Reflections on Change and Trust

Today was a day of deep change—difficult, but necessary. I was faced with choices I never wanted to make, yet had to, for my own well-being.

Trust is such a delicate thing. It can take years to build and only a moment to break. And when it does, it leaves behind more than just distance—it leaves questions, confusion, and a sense of loss.

I’ve worked hard to build a future for myself—through nursing school, psychology, and now law—and I know I have to protect that. But I’ve realized that true growth isn’t just about academic or career success. It’s about knowing when to stand up for yourself, when to set boundaries, and when to let go of things that no longer align with your well-being.

Lately, I’ve been under a lot of stress, not just because of life, but because of something I never saw coming. Someone I respected and trusted made a decision that changed everything. I believed we had enough trust to work through misunderstandings, that we could have an open and honest conversation. But when I tried, I was met with silence.

A situation that should have been handled with communication instead escalated into something completely unnecessary. Instead of understanding, there was judgment. Instead of a chance to resolve things, I was served with a temporary restraining order—something that was later dismissed because it was based on twisted words, not truth.

But even now, I find myself asking:

Was it really necessary?

A simple conversation could have solved everything. That’s all I ever wanted. And even now, despite everything, I don’t hold onto resentment—I just hold onto the question of why.

I don’t believe people act out of pure malice. I think sometimes, emotions, pressure, and outside voices cloud judgment. And maybe, looking back, things could have been handled differently. Maybe fear played a role. Maybe assumptions got in the way. Maybe, in another time or place, we could have worked through it.

I’ve spent the past two months trying to understand. Trying to process. Trying to move forward. And while I’ve learned a lot, the biggest lesson has been this: Never let fear or outside influence dictate your choices. Trust your gut, and when in doubt, ask yourself—if the roles were reversed, would I have done this to them? The answer is usually clear.

This experience has changed me, in ways I didn’t expect. I understand now why so many autistic people struggle to trust—because sometimes, the people you believe would never hurt you are the ones who walk away without a second thought.

But despite everything, I still believe in grace. I still believe in understanding. And I still believe that, in another version of this story, things could have been different.

I don’t know if I’ll ever fully trust again. But if I do, it will be because someone chooses to meet me where I am—with honesty, not fear. With clarity, not assumptions. With a willingness to talk, even when things are difficult.

For now, I will focus on becoming the best version of myself. That is what I can control, and that is where my energy must go.

I wish I had been more cautious with my trust, that I had protected my heart a little more. I’ve learned that opening up comes with risks, and while connection can be beautiful, it can also leave wounds. Next time, I’ll be more mindful of who I let in.

In the end, all I ever wanted was peace for the both of us.