That’s a powerful question—and it sounds like it’s coming from experience. As a coach, I hear both vulnerability and self-reflection in it, which tells me you’re someone who feels deeply and thinks deeply. That’s not weakness—it’s strength. But I also know it can be exhausting when that depth isn’t met or honored by others.
Here’s what I’ve seen time and time again:
Trust is one of the most generous things you can offer someone. But full trust—trusting someone with everything—isn’t something you owe anyone. It’s something they earn. And not just once, but consistently, through how they show up, how they handle conflict, and how they hold space for who you are, especially when things get uncomfortable.
It’s incredibly human to want to give someone all of you when it feels right. But trust without boundaries can leave you feeling responsible for someone else’s behavior—or blaming yourself when things fall apart. And that’s a heavy place to sit.
So, from a coaching lens, I’d ask:
What did trusting them represent to you?
Were there signs that something felt off, and if so—did you override them?
And most importantly: what part of you are you trying to protect now?
Because the question isn’t just “was it worth it?”
It’s also “how do I rebuild trust in myself now?”
You’re allowed to want connection. You’re allowed to lead with an open heart. The goal isn’t to become guarded—it’s to become wise with your openness, and selective with your energy.
If you’d like to unpack this more—maybe talk through what happened or explore what trust means for you now—I’m here. Just say the word, and we can take it one step at a time.

When I really needed more confidence?
It was the moment I stepped into leadership for the first time—when I officially became “the boss.” I’d led before, informally, but the title made it real. And everything shifted.
Not because I didn’t want the role—I did. I was deeply committed to performing well. I wanted to be fair, strong, helpful, and competent. But that exact mindset—where I had no concern for my own wellbeing and only wanted to get things right—also made me hesitate. It made me nervous about making mistakes, about people’s opinions, and especially about being perceived as “changed” or too tough.
Here’s what I was really afraid of:
That people would say I changed.
And they did. I wish I had the confidence to not let that rattle me. Because the truth is, stepping into a leadership role requires change. You’re not just “one of the team” anymore—you set the tone, hold the line, and sometimes make hard calls. That’s not betrayal—it’s responsibility. Confidence would’ve let me accept that sooner and communicate it with more clarity and calm.
That I’d come off as “the bad guy.”
I spent a lot of energy trying to stay likable. I avoided being too firm, softened my feedback, or took on extra work to “keep the peace.” What I learned too late is this: you can be respected without being feared—and strong without being cold. Confidence would’ve helped me speak with authority and warmth, instead of bouncing between the two.
That I wouldn’t know what to do.
And guess what? I didn’t always know. But I acted like I did, because I thought leaders had to be bulletproof. That only made things harder. If I’d had more confidence, I would’ve asked more questions, invited more input, and created a culture of shared learning from the start.
That I wouldn’t know how to handle “difficult” people.
Early on, I felt outmatched by strong personalities—those who challenged decisions, bent the rules, or quietly resisted change. I tiptoed around them or overcompensated. What confidence would’ve changed? I would’ve trusted my values. I would’ve set boundaries earlier. And I would’ve stood more firmly without needing to become defensive or emotional.
So what would have been different?
If I had the confidence then that I’ve developed now, I would have:
Spoken clearly, even when it wasn’t what people wanted to hear.
Taken pushback as part of the job, not a sign I was failing.
Prioritized clarity over popularity.
Handled uncertainty by leaning on curiosity, not pressure.
Led with a calmer center—even when storms were brewing around me.
Confidence isn’t the absence of fear or mistakes. It’s the ability to move forward with integrity despite those things. It’s the quiet belief that you can handle what comes, and when you can’t—you’ll figure it out.

I would be happy to brainstorm with you what challenges your confidence. I am sure you that once you get over that, many other challenging aspects will take care of themselves.