If we allow ourselves to live life with an unconscious attitude of constant mistrust toward other people and the world in general, it can be difficult to keep friends and acquaintances, to relate to coworkers, and to keep our romantic relationships stable and satisfying.
Our own excessive mistrust can turn back on us and contribute further to our own unhappiness.
Basic mistrust is a useful and necessary thing, taught to us as children so that we can protect ourselves from people who might have questionable intentions.
However, some of us learned excessive mistrust–much more than we need–as a result of verbal, emotional or physical abuse during childhood, from family or peers.
With a mistrust/abuse schema, we become cynical and doubting about others’ intentions, perhaps downright fearing them, perhaps feeling like the world is always out to get us, to rip us off, to annoy us intentionally.
We might develop an automatic reaction to turn inward and dismiss or disbelieve things that people tell us, and we might fear getting too close to people in general, especially those who are different from us in some way, which we’re not able to evaluate.
We might also mistrust people who in some ever-so-small way remind us of the people who abused, bullied or failed to protect us when we were younger.
In a romantic relationship, we might be able to hide our mistrust schema for a while. Then, as the relationship deepens, as we know more about each other, we might start doubting or even unconsciously fearing our partner, worried that we’re going to be taken advantage of in some way that we can’t control–a bit like it was when were growing up.
In this way, we actually start pushing our partner away, though they may have no idea why we’re acting so aloof.
We might go even further and end up feeling that it’s not only other human beings that can’t be trusted. Perhaps we feel that we can’t even trust our own selves to do what’s right for ourselves, since we’re human too (this hooks into the defectiveness schema).
Development of my mistrust/abuse schema
Although my childhood was stable in some ways, neither of my parents were all that stable emotionally. What a pair… they constantly argued and yelled at each other, both of them having control issues and needing to be right about everything.
I rarely saw true love–in fact, as a youngster, I used to roll my eyes at expressions of love in movies because it seemed so phony. My parents thought that was funny, though they should have been concerned.
What I did see was my mother trying her best, in vain, to be the hard-working, stereotypically good wife, 1960s’ style, with a grumpy, demanding and narcissistic husband that she rightfully didn’t trust, and who was occasionally absent for long stretches of time due to his job. She had an alcoholic father who was largely absent in her childhood.
They yelled at us kids a lot, and hit us a bit. They called it punishment. Today it would be considered abusive, but we never thought about that back then. We thought that the only abused kids were the ones who had visible bruises.
At dinner time, I sometimes tried not to speak too much, and I would leave the table as soon as possible after eating, hoping to not get in another argument with my father. I could never tell what would annoy him and start a shouting match, but I could be certain that something would.
From a very young age, I did not trust my parents and never felt I could fully confide in them. I remember a moment when I was around 6 or 7 tears old, Mom was trying to sweetly coax me to tell her the truth about something (“You can tell me, I’m your mother”), but I had already learned to not tell her anything she doesn’t want to hear. I was already too familiar with her hateful side, even though she could be quite loving much of the time.
Besides, I had already figured out that telling the truth didn’t always matter because they would believe what they wanted to believe. I couldn’t trust them to listen to me and I knew I could occasionally get punished for things I didn’t do (my brother was a good liar). My brother and I–he four years younger than I–learned to argue in raised voices about everything just like our parents did. What a mess…
My parents kept a roof over our heads, good homemade food on the table, and they worked hard. I thank them for that; it’s so easy to take good stuff like that for granted, especially when it’s time to look back at the not-so-good stuff.
But that wasn’t enough to earn my trust. They verbally abused us kids (and each other) daily. I looked forward to a day when I would be big enough to get some revenge and abuse my father in return. I usually felt completely alone, with a partial connection with my mother, and none with my father or brother.
There’s more… for me, mistrust wasn’t just something I learned through abusive experiences with my parents. My mother actively taught us not to trust people because, as far as she was concerned, they would only have their own interests in mind. She apparently grew up with a mistrust/abuse schema of her own, and its power over her likely grew stronger from her endless bad experiences with my father.
Ironically, it was probably helpful that she taught us not to trust people, since us children would soon learn that we couldn’t trust her either. At a young age, I couldn’t understand why her “little white lies,” as she called them, were OK to tell.
This story isn’t just about my mistrust/abuse schema; it ties in with my subjugation and emotional deprivation schemas as well. Schemas overlap each other and aren’t clean-cut entities; they are merely intellectual constructs that allow us to more easily pinpoint and investigate stories of our negative patterns of feelings and actions, along with their origins.
My mistrust/abuse schema in my adult years
Just recently, I was speaking with my aunt (my late Mom’s sister) about trust issues and she cautioned me that I shouldn’t ever say too much because what I say might be used against me.
I agreed with her in principle, but added that if I never expose anything of myself to anyone, nobody has anything to like about me either, so I’ll never develop any friendships. Sadly, I’ve only recently learned this lesson, after decades of self-alienation.
In my early adult years, I didn’t notice my mistrust for people. I thought it was correct and intelligent to feel that way, since that’s how I was brought up, and apparently my aunt feels that way too.
