Who can you trust when everyone wants something from you?

Your phone shows a name you haven’t seen in fifteen years. A classmate from secondary school. “Hi! It’s been ages since we spoke, and I was thinking…” And before he even says what he was thinking, something in you tightens. Not because you’re being unkind. But because this has happened too many times already: a friendly opening, a few memories, and then a request. An investment. A loan. A job for a nephew.

And even when there is no request, a question remains that you cannot switch off: why did he really call me?

People with great wealth or a visible position often describe exactly this — not a single big blow, but a slow accumulation of experiences that wear trust down. In this post I write about what happens in relationships at that point, why mistrust is both understandable and costly, and how trust becomes possible again without being naive.

Mistrust that was once wise

First, something that needs saying clearly: mistrust in people who have a lot is not a sign of illness or a flaw of character. It is learned. It grows out of real experiences — the friend who drifted away after a joint business deal, the relative who only got in touch when they needed something, the partner about whom you were never quite sure what they saw in you.

Our nervous system learns from experience quickly and thoroughly. If something has burned you several times, you start avoiding it without even thinking about it. Relationships are the same. Caution that proved useful becomes a habit, and over time the habit becomes a filter through which you see everyone.

The problem isn’t that you are careful. The problem begins when the filter no longer discriminates. When you apply it to people who have given you no reason for suspicion — and when it costs you more than it protects you.

When every conversation becomes a test

What does it look like when mistrust spreads? Often it is very quiet. Not open suspicion, but an inner checking that never stops:

• behind every kindness you look for what is hidden;
• in conversation you wait for the moment the request will come;
• you remember gifts and attention as debts;
• you say only as much about yourself as is safe, so that no one can use it;
• you sort people into those who “want something” and those who haven’t yet shown what they want.

In psychology we call this state of constant readiness hypervigilance: the nervous system stays on the lookout even when there is no immediate danger. It is exhausting. People who live like this often say they feel drained after socialising, even though nothing in particular happened. They were working the whole time — reading intentions, weighing words, protecting themselves.

Something else happens along the way. When you expect someone to take advantage of you, you can unconsciously attribute that expectation to people who have no such intention. We call this projection. It is neither conscious nor deliberate — but it is the reason some well-meaning people feel as if they are being interrogated around you. And they withdraw.

The cost: isolation

This is where the cycle closes. People who don’t like being checked leave. Those who stay are the ones your mistrust doesn’t bother because they are in the relationship for business reasons — and in doing so they confirm that everyone really is like that. Relationships become more and more transactional, the circle narrower and narrower.

The cost is not only emotional. In a 2015 meta-analysis covering data from more than 3.4 million people, Julianne Holt-Lunstad and her colleagues found that loneliness was associated with a 26 per cent greater likelihood of death over the period observed, social isolation with 29 per cent and living alone with 32 per cent. These are magnitudes we usually associate with physical risk factors — not with relationships.

Loneliness in people with great wealth is often invisible. There are plenty of people around them — colleagues, advisers, acquaintances, company at events. But being surrounded and being known are not the same thing. The post Privacy as a prison describes how guarding your privacy can gradually separate you from people.

It is especially painful when the isolation spreads into the family. When wealth becomes a topic between siblings, between parents and adult children or between partners, even the closest relationships can start to be measured by who gets what. Then it is no longer clear whether someone loves you or loves your position. The post When you are seen only for what you have explores this in more detail.

What trust actually is

When people talk about trust, they often understand it as a verdict: I trust those who have earned it. Trust researchers describe it differently. In 1995 Roger Mayer, James Davis and David Schoorman defined trust as the willingness to be vulnerable to the actions of another — regardless of whether you can control that other person.

There is something both freeing and uncomfortable in this definition. Trust is not certainty. It is a risk. If you knew for sure that someone would not hurt you, you wouldn’t need to trust them; you would simply know. Trust begins exactly where certainty runs out. That is why trust isn’t something you receive from others as proof, but something you offer them — in a dose you can manage. Without a touch of vulnerability, there is none.

In their research with couples, John Rempel, John Holmes and Mark Zanna described how trust in close relationships grows in layers. First predictability — I know how this person behaves. Then dependability — I know I can rely on them when it matters. And finally something they called faith: the conviction that they care about me, even when I can’t check.

For people who have been taken advantage of, this description is useful because it shows that trust is not all or nothing. You don’t have to choose between trusting everyone and trusting no one. You can start at the bottom — and watch who holds.

Where we learned to trust

We don’t learn to trust only in adulthood. Our first school of trust is in childhood, in our relationship with the people who looked after us. If our parents responded predictably and warmly, a child forms an inner picture: you can lean on people. If they were unpredictable, or love came with conditions, the child learns something else. I have described how these early patterns work in the post Attachment styles: the four patterns we learn closeness by.

In wealthy families a child often notices early on that relationships around the family are not simple. Adults behaved differently towards their parents than towards others. Friends came and went. Some parents explicitly taught their children to be careful — for good reason, but at a price. A child like that may grow into an adult for whom independence is easier than closeness. This pattern is described in more detail in the post Avoidant attachment: why closeness tires and retreat calms.

In relational family therapy, in which I am training, we look at how emotional atmospheres like these are passed on from generation to generation. Mistrust of people outside the family can be an old, unwritten family law that once protected wealth or even survival, but today protects mainly against closeness. Patterns like these can be explored in the longer, 90-minute genogram session A Look into the Past.

