Difficulty Building Relationships Because of Distrust

Some leadership challenges don’t begin in the workplace.
They begin in childhood.

When a child is harmed, and the person who is supposed to protect them does nothing, something fundamental breaks. Trust doesn’t just weaken; it never gets the chance to form.

As a little girl, I learned very early that speaking up did not guarantee safety. I learned that telling the truth did not automatically lead to protection. And when the person you are supposed to trust the most chooses silence, inaction, or curiosity over protection, a child internalizes a painful lesson: I am on my own.

That kind of experience doesn’t stay in childhood.
It follows you.

It shows up as watchfulness.
As silence.
As reading people closely instead of trusting words.

I became observant. I learned to read body language, tone, and patterns. I didn’t talk much; I watched. Those skills later served me well as a leader. I could read a room. I could sense tension. I could see what others missed.

But the same skill that protects you can also isolate you.

Years of harm and years of waiting for someone to step in build a deep, layered distrust. Then adulthood arrives, and relationships begin. You want to trust. You want someone to finally protect you. But people are human. They make mistakes. And when those relationships hurt too, the distrust deepens.

By the time you enter leadership, you are carrying more than a resume.
You are carrying history.

In the workplace, that history shows up quietly. You analyze everything. You question motives. You don’t take kindness at face value. When mentoring opportunities arise, instead of receiving them, you dismantle them,  looking for the hidden cost. What do they want from me? Because no one has ever simply given without strings.

Over time, protective behaviors are misread. Caution is labeled as resistance. Boundaries are called aggression. And the leader becomes known as “difficult” or “hard to work with.”

Not because they are unskilled.
But because they are guarded.

Here is the paradox I lived for a long time:
I could protect others in ways I never allowed for myself.

As a leader, I fiercely advocated for my staff. I encouraged growth. I celebrated their next steps,  even when those steps led them away from me. I wrote letters of recommendation with pride. I wanted to be what I never had.

Yet when that same support came toward me, I rejected it.

I could give safety.
I could not receive it.

That contradiction is not a weakness.
It is unresolved survival.

And this is where leadership requires honesty.

We bring our stories into our careers. If we don’t acknowledge them, they don’t disappear — they quietly shape our decisions, our relationships, and our reputations.

True growth begins when we recognize that our protective walls, while once necessary, may now be limiting us.

And true leadership,  real leadership,  requires something deeper than judgment or labels. It requires curiosity. It requires learning people’s stories before defining their behavior.

Hurt people are not bad people.
They are people who learned to survive without protection.

Mentorship without understanding is surface-level leadership.
Guidance without curiosity is control.

If you call yourself a leader, take the time to learn the story.
Not the rumor.
Not the label.
The story.

Because you cannot truly mentor someone if you don’t understand where they learned to protect themselves.

And sometimes, the most powerful leadership act is not fixing,
it is seeing.

Key Takeaway

Unacknowledged hurt doesn’t remain personal; it quietly shapes how we lead, trust, receive support, and interpret others' intentions.

Reflective Question for Readers

In what ways have you learned to give what you never received;
and how might that shape the way you lead, trust, or accept support?

Gentle References & Further Reading

(for readers who want language, understanding, or context, not rigidity)

Trauma and the Difficulty Receiving Care

Many trauma-informed frameworks explain why individuals who experienced early betrayal or neglect can become highly capable caregivers and leaders, yet struggle to receive support themselves.

This pattern is often linked to protective independence and survival-based self-reliance — where giving feels safer than receiving.

Suggested reading:

• The Body Keeps the Score – Bessel van der Kolk
  Explores how early trauma shapes adult relational patterns, including trust, hypervigilance, and difficulty receiving care.

Attachment, Trust, and Leadership

Attachment research shows that early disruptions in safety and protection can lead to adult patterns of vigilance, guardedness, and difficulty trusting authority figures, even when those figures are supportive.

This helps explain why mentorship may feel threatening instead of supportive.

