Hey friends. It’s Lux, and welcome back to another episode of Lux Unfiltered. Today, I want to talk about something that’s been sitting heavy on my heart—trust. Trusting people who didn’t deserve it. Trusting people who showed me who they were only after they took what they needed. And how, even though it’s left a mark, I’m learning that it doesn’t make me weak. It just means I had an open heart.
For a long time, I carried shame for trusting the wrong people. I’d ask myself, “Why didn’t I see it coming?” or “What’s wrong with me?” But here’s the truth: trusting people doesn’t make us bad. It doesn’t mean we’re clueless or naive. It means we were open. Honest. Wanting connection. And if someone used that against us? That says more about them than it does about us.
I used to be an “all in” friend. You know the type—gifting everything, doing everything, throwing my whole self into a friendship because I wanted to be seen as worthy. I thought if I could be the best friend ever, no one would leave. I didn’t realise it at the time, but looking back, it was… a manipulation tactic. Not because I was trying to hurt anyone, but because I was trying to keep myself from being abandoned.
I’d trust people immediately. I’d think, “Oh, they’ll be like me—loyal, loving, a ride-or-die friend.” But not everyone is like me. And I’d end up feeling used. The second I wasn’t useful—when my undiagnosed ADHD or my mental health stuff flared up—I became a burden. A liability. Betrayable.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been ghosted or exiled. No warning, no conversation. Just gone. And let me tell you, the way that hits me physically? It’s intense. My skin goes cold and clammy, there’s a lump in my throat, a pit in my stomach, my whole body’s hot but my skin is freezing. It’s that feeling of, “Oh, it’s happening again.” Anger, disappointment, shame. All of it swirling together like a cold storm in my gut.
That’s the thing, right? These experiences taught me that it’s not about never trusting again. It’s about trusting differently. Rebuilding trust—starting with myself.
Reparenting myself has been about learning the things I wasn’t taught as a kid:
• How to set boundaries
• How to listen to my gut
• How to protect my peace
I wasn’t taught how to spot red flags, and I didn’t know how to ask for what I needed. So, I’d either over-give or shut down completely. I’ve had to teach myself to find balance. To show up for people in ways that honour them, but also honour me.
And let’s be real, some days, I need a little help to slow down and breathe. When my nervous system’s buzzing, I reach for a LuxCBD balm or one of our candies—my little rituals to ground myself, reconnect with my body, and remember: I’m safe. I’m here. I’m enough.
It took me a long time to see the pattern. I kept thinking, “Why does this keep happening to me?” But the truth is, I had to look at how I was showing up in friendships too. I wasn’t just an innocent bystander. I was playing a part.
I’d show up in ways that were honestly a breach of boundaries. Giving too much, too soon. Not checking in to see if the other person was even comfortable with that level of closeness. And you know what? That’s not fair to them, either.
When I realised that, it was a punch in the gut. Like, “Oh shit. I’ve been part of the problem too.” But it was also the start of growth. Because now I can see it. Now I can take accountability. And now I can show up in friendships with more care and awareness.
It’s not about blaming myself or others. It’s about understanding that I deserve to take up space as I am—without overcompensating or bending myself into shapes I don’t fit. And it’s about trusting myself enough to believe that the right people will want me as I am, not as some performative version of me.
The Body Knows
There’s this thing I’ve noticed—my body always tells me when something’s off. That cold skin, that tight throat, that buzzing panic in my gut? That’s my body saying, “Hey, Lux. This isn’t it. You’re not safe here.”
I used to ignore those signs. I’d override them because I wanted the friendship to work so badly. But now, I try to listen. I try to slow down and check in with myself. Like, “Is this person really showing up for me? Or am I just filling a role?”
A Reminder: You’re Allowed to Grow
Here’s what I keep coming back to:
• You’re allowed to grow.
• You’re allowed to outgrow people.
• You’re allowed to forgive yourself for not knowing what you didn’t know.
Healing isn’t about shutting people out—it’s about keeping your heart open while learning how to protect your energy. It’s not easy. And it’s definitely not linear. But it’s happening.
And if you’re like me and need a little gentle nudge, one of my favourite ways to reset is with a LuxCBD tea—it’s like a warm hug in a cup. It’s those small rituals that help me come back to myself, even when the world feels overwhelming.
One mantra that’s been helping me is this: “I don’t have to fix things for other people to be worthy of love.”
Let me say that again for both of us: “I don’t have to fix things for other people to be worthy of love.”
Friendship isn’t 50/50 all the time, but it should be close. You shouldn’t be the only one showing up. And I’ve learned that the best friendships are the ones where both people are invested, not just in what they get, but in how they show up for each other.
To be a good friend, you have to respect how the other person wants to be supported. Not just what you think is supportive. You have to meet them where they’re at, and they have to meet you there too.
That’s why I’m careful now. I don’t want to count what I give, but I also don’t want to abandon myself by giving too much. That’s a hard line to walk—especially when you’ve been conditioned to overgive to avoid being abandoned. But it’s worth it.
When you’ve been betrayed, there’s this temptation to shut down completely. Or worse, to get desperate and cling to anyone who will give you a scrap of attention. I’ve been there. I’ve abandoned myself trying to prove I’m worth loving.
But that’s not the move. We’re not here to beg for scraps. We’re here to build something real. To learn how to show up for ourselves, and for the people who show up for us.
If you’re listening to this and you’re thinking, “God, I feel this too,” just know—you’re not alone. Healing from toxic friendships or relationships is messy. It’s hard. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s also beautiful.
Because every time you choose to keep going, to keep your heart open even when it’s been bruised, you’re showing yourself that you’re worth the effort. You’re worth the love. You’re worth the healing.
I don’t have all the answers. I’m figuring this out right alongside you. But I do know this: vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s strength. And every time we choose to be real, even if it means risking rejection, we’re choosing to live more fully.
So, here’s to learning how to trust again. Here’s to reparenting ourselves, setting boundaries, and staying open. Here’s to knowing that the right people—the ones who see us as we are and love us for it—are worth waiting for.
And hey, if you need a little support today, go treat yourself. A balm, a candy, or one of our starter packs—whatever feels like a tiny act of love for yourself. You’re allowed to take up space and take care of yourself.
Thank you for being here with me today. If you feel like sharing your story, drop me a message—I’d love to hear from you. And if you’re in the thick of healing right now, let me remind you: you’re doing better than you think. We’re in this together. Always.
Okay, love you, bye.
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