Trust issues don’t start in adulthood. They start when your mom tells you never to talk to strangers, then zips you into a glow-in-the-dark dinosaur suit and sends you door to door demanding chocolate from people you’ve never met, some of whom are literally wearing masks. “Don’t accept candy from strangers” she says on Tuesday. “Go accept as much candy from as many strangers as possible” she says on Friday.
And that was just the beginning.
Let’s talk about the mixed messaging that came with growing up. “Don’t lie,” they’d say, while wrapping clearly off-brand cereal in a Ziploc and calling it “Special Treat Mix.” “Don’t talk back,” they’d demand while asking “Do you have something to say?” like it wasn’t a trap so obvious it could’ve been designed by Jigsaw.
“You can be anything you want when you grow up,” they’d beam, moments before criticizing the neighbor’s daughter for dyeing her hair blue and becoming a freelance photographer. So… I can be anything, but not weird? Not too different? Got it. Aspirational beige, but with a college loan.
My parents were also the type who’d say, “Because I said so” like that was the golden seal of wisdom. No logic. No debate. Just the final boss of the circular argument hierarchy. And if you dared push back? Suddenly you’re disrespectful. Suddenly you’ve “changed” and “not in a good way.” It’s called developing critical thinking, Mom. Sorry it’s not 1952 anymore.
They’d warn me not to let anyone pressure me into doing something I didn’t want to do—then sign me up for team sports where a grown man screamed at me for 90 minutes because I couldn’t kick a ball in the correct direction. “Don’t let people yell at you!” they said, while literally paying someone to do just that twice a week, plus tournaments.
Also: “Don’t get into cars with strangers.” Uber is literally built on that. Now I pay money to do what I was once threatened with a grounding over. And no one’s even offering me a Capri Sun anymore. Just surge pricing and a guy named Dave who plays YouTube videos out loud.
Let’s not forget the health contradictions. “Don’t eat too much sugar,” they’d say while handing me a cupcake the size of a human baby at a birthday party and telling me to “enjoy being a kid.” “Eat your vegetables,” they’d scold, while heating up their third Lean Cuisine and finishing dinner with a cigarette. That’s not nutrition. That’s performance art.
Sex ed? “We’ll talk about it when you’re older.” Spoiler: they never talked about it. Meanwhile, they let me watch Titanic unsupervised, so I learned about boobs, classism, and maritime tragedy all in one night. At least Jack didn’t lie to me. He froze with integrity.
My parents also preached “don’t judge a book by its cover” while side-eyeing every single person with tattoos, piercings, or a “liberal arts” degree. You can’t raise me on Disney movies about misfits and then freak out because I dyed my hair and got into theater. You raised this monster. Now let her sing.
Then there’s the classic: “Always tell the truth.” Followed immediately by “Tell Aunt Karen you loved the sweater.” So we’re lying, but it’s the respectful kind of lying? The kind with good intentions and a forced smile? That’s called gaslighting, and I have a therapist now.
Or how about “Don’t be afraid to fail!” But when you brought home a C-minus, they stared at you like you’d just confessed to a felony. We were supposed to reach for the stars—but also not embarrass the family. No wonder millennials are anxious. We were taught to dream big, but only within the parameters of the HOA.
Let’s not forget the “don’t talk to strangers online” speech—which was valid, honestly—but also came from people who used Craigslist to buy used furniture from guys named Tank. I was told to “stay off the internet,” while my dad was arguing with strangers in the comment section of a YouTube video about lawnmower blade angles. We were not the same.
Even holidays were suspicious. “Be grateful for what you have,” but also “Make a list of demands and mail it to a man who breaks into homes once a year.” Christmas is capitalism in a Santa hat. And Thanksgiving? A historically inaccurate feast where we pretend not to be mad at each other for four hours and call it family.
“Don’t be materialistic,” they’d say, while dragging me through the Black Friday trenches like it was a Hunger Games training camp. We nearly committed vehicular manslaughter for a discounted air fryer and called it “tradition.”
But the trust-breaking moment that still haunts me? When I lost a tooth and they said, “Leave it under your pillow for the Tooth Fairy.” A winged woman will break into my room, while I sleep, and replace my body parts with cash? That’s not charming. That’s a Brinks Home Security scenario.
It wasn’t just the lies. It was the hypocrisy. The double standards. The do as I say, not as I do olympics. The adult contradictions that taught me to question everything, especially if it came with a smile and a bowl of unwrapped butterscotch.
And honestly? I’m grateful for it. I learned to read between the lines. I learned that trust isn’t just about being told something—it’s about consistency. And when someone tells you not to take candy from strangers, then walks you up to a porch and makes you say “trick or treat”, what they’re really teaching you is how to spot societal contradictions before they show up in a boardroom or on a ballot.
So yeah, I have trust issues. But they’re well-earned. I didn’t learn them in therapy. I learned them in the back seat of a minivan, being told we were “five minutes away” for 45 minutes straight. And you know what? I’ll never stop asking questions. Especially if candy is involved.
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