Suggested reading:

• Attached – Amir Levine & Rachel Heller
  Offers accessible insight into how early attachment experiences influence adult relationships, including professional ones.

 The Giver–Receiver Imbalance

Psychological research describes how some individuals become highly skilled at giving support while unconsciously rejecting it for themselves. This is sometimes discussed as asymmetrical caregiving or one-way relational safety.

Giving allows control. Receiving requires vulnerability.

Suggested reading:

• Daring Greatly – Brené Brown
  Addresses vulnerability, self-protection, and why receiving support can feel more threatening than offering it.

Trauma-Informed Leadership

Trauma-informed leadership frameworks recognize that leaders bring lived experiences into their roles, and that behaviors often labeled as “difficult” are frequently adaptive responses to past harm.

This directly supports your call for leaders to learn the story, not just judge the behavior.

Suggested reading:

• Trauma-Informed Leadership – Howard Bath & Ruth Deans
  Explores leadership through the lens of trauma, trust, and relational safety.

Being Resilient Regardless of What Happened in My Life

An Orchid Story of Strength & Resilience

I’ve spent much of my life wondering where my strength came from.

It wasn’t something I consciously chose. It wasn’t something I trained for. It was simply steadiness, unyielding, and present even when life tried to convince me otherwise.

People often say children are resilient, that they bounce back easily, an idea that resilience research has long supported (Masten, 2014). And maybe that’s true. But what surprises me most is that my resilience hasn’t faded as I've gotten older. If anything, it sharpened.

No matter what has happened to me, no matter how painful, disappointing, or unfair a situation has been, I’ve never allowed myself to stay in that space for too long. I cry. I feel overwhelmed. I let myself sit in the hurt. I permit myself to grieve.

But I don’t live there.

Because I know myself well enough to know that if I stay too long in that space, it becomes dangerous. It becomes the place where self-doubt grows louder, where negative voices creep in, where motivation dissolves into stillness, something that trauma and resilience studies caution can happen when distress lingers too long (Bonanno, 2004). And I refuse to sink into a place that steals my movement.

My life hasn’t been easy, but I’m also careful with how I tell my story. I know some people have endured far more than I have. So I don’t label my life as tragic. I’ve experienced trauma. I’ve been hurt. I’ve been underestimated. But I never allowed those moments to define the limits of my future.

In fact, every traumatic experience did the opposite.

It pushed me.

When I was told I wouldn’t be anything more than a maid.
When opportunities were withheld from me, roles I knew I had earned but were intentionally denied.
When doors were quietly closed without explanation.

I didn’t retreat.

I pushed harder.

There’s something in me, something deeply rooted that refuses to accept limitation. Maybe it’s cultural. Perhaps it’s ancestral. As a Jamaican and Belizean woman, I was raised with a clear message: no one is better than you. You can learn. You can grow. You can rise, a belief system research links to resilience through identity and cultural grounding (Ungar, 2011).

And I believed that.

If someone suggests I can’t do something, something inside me ignites. How dare you tell me I can’t? That single doubt becomes fuel. If you think I lack knowledge, I will go find it. If you think I don’t have the skill, I will learn it, practice it, and implement it well, a response closely aligned with what psychologists describe as growth mindset and self-efficacy (Dweck, 2006; Bandura, 1997).

I don’t wait to be taught.

I research.
I watch.
I learn.
And then I do.

I’ve mastered skills I had never touched before simply because I refused to accept “I don’t know” as an ending. Building my business wasn’t handed to me. I didn’t rely on constant guidance. I studied. I observed. I gathered information. And I implemented step by step.

What I’ve learned over time is this: there are no unintelligent people. Some people have knowledge, and people who choose not to seek it. In a world where information lives in the palm of our hands, lack of knowledge is rarely about access. It’s about intention—something learning theory consistently emphasizes (Bandura, 1997).

And resilience lives in that intention.