The good news: patterns of trust are not destiny. Research on earned security shows that adults can learn a more secure way of attaching — through experiences of relationships that hold. More on this in the post Secure attachment can be learned.

Boundaries instead of walls

When other people often want something from you, it is important to tell apart two things that easily merge: a wall and a boundary. A wall lets no one in. A boundary says what is possible and what isn’t — and allows people to stay even when they hear “no”.

One of the most common confusions arises because roles get mixed in the same person. A friend is also a business partner. A relative is also someone asking for something. When roles aren’t separated, every “no” threatens the whole relationship, so people retreat either into compliance or into withdrawal. Boundaries help because they bring clarity: “I’m fond of you, but I don’t lend money to friends.” “I’m glad you called. For business I have people who handle it — I keep the two apart.”

Surprisingly often, people who hear a clear boundary stay. And they are precisely the ones you can begin to trust — not because they want nothing, but because they have survived your “no”. I describe how to say what you think without the relationship falling apart in the post How to say what you think without the relationship falling apart.

A conversation like that might go like this (composite, not a real person):

“I know it’s awkward, but… could you have a look at this business plan?”
“Thanks for trusting me with it. I don’t review friends’ plans — I learned that the hard way. But I’d love to hear how you are otherwise. It’s been a long time.”
“Oh. Yes… I understand. Actually, this year has been pretty tough.”
“Tell me.”

The request got an answer, and the relationship stayed open. Not every conversation like this will go so smoothly. But each one that holds is a small proof that a relationship can exist without a transaction.

Exercise: a map of trust

You can do this exercise today. It takes about half an hour and a sheet of paper.

The aim is not to judge people, but to see where trust already exists in your life without your noticing it — and where you have closed it off out of habit.

1. Draw three circles, one inside the other. In the inner circle write the people you trust even with things that could hurt you. In the middle one, those you can rely on in practical matters. In the outer one, people you are in contact with but don’t trust.
2. Next to each name in the two inner circles, write how that trust came about. When did this person first stay when they could have left? When did they hear your “no” and stay?
3. Look at the outer circle. Is there anyone you keep outside only because it has become a habit — not because they gave you a reason?
4. Choose one such person and one small dose of vulnerability. Not money and not a secret. Something personal you would tell a friend: how you really are, what worries you, what makes you glad.
5. Notice what happens — in them and in you. Write down what you felt before you said it and what you felt afterwards. Trust isn’t built in one step, but this is how it begins.

If the inner circle is empty, don’t despair and don’t judge yourself. That is often exactly the point at which people come to therapy.

When caution isn’t an overreaction

It wouldn’t be honest if this post sounded as though all mistrust were unnecessary.

Some people really do want to take advantage of you. Anyone who has a lot can be a target of fraud, extortion and manipulation. Checking offers, care in business decisions and advice from legal and financial professionals are not mistrust but diligence. The exercise above is not an invitation to lend money or reveal information that could put you at risk.

When there are threats or violence, it is a matter of safety, not therapy. Call the police on 113 in Slovenia, or 112 in an emergency. If you are experiencing violence in a relationship, the SOS helpline for women and children victims of violence is available on 080 11 55 in Slovenia.

Trust is not a duty. If someone has hurt you deeply, you don’t have to trust them again in order to be healthy. Trusting again is a choice, not an obligation — and sometimes the healthiest decision is not to trust someone any more.

When mistrust is no longer just caution. If it seems to you that people are following you, plotting behind your back or wanting to harm you in ways that can’t be verified, and these thoughts are taking over more and more of your days, talk to your GP or a psychiatrist. Sometimes there is something behind it that also needs a medical assessment.

The therapeutic relationship as a place to practise trust

People who are used to everyone wanting something from them sometimes wonder how they can trust a therapist — therapy is a paid service too, after all. It’s a good question. Perhaps the answer lies precisely there: the therapeutic relationship is one of the few relationships in which it is clear from the start what we owe each other. There are no hidden accounts. I need nothing from you other than that you come and that we are both honest.

Within such a clear frame, you can practise what is risky elsewhere: telling someone something about yourself and noticing what happens. Confidentiality is part of that frame. I have described what stays between us and where the legal limits are in the post Confidentiality in therapy: what stays between us and where the limits are.

I’ll be honest here too: at the start you will probably trust me only a little. That’s fine, and I don’t expect anything else from you. Trust in therapy grows the same way it does elsewhere — in layers, through experiences that hold. And once you feel it here, you can often, for the first time, carry it out into the relationships that matter to you.

Sessions take place in person in Ljubljana, in Slovenian or English.

What to remember

• Mistrust in people who have a lot is learned from real experience — it is not an illness, but it becomes costly when the filter no longer discriminates.
• Constantly checking motives is exhausting and drives away precisely those who want nothing; the cycle confirms itself and leads to isolation.
• Trust is not certainty but a willingness to be vulnerable — and it grows in layers: predictability, dependability, faith.
• A boundary is better than a wall: the people who survive your “no” are the ones you can begin to trust.
• With threats or violence, it is about safety — call 113 or 112 in Slovenia; when mistrust takes over all your thoughts, talk to a doctor.