You can’t ask someone to prove they’ve changed if you never give them a chance to show you.
I’ve been thinking a lot about trust lately. Not just how easily it can be broken, but how incredibly complicated it can be to rebuild.
Because there’s something about trust that sounds perfectly reasonable until you stop and really think about it.
We tell people, “You need to earn my trust back.”
Fair enough. Trust is earned, and when someone has disappointed us, it’s understandable that we don’t want to find ourselves in that position again.
But here’s where things get interesting.
Sometimes we become so focused on making sure someone doesn’t disappoint us again that we never actually give them the opportunity to prove they won’t.
And then we wonder why the relationship isn’t improving.
See the problem?
The Uncomfortable Part Nobody Likes Talking About
Rebuilding trust means accepting that it could be broken again.
I know. Not exactly the reassuring message you were hoping for.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could get some kind of guarantee? Maybe a notarized document stating that the person has learned their lesson, understands the consequences, and will never, under any circumstances, disappoint us again?
Unfortunately, people don’t come with warranties. And even if they did, I’d have some questions about the fine print. The reality is that trust requires a certain amount of vulnerability.
In organizational psychology, researchers have studied this relationship for decades. One influential model from Mayer, Davis, and Schoorman describes trust in terms of our willingness to be vulnerable to another person’s actions. In other words, trust exists precisely because we cannot completely control the outcome.
Think about that for a moment.
If there were absolutely no possibility of disappointment, there wouldn’t be much risk involved in trusting someone.
But when trust has already been broken, the possibility of disappointment becomes much more personal. We remember what happened. We remember how it felt. And we start looking for ways to make sure it never happens again.
Sometimes those protective measures are necessary.
Other times, without realizing it, we build walls so high that there’s no room left for someone to demonstrate growth.
There’s a Difference Between Protection and Control
Imagine you’re leading someone who made a significant mistake. Maybe they missed an important deadline, handled a difficult conversation poorly, or failed to follow through on a commitment. You address the problem. You explain the impact. You establish expectations for what needs to change. All appropriate.
But then, because you don’t want the same thing to happen again, you begin making every decision for them.
You review their work before they submit it. You take over responsibilities they previously managed. You require approval for things they used to handle independently.
And eventually, you find yourself frustrated because they aren’t showing initiative.
Well, how could they?
We’ve created a situation where demonstrating independence is practically impossible.
Now, I’m not suggesting that every mistake deserves another chance or that consequences should disappear because someone says they’re sorry.
Accountability is essential. But accountability should help us evaluate whether meaningful change is happening. It shouldn’t automatically become a permanent restriction that makes change impossible to demonstrate.
And this isn’t just a workplace issue.
We experience the same tension in friendships, partnerships, families, and just about any relationship where people depend on one another. We want to see different behavior, but we’re understandably reluctant to create another situation where someone’s behavior could hurt or disappoint us.
So how do we find our way through that?
Trust Doesn’t Have to Be All or Nothing
One of the most useful things we can recognize is that trust isn’t necessarily a single, all-encompassing decision.
You might trust someone to follow through on a small commitment while still being unwilling to depend on them for something with much bigger consequences. You might trust a colleague with a clearly defined assignment before giving them responsibility for an entire project. You might be comfortable sharing a small concern with a friend before confiding something deeply personal.
Trust can be specific. It can be gradual. And it can be evaluated as new information becomes available.
That’s especially important when we’re rebuilding something that has been damaged. The goal isn’t to pretend the past didn’t happen. It’s to create appropriate opportunities for the future to look different. And that requires participation from both people. The person who broke trust has a responsibility to acknowledge what happened, take accountability, and demonstrate meaningful change.
The person deciding whether to extend trust has a different responsibility: to establish appropriate boundaries, evaluate the evidence, and decide what level of vulnerability they’re actually willing to accept.
That doesn’t obligate anyone to keep offering chances, particularly when there has been abuse, manipulation, repeated dishonesty, or an unacceptable risk of harm.
You can believe someone is capable of change without making yourself responsible for proving it.
That’s an important distinction.
What Resilience Has to Do With Trust
As a resiliency researcher and executive coach, I’m fascinated by how our expectations influence the choices we make.
When we’ve experienced disappointment, it makes sense that we become more cautious. Our past experiences give us valuable information, and ignoring that information wouldn’t be particularly wise.
But there’s a difference between using the past to inform our decisions and allowing it to determine every future possibility.
This is where I think resilient optimism becomes especially powerful.
Resilient optimism isn’t pretending everyone has good intentions or assuming everything will work out beautifully. It’s the ability to acknowledge difficult realities while remaining open to the possibility that something better can develop.
Sometimes people really do change.
Sometimes they don’t.
The challenge is learning how to recognize the difference without becoming so consumed by the fear of disappointment that we stop seeing possibilities altogether.
And that’s where I return to the three questions that guide so much of my work.
1. What can I control?
I can’t control whether another person makes good decisions, tells the truth, or follows through on a promise. I can control my expectations, my boundaries, my response, and how much responsibility I’m willing to extend. I can also decide what evidence of change I need to see before I’m comfortable extending more trust.
2. What are my options?
Trust doesn’t have to mean handing someone everything and hoping for the best. Maybe I can begin with a smaller commitment. Maybe we can establish clearer expectations. Maybe additional support or accountability would create a healthier opportunity for someone to demonstrate progress. And sometimes, an entirely valid option is deciding that I’m not ready to extend trust again. The point is recognizing that I have choices.
3. What is the worst-case scenario?
This question matters because not all risks are created equal.
If the worst possible outcome of a small opportunity is a manageable disappointment, perhaps that’s a reasonable place to begin. But if the consequences could seriously affect someone’s safety, well-being, or livelihood, that deserves a very different level of caution.
Resilience isn’t about taking unnecessary risks. It’s about developing the clarity to decide which risks are appropriate and how we’ll respond if things don’t go as planned.
The Opportunity to Become Someone Different
I think one of the more beautiful things about being human is that we aren’t permanently limited to the people we’ve been.
We can learn. We can grow. We can recognize mistakes and make different choices. But change is more than an intention. It has to become visible in our behavior. And when we’re talking about rebuilding trust, that visibility matters. It’s not enough for someone to say they’ve changed. We need opportunities to see whether their actions support that claim.
Sometimes those opportunities result in renewed confidence. Sometimes they reveal that more work is needed. And sometimes they help us recognize that a relationship cannot be rebuilt in the way we’d hoped.
None of those outcomes means we were wrong to approach the situation thoughtfully.
They mean we gathered information and can make our next decision with greater clarity. Because the purpose of extending trust isn’t to guarantee a particular outcome. It’s to make an informed choice about the possibility of one.
So the next time you find yourself saying someone needs to earn your trust, I encourage you to consider one more question:
Have I created a safe, appropriate opportunity for them to demonstrate that they can?
Not because they automatically deserve it. Not because you owe it to them. But because sometimes rebuilding trust requires making room for a future that doesn’t look exactly like the past. And that’s a pretty powerful expression of resilience.
Keep the Conversation Going
We’re exploring ideas about resilience, optimism, and how we navigate life’s challenges in my virtual book club, centered around Resilient Optimism by Michelle Gielan. It’s an ongoing, self-paced conversation with no meetings or reading deadlines. You’re welcome to join whenever you’d like.
Join the Resilient Optimism Virtual Book Club
And if you’re a leader navigating difficult relationships, complex decisions, or challenges with trust and accountability, these are exactly the kinds of conversations we can explore through executive coaching.
Learn more about working with me.
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