Nonetheless, I would sometimes notice people who were more mistrusting than me, and think that their feelings were exaggerated and unrealistic. It would never occur to me that I was like that too, just to a lesser degree.
As a “gifted child,” my learned mistrust served me well in college where I was able to translate it into a strong ability to analyze and dissect ideas in so many courses involving critical thinking. I still today pride myself on this strength that not everyone has.
But I was not to have any kind of romantic relationship for several years, so I wasn’t yet seeing that my intellectual success wouldn’t guarantee any kind of emotional competency in the bedroom.
Surprisingly, I had no conscious trust issues in my first long-term romantic relationship, which lasted about seven years. A major reason for this is that I didn’t fully give myself to the relationship.
I had a confidence and detachment during that period of my life where I was most concerned with pursuing my own life path, so when our paths began to diverge, we simply separated. I was devastated by my loss, but accepted that the time had come to move on, and I did, despite the panic attacks that went on for close to a year.
Immediately following that break-up, I took a chance and moved to the West Coast to pursue a budding relationship, again having no problems trusting this new partner, fully knowing that it was all a gamble that might fail.
That relationship didn’t even last a year, but I had no bad feelings about our separation, beyond general disappointment and a vague feeling of having been used. I was starting to really like some aspects of this new place, while disliking other aspects.
Emotionally however, problems that I wouldn’t notice for years were starting to accumulate. My new job in my new city was more corporate than the creative or working-class environments where I had previously worked.
I highly mistrusted the people in this semi-corporate environment, even though they were mostly friendly and in my age group. The result was that I made almost no new friends during the 3.5 years I worked there.
My interests were quite different from most people there since I had spent most of my early adult life in creative and academic environments. I had no interest in discussing the things they talked about in the lunch room–sports, nice clothing, cars, financial success–all that came off as shallow to me.
Despite all my cultural studies in college, I was unable to accept these coworkers who I presumed were so different from me. My ever-present mistrust prevented me from connecting to these people on any level except for the most meaningless small talk.
Several schemas cross paths in this story in addition to mistrust: social isolation, emotional deprivation, and defectiveness. I hope to write about those later.
I was a victim of what I now call “the curse of the working class,” an learned assumption that those who step too far out of their working-class upbringing to embrace work in a more white-collar environment have somehow betrayed their blue-collar roots and become inauthentic. In reality, a job in a corporate environment is a job like any other, with many pluses and minuses, one you can choose to like or dislike.
When I was laid off from that job during an economic downturn, I can’t help but wonder if I was one of the first to be sent away because I was so distant, even though I was superficially friendly.
I was technically more competent than many people at that company, and I was paid a salary that was lower than my worth. I was certainly not laid off for reasons related to my competency.
Perhaps people at that company just found it creepy that they knew little about me after working with me for 3.5 years. Thanks to my mistrust schema, I simply felt so alienated by the office environment there that I couldn’t open up to most of my coworkers.
My next job would last 12 years at an unstable company, one year at a time, with omnipresent threats of layoffs, and I would socially sabotage myself there too. I stayed aloof and unapproachable, again due to my learned mistrust of people, always afraid I would be thrown out with the next round of layoffs if I let people know who I really am, although I did really well there technically too.
Though I hadn’t recognized it yet, depression was slowly slipping into my life around the time I finally changed jobs again a few years ago. I found myself in a new work environment even more corporate than the previous one, but a bit more supportive and relaxed in some ways, contrary to my expectations.
These days, as I work through therapy and see how much mistrust I’ve uselessly carried into the present from my past, unintentionally alienating others as well as myself over the years, I find myself working on cultivating acquaintances at my new workplace.
It’s likely that most of these acquaintances at work will never become deep, close friends due to our many differences, and that’s perfectly OK. Not everyone needs to become a close friend. However, becoming part of a network of acquaintances where I actually belong helps me to feel more grounded.
I’ve found that it is possible to develop respectful professional relationships with people at work with whom I have little in common, just by virtue of the service that the other person and I provide for each other on the job. I don’t need to agree with their political or religious views and we don’t usually have a need to discuss those things. I can recognize intrinsically good people when I interact with them.
I’ve even gone so far as to carefully hint at the taboo topics of depression and psychotherapy in conversation with several people at work (after much deliberation, since I don’t want to talk about these subjects with just anyone). By doing so, I now have “secret bonds” with a few folks at work with whom I’m not otherwise strongly connected.
Many of these “workplace acquaintance interactions” are not that deep, but I’ve noticed that they are generally positive and trust-building in tiny ways. If I have many of these little positive interactions during a day at work, and the day has few negative experiences to counter them, I can end the day feeling reasonably happy.
That is an accomplishment: keep doing anything that makes you feel better, whatever it is, however small it is, it all adds up. Don’t just try to paste on a phony smile, that may not help.
Depression seems to develop the same way: hundred or thousands of little tiny things that aren’t important individually kept piling up ever-so-slowly until I felt totally negative about everything in the world, including myself.