mirrored back through intimate relationships, addiction and hopelessness forced me to confront myself again and again. Each catalyst reshaped me from the inside out.

I became an exotic dancer in a defiant reclamation of self—an unapologetic embodiment of eros, performance, and true healing. What I’ve learned that trust and connection to something more than just our beliefs, is at the core of everything- the life force and current of it all. In cultivating that self-understanding, in recognizing that individual impulse to create and discern who we are, we can begin to embody our highest and most authentic timeline not only for ourselves, but for the world around us.

I’m still making peace with my shadows and rewriting the stories I once carried as deep shame and aloneness. But I’ve pivoted onto a path aligned with who I am—restructuring my life, moving across the country, leaning into soul-level friendships, and letting desire—not duty—be my compass.

Now onto the practical.

The reframe that’s changed everything for me is this: What if I paused long enough to ask why? Why am I making these choices? And what would it mean to choose deliciously—not out of duty or fear, but from a place of trust in what feels good and true for me?

It sounds simple, but it was an absolute uphill battle. For most of my life, I didn’t even realize how much of what I wanted wasn’t actually mine. The desires, the metrics of success, the ways I performed for approval—they were scripts and shields that felt comfortable. And I was so adept at performing, being an intuitive I had it figured out, but I didn’t notice the quiet ache underneath the stories that yearned to be met.

When I started inquiring into myself—truly noticing the patterns, the habits, the auto-pilot decisions—it cracked something open. Why was I eating this? Scrolling that? Spending time with certain people? Was it because it nourished me or because I thought I should, or did it serve a pattern that was easier to bury and run from, than to genuinely sit with.

It has all felt like learning a new language—one where my body is the translator. I began listening for the small whispers: Does this feel light or heavy? Expansive or contracting? Alive or deadening? My body had been speaking all along, but I hadn’t trusted it enough to follow and I started asking WHY.

(I actually think this is the heart of intuitive development, if it feels right, and peaceful- do it, and if not, remain level and discerning to not get swept up in the tempting pull of resolving past hurts through a karmic dance)

I started small. Tiny acts of rebellion. Saying no when my gut said no. Letting myself want what I wanted without explaining or earning it, just showing up for it. Following spontaneous desires just to see where they led. Each time, I felt the quiet hum of self-trust strengthening.

I also began rewriting the stories I carried: “I have to be perfect to be loved. I’m too much. I’m not enough.” I asked: Whose voice is that? Is this belief even mine? And little by little, I replaced them with softer truths: I don’t have to carry this burden alone anymore, and I don’t have to control everything in order to be safe, there is something that is carrying me.

This practice has been about reorienting my relationship with safety too and cultivating faith.

For so long, I thought safety meant control, predictability, doing what was expected, and unintentionally manipulating and using my strong energetic imprint for an outcome that would be beneficial for me. Now I know: safety is knowing I can hold myself—through grief, uncertainty, and joy without fear that it will be taken away, and even if it doesn’t last, at least I was there with what was real.

And perhaps the biggest shift? Letting desire—not duty—be my compass. Asking myself : What would feel delicious right now? What would I do if I trusted it would all work out? And then, slowly, letting that trust guide my actions.