That doesn’t mean I never feel defeated. I do. I have moments where the weight feels heavy. But I don’t stay down. I don’t numb myself. I don’t disappear. I come back swinging every time, which aligns with how resilience is described in the research: not as the absence of struggle, but the ability to re-engage (Masten, 2014).

That resilience is what saved me. It’s what kept me from becoming a statistic. It’s what kept me moving when stillness would have been easier.

And when I work with staff who struggle with motivation, self-worth, or belief, I wish I could hand them this drive. I wish I could embed it inside them. All I can do is speak it out loud: Show them. Prove it to yourself. Learn the skill. Apply the knowledge. Stand in your power.

Resilience isn’t about pretending things don’t hurt.

It’s about refusing to let hurt decide who you become.

Key Takeaway

Resilience is not the absence of pain, struggle, or disappointment. It is the decision to engage again, to learn, to adapt, and to refuse to let hurt determine who you become. Strength grows not because life is easy, but because you choose movement over stagnation and intention over defeat.

Reflective Notes

Resilience often goes unnoticed when it becomes familiar. We move forward without pausing to acknowledge how much strength it took simply to keep going.

Consider this:

• Where have you already demonstrated resilience without naming it?

• What challenges pushed you to grow rather than retreat?

• How might honoring your own resilience shift the way you see yourself today?

Resilience does not require perfection. It requires presence, reflection, and the courage to continue.

References

Bandura, A. (1997). Self-efficacy: The exercise of control. New York, NY: W.H. Freeman.

Bonanno, G. A. (2004). Loss, trauma, and human resilience: Have we underestimated the human capacity to thrive after extremely aversive events? American Psychologist, 59(1), 20–28.

Dweck, C. S. (2006). Mindset: The new psychology of success. New York, NY: Random House.

Masten, A. S. (2014). Ordinary magic: Resilience in development. New York, NY: Guilford Press.

Ungar, M. (2011). The social ecology of resilience: Addressing contextual and cultural ambiguity of a nascent construct. American Journal of Orthopsychiatry, 81(1), 1–17.

Pushing Through Pain and Just Keep Going No Matter What

Soft hearts and steady spines carry us through. This mood honors your quiet strength, the power to stay flexible without losing your form. Here you’ll find reflections that help you bend when needed, breathe through challenge, and return stronger, not harder.

Strength & Resilience: Rising Beyond the Hurt

Content Note: As you read, consider the unseen battles your coworkers and staff may carry,  and what leadership looks like when we lead with understanding rather than judgment

From the earliest days of my childhood, I carried invisible wounds. I experienced sexual assault. I immigrated to a new country and faced further abuse. I lived under the expectations of adults whose approval I sought and under the bullying of peers who made me feel unseen. Something inside whispered: You’re not enough. And yet another voice replied: Watch me.

And that voice followed me into my professional life.

Throughout my career in early childhood education, in roles as director, education coordinator, and education manager, I have encountered leaders who struggled with the strength I demonstrated and the confidence I projected. They didn’t know the story behind that strength. They didn’t know what I had overcome to stand where I stood. Some worked to discredit, diminish, or overlook me. I continued to fight, not just to keep my title, but to keep uplifting the staff I led.

People saw a capable leader.
They did not see how hard I had to fight behind the scenes just to be one.

But I never gave up.
I knew God placed me in leadership for a purpose, to support those who remind me of the child I once was. To help others recognize their gifts before doubt steals their belief. I often think of the children growing up in places like where I was raised, places like Compton, where many are told they will never be anything. I know that voice all too well.

We all have potential.
Sometimes we are a little rough around the edges, but our hearts are pure.

What we need are mentors, not critics. Leaders who can see past the imperfections long enough to nurture the promise inside. If every leader could pause, step back, and choose to see potential instead of flaws, imagine what workplaces could become.

And so my resilience is more than persistence. It is my mission to ensure that no staff member, no child, no person has their potential minimized because someone else cannot recognize their worth.

