Do you trust me?

Recently, I watched a new show on Netflix called “How To Build A Sex Room”. An English woman who is a professional interior designer creates custom intimate spaces for romantic partners. In the design process, she has to learn what they like in the bedroom, and what they hope this space will make possible for them. There is frank, sex-positive dialogue and lots of cheesy sex-related jokes.

NSFW, obviously, but fun to watch.

One thing that fascinates me about this show (or any show where a stranger is making modifications to your home on national television) is the amount of trust expected so quickly.

Not just expected, but required.

In the first episode, the designer keeps asking the couple: “Do you trust me?”.

What a question.

Do you trust me to make changes to your life that won’t be easily undone? Do you trust me to listen well enough to your needs to translate your dream into a reality? Do you trust me to let me into your private space?

It’s a lot to ask. It’s quite some time before the couple can say “Yes, I trust you”.

We are often encountered with the expectation of trust in relationships or interactions that are incredibly intimate. The amount of confidence that we give to strangers on a daily basis is astonishing to me. I don’t know my dental hygienist’s last name, but twice a year I let her into my mouth with pointy objects. I drive around this city with a default belief that everyone is taking as much care on the road as I am.

But the alternative is not great. The alternative is to choose mistrust as a default, which would have me never leaving my house if I really gave in to it.

Might my confidence in these people be diminished if I have a bad experience at the dentist, or get into a car accident? Sure.

Would I still need to find a way to let trust back into my reality so that my teeth don’t rot and I don’t become afraid of ever getting in a car again? Absolutely.

Trust is critical, a required condition for meaningful human interaction.

That’s a tough one because our brains are working really hard to protect us from experiences that it thinks will hurt us. This is called bias, and it is based on our unique experiences, how we interpret those experiences, the stories we hear, and the culture all around us. It’s HELLA COMPLEX.

Each of us has a unique set of biases that make us naturally want to turn away from things that seem like a threat. And a lot of things can look/feel like threats, even if they are not.

But in reality, the key to our collective progress is our ability to turn towards each other. To cultivate, over time, “confidence in the character, ability, strength, or truth of someone or something”.

Without it, we carry life’s loads in isolated fear. We miss out on opportunities to be seen, held, helped, and loved. We suffer and celebrate in silence.

It’s a complexity, one that we must wrestle with if we are to move forward as people occupying this Earth. Even if trust is broken, shaken, or disrupted - if we are committed to the same vision and the same outcomes, then we must be committed to repairing what’s broken so that we can get there together.

A NOTE TO READERS - I have MANY more thoughts on this topic and will write about it in the future: Trust also has layers and dimensions, and it is not (can not be) equally distributed among all the humans you interact with. Sometimes we have to work on it. Sometimes it takes time and some effort to build it, or repair it, or truly feel it. It grows in cycles and iterations, and sometimes the hardest place to hold trust is in your most intimate relationships. Once it is betrayed it may be gone forever. And some people or situations won’t be worthy of your trust (you just better hope your sex room designer is).

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Also, you can hear me talk about this topic here.