In my experience, trust comes up quite regularly in my chats with young people. Sometimes it’s about trusting themselves. Sometimes it’s about whether they can trust a friend. Sometimes it’s about teachers, parents, “the system”, or even the media. It can feel hard to build, easy to lose, and vulnerable to give. But what does it mean to trust?
“Trust is believing someone will do what they say they will do”
At its simplest, I think trust is believing someone will do what they say they will do. It’s an expectation that their words and actions will line up. It’s also about motivation; believing that someone genuinely has your best interests at heart. It’s the sense of being physically and emotionally safe in someone’s presence.
Without some level of trust, relationships don’t really work. If I don’t feel safe with you, I won’t open up to you. If I’m unsure how you’ll react, I’ll edit myself. If I don’t believe you’re consistent, I’ll keep my distance.
What I’ve learnt from young people is that trust is rarely a simple “do I trust you or not?” but a more layered question: how much can I trust you? They might trust someone to hold their bag, but not their phone, or they might trust a friend with a crush, but not with something that feels shameful.
Why is trust costly for some young people?
I was raised with a simple assumption: trust people unless they give you a reason not to. My parents were consistent. If they set a boundary, they followed through. If they promised something, it happened. Over time, that consistency taught me that their care was reliable.
That isn’t everyone’s experience.
Attachment theory, developed by John Bowlby and later expanded by Mary Ainsworth, suggests that our early experiences of care shape how we approach relationships later on (Bowlby, 1988; Ainsworth et al., 1978). If care has been inconsistent, withdrawn or unsafe, you don’t learn that adults are predictable. You learn that you need to protect yourself.
Trauma research suggests something similar. When someone has experienced instability or harm, their nervous system adapts around survival (van der Kolk, 2014). Authority can feel threatening. Power can feel dangerous. Even kindness can feel suspicious.
“Authority can feel threatening. Power can feel dangerous. Even kindness can feel suspicious.”
So sometimes what we interpret as “guarded” or “defensive” is actually a form of wisdom. It’s a young person thinking, consciously or not: last time I trusted, it cost me.
In our context at Urban Devotion Birmingham, we also see mistrust that is inherited. Stories of institutions failing, schools not listening, authorities mishandling situations, families hurt by systems. Whether or not every story is fully accurate, the scepticism is real. It’s protective.
Add to that smaller, everyday breaches: promises that don’t materialise, consequences that aren’t followed through, adults who say one thing and do another, and you can see how trust becomes expensive. If words and actions don’t align consistently, mistrust starts to feel sensible.
What’s your name?
Last year, a group of girls started attending one of our drop-ins. They were new. As part of safeguarding, we asked for names and emergency contacts.
Eventually, after checking with their school, we realised they’d given us false names. They hadn’t trusted us with their real identities. Why would they?
The week after our call with school they came back, slightly sheepish, apologetic, and honest. They told us they hadn’t expected to enjoy the club. Giving false names meant they wouldn’t have to “deal with” us again. The problem was, they’d had a good time. Now they felt stuck.
What they expected from us was anger, rejection, being sent home. But we knew that when they told the truth, our reaction would matter more than their lie.
We thanked them for being honest. We didn’t minimise the importance of real details, but we didn’t shame them either. We stayed steady.
Something shifted after that. They seemed more relaxed. More open. As if they’d tested something and the outcome hadn’t matched their fear. They had taken a small risk, and the risk was met with consistency rather than rejection.
So why do they trust us?
I don’t think it’s realistic to expect young people to intrinsically trust us. But I do think that over time their trust can build as they learn that we are safe, consistent and about their best interests.
We say we’ll be there next week, and we are.
We respond to mistakes without with drawing relationship.
We apologise when we get it wrong.
We don’t use them to build our own sense of success.
Consistency communicates safety.
There’s also something about motivation. Young people are quick to detect when an adult’s involvement is about ego, numbers or control. Genuineness matters. If they sense that we care about them rather than what they produce, trust has space to grow.
It’s wise for us to remain aware of the power dynamic. We are adults, and they don’t meet us on equal footing. Sometimes trust grows when we’re willing to set the example of being trusting ourselves: admitting we misjudged something, repairing quickly, listening rather than dominating, choosing belief instead of suspicion.
Trust doesn’t mean abandoning safeguarding or professional curiosity. It doesn’t mean naivety. It means believing that this young person carries dignity and worth, and acting in line with that belief consistently enough that they notice.
Over time, our consistency can create an environment where trust grows. They come back. They tell a slightly truer story. They ask for advice. They admit they were wrong. And each time, we have a choice about how we respond.
In communities where trust in institutions is fragile, long-term presence becomes quietly powerful. Steady and safe. Perhaps young people trust us not because we promise safety, but because over time they experience it.
And maybe the better question isn’t “Why do young people trust us?”
Maybe it’s: “Are we living in a way that makes trust possible?”
A Prayer
Loving God, thank you that you are fully trustworthy, and that as your followers we can experience what it is to place our trust in someone who loves us and holds our best at heart. Help us to reflect this to each young person we encounter. Give us wisdom in how we respond, and bless our relationships with them, so that over time they may discover that we are worthy of their trust and ultimately, so are you.
References
Ainsworth, M., Blehar, M., Waters, E. and Wall, S. (1978) Patterns of Attachment: A Psychological Study of the Strange Situation. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Bowlby, J. (1988) A Secure Base: Parent-Child Attachment and Healthy Human Development. London: Routledge.
Van der Kolk, B. (2014) The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind and Body in the Healing of Trauma. New York: Viking.