Compass Point 6 — What Can I Trust Now?

Learning what feels steady when certainty is no longer a given

Trust used to feel simple.

You trusted the people you loved.
You trusted the systems meant to hold you.
You trusted your own body to carry you through the day.

And then something changed.

Not always in a single moment.
Sometimes through small dismissals.
A promise that didn’t hold.
A signal your body sent that no one else seemed to hear.

This compass point lives in that quiet erosion.

In the space between what you were told to believe
and what you’ve learned through experience.

When trust cracks, many people try to rebuild it outward first.

New plans.
New structures.
New assurances meant to replace what fell away.

But this compass point turns in a different direction.

It asks what inside you still feels reliable.

The sensation of your breath returning after a hard moment.
The way your body knows when it’s had enough.
The subtle yes or no that arrives before you explain it.

Trust here is not a contract.
It’s a practice.

You may notice it in small, unremarkable ways.

In the choice to rest instead of push.
In the decision to leave a room that doesn’t feel safe.
In the moment you stop arguing with what your own experience is telling you.

This compass point isn’t about becoming certain.

It’s about becoming attuned.

About learning the difference
between what is loud
and what is true.

Over time, you may find that trust stops living in answers.

It starts living in attention.

In what you notice.
In what you no longer ignore.
In what consistently brings you back to yourself
when everything else feels unsteady.

Just a steady place to ask,
without needing to guarantee anything yet:

Compass Point 6 — What Can I Trust Now?

Stories that live inside :

• Where Trust Can Land ( coming soon

• The Ask ( coming soon)