Wellness Insight

Resilience is not simply enduring; it’s transforming pain into purpose. The narrative of survival, when shared, becomes a leadership asset. In fact, research confirms that authentic storytelling in leadership fosters resilience, enhances engagement, and builds psychological safety in teams. SpringerLink+1
Additionally, leadership style matters: servant-leadership practices,  which emphasize supporting others, recognizing their worth, and building community, are positively linked to employee resilience and engagement. PMC+1

Reflection for Readers

• What hidden pain have you carried that still drives you forward?

• In what ways are you proving something, to yourself or to others, instead of embracing who you already are?

• How can you transition from proving your worth to believing your worth and supporting others in believing theirs?

Key Takeaway

You are resilient because you keep going.
You are powerful because your pain became your purpose.
And the next step is not simply to persist,  it is to guide others with your persistence.

Organizational Bridge to SILWELL-C

This story reminds us that within every organization, there are staff members silently proving their worth rather than being seen for their inherent value. Leadership that only rewards performance misses the deeper human story at play. With SILWELL-C, organizations build cultures where hidden strength is acknowledged, not simply tolerated, where resilience becomes part of the fabric, not just the outcome.

Organizational Reflection

• Who among your team is silently proving rather than belonging?

• Which structures reward relentless output but ignore emotional well-being?

• What can you implement to shift from valuing what they do to valuing who they are?

Where story meets science, strength grows through understanding.

• Kampmann, A. (2022). Using Storytelling to Promote Organizational Resilience. Springer. SpringerLink

• Zigarmi, L. (2010). Storytelling at Work: A Leadership Offer for Well-being. University of Pennsylvania. repository.upenn.edu

• “The Effect of Servant Leadership on Work Resilience.” (2022) Frontiers in Psychology. PMC

• “How Servant Leadership Predicts Employee Resilience in Public Organizations.” (2022) Current Psychology. PubMed

The Day I Stood Up

Soft hearts and steady spines carry us through. This mood honors your quiet strength, the power to stay flexible without losing your form. Here you’ll find reflections that help you bend when needed, breathe through challenge, and return stronger, not harder.

Soft heart, steady spine.

Sensitive Topic: This story contains references to childhood bullying and physical discipline.

When I moved from Belize to America at the age of six, everything about me made me stand out. My accent. My limp. My quiet nature. Kids didn’t understand my culture, and back in the late 1980s, differences weren’t celebrated. It was teased. Every day after school, I was pushed, called names, and mocked for how I spoke and walked.

I didn’t fight back. My aunt was strict and had warned me that if I ever caused trouble, she’d show up at school with a belt. So, I held it in, but the teasing didn’t stop. I remember one afternoon, she came to pick me up and saw a group of kids walking behind me, laughing. That day, she told me not to let anyone bully me again.

Her words confused me. How can I protect myself while still following her rules? But the next time it happened, something inside me changed. I was in sixth grade when a girl said something cruel about my mother, and I snapped. I fought back. That was the first fight I ever had, and though I dreaded the consequences, I felt something I hadn’t felt before: power.

The next day, I was called to the office. The principal gave me two options: take six swats with a paddle or have them call my aunt. I took the swats. I was sore, but for the first time, I wasn’t scared.

That day changed me. It didn’t make me violent; it made me aware. Aware that standing up for yourself isn’t about anger. It’s about reclaiming your dignity. It’s about no longer letting fear define your worth.

I learned how to code-switch between dialects, how to blend in when I needed to, but more importantly, I learned that strength doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it’s the quiet decision to stop running, turn around, and say, Enough.

“That day, I learned strength isn’t loud. It’s the quiet choice to no longer shrink.”

Bullies feed on silence. That day, I found my voice, not to harm, but to protect. Sometimes resilience begins the moment you stop shrinking to make others comfortable.

Where story meets science, strength grows through understanding.

Resilience is the ability to adapt well to adversity; many people also experience post-traumatic growth, develop new strengths, and find meaning after hardship.
Good sources: APA on resilience; Tedeschi & Calhoun’s post-traumatic growth research. American Psychological Association+1