My goal for 2026 is to truly trust myself. I’ve made a lot of progress in this area, but somewhere along the way, I’ve slipped back into self-doubt—wanting reassurance that I’m making the right decisions. I often ask friends for input, and this year I’ve also ventured down the rabbit hole of ChatGPT—I may have even become slightly addicted to the constant feedback.
Recently, I had a huge decision to make. I reached a point in my work where it no longer felt like a good fit, or even healthy, for me to stay. Even though I knew what I needed to do and my husband was fully supportive, I still found myself wanting—and maybe even needing—my friends’ approval. It’s completely valid to want the support of our loved ones, but needing everyone to fully agree with our decisions is a different animal. When I shared with a friend that I thought I needed to quit my job, and she didn’t immediately respond with enthusiasm, I assumed she was disappointed in me. Despite knowing I was the one living in my work environment day in and day out, I had a compulsive need for reassurance that I was making the “right” choice.
I processed both the decision itself and how and when to give my notice through text messages, long conversations, and, yes, even with ChatGPT. Eventually, a friend reminded me that I could trust myself—and that only I truly know what feels right for me, even if it doesn’t look perfect on paper. That was exactly what I needed to hear. I trusted myself and made the decision that felt right for me.
Not long after, I faced a much smaller decision when I was choosing prescription glasses for the first time since college. I texted my husband and several close friends pictures of the pairs I was considering, and ultimately chose a pair that many of them didn’t vote for. I worried they’d be annoyed that I asked for their input only to go a different direction. When I admitted that out loud, my friends quickly reassured me they could never be mad about something like that—and reminded me that I’m the one who has to literally wear this decision every day. During that conversation, one friend suggested I make 2026 “the year of trusting my inner Jess,” and I knew immediately she was right.
This season has forced me to look honestly at how much I’m learning to trust myself—and how often I still outsource that trust. As I started to unpack this pattern, I realized it didn’t come out of nowhere. When I first met with my therapist in 2020, she asked me, “How much do you trust yourself?” I laughed and said, “Not at all.”
Like many women—and Southern women especially—I was inadvertently taught to be small, quiet, and accommodating. I learned early on to trust others over myself. Growing up with a parent with whom I walked on eggshells around and often felt was not pleased with me, I worked hard to gain approval and avoided doing anything that might feel like a misstep. That tendency deepened in evangelical spaces, where I was often encouraged to seek spiritual “covering” for decisions—from pastors, mentors, and of course, my husband. While I do think it can be valuable to seek counsel, that structure often left me feeling inadequate to make my own choices. I didn’t trust my own voice, and I lived with a constant fear of getting it wrong.
One thing I’ve noticed is how much more easily we often trust others than we trust ourselves. I don’t sit around second-guessing my friends’ decisions. I trust they’re doing the best they can with the information they have, and that even if things don’t turn out as planned, it’s going to be okay—and I’ll be there to support them. I’m learning to give myself that same grace.
In some evangelical spaces I was part of, there was an underlying fear that trusting ourselves too much could be dangerous or lead to a moral failure. The stakes of “getting it wrong” felt incredibly high, so I lived in a constant state of vigilance. In my own experience, and in conversations with others, I’ve found the opposite to be true. When we’re grounded in who we are and who we want to be, we’re often more equipped to sit with hard choices and act with integrity. That doesn’t mean we’ll always choose perfectly, but it does mean we don’t have to live in constant fear of “slipping up.”
I’ve noticed that when my life lacks margin—when my mind and schedule are both overflowing—these old patterns creep back in. My nervous system lives in a state of constant overdrive, and I don’t slow down long enough to ask what I actually want or need. At the same time, I’m actively trying to teach my teenage daughter to trust herself in small, everyday ways. When she’s choosing a shirt or a book and asks what I think, I often respond with, “Which one speaks to you?”
I’m realizing I need to offer myself the same permission—to slow down, consider my options, notice what feels right in the moment, and trust myself to make a good choice. Not always the “right” choice, because there isn’t always one—but a thoughtful choice I can live with and learn from.
Here are a few practical ways I’m learning to trust myself more:
- Pause before outsourcing my thoughts. When I feel the urge to ask ChatGPT or text a friend for reassurance, I try to sit with my thoughts first or journal.
- Practice being okay with disagreement. This is very much a work in progress, but I’m learning that disagreement doesn’t mean something is wrong or that someone doesn’t love or approve of me.
- Remember my track record. I’ve made many good decisions in my life, and even when things didn’t work out perfectly or the way I planned, I was still okay.
- Create space for my nervous system to slow down. Silence, journaling, and yoga have been especially grounding—reminding me that I am safe and can trust myself.
- Lean into voices that encourage discernment over urgency and perfection. Emily P. Freeman’s The Next Right Thing podcast and books have been deeply influential for me in this area.
I know childhood patterns run deep. Even after years of self-work, I sometimes default to old fears about “getting it wrong.” Learning to trust myself isn’t about certainty—it’s about returning to myself again and again, choosing to listen, and believing that I’m capable of making good decisions. And for this next season of my life, that feels like enough.
