TRUST IS EARNED, BELIEF IS BORROWED
- Madhukar Dama
- 2 days ago
- 10 min read
A Grounded Essay on Why You Must Learn to Trust, Not Believe
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INTRODUCTION:
Every child is born without beliefs. But not without trust.
They trust the mother’s breast. They trust the warmth of arms. They trust the eyes that look back with love.
But soon, something terrible happens.
We make them believers.
We fill their heads with gods they’ve never seen, rules they’ve never questioned, achievements they never chose, and futures they never asked for.
We teach them to believe in books, degrees, religions, doctors, politicians, teachers, exams, brands, and money.
We teach them to believe in everything — except themselves.
And that’s how trust dies.
This essay is about the funeral of trust and the tyranny of belief — and how to reverse it.
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1. WHAT IS BELIEF?
Belief is mental outsourcing.
You accept something as true — without checking, without experiencing, without doubting.
Belief is a shortcut.
It saves time. It saves thinking. It gives instant relief.
But it also creates dependence.
You begin to need someone to tell you what’s true. You stop looking for yourself.
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2. WHY DO PEOPLE BELIEVE?
Because it’s easy.
Because it’s safe.
Because it’s rewarded.
Because questioning is punished.
Because everyone else is doing it.
Because belief builds tribes — and nobody wants to be thrown out of the tribe.
Most beliefs come with no refund policy.
Once it enters, it becomes your identity.
Then, to change your belief means to destroy a piece of yourself.
So most people would rather suffer than stop believing.
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3. EXAMPLES OF BLIND BELIEF
Believing in medicine, but not your own body.
Believing in fasting once a year, but eating thrice a day without hunger.
Believing in karma, while bribing the officer.
Believing in God’s plan, but worrying about your child’s report card.
Believing in doctors more than your grandmother.
Believing you need therapy, but ignoring that your work is killing you.
Believing in democracy, but never living freely.
Believing you are free, but asking permission to take a holiday.
Believing that modern science is neutral.
Believing newspapers, degrees, traffic signals, advertisements — every single day.
The belief is not the problem.
The attachment is.
You stop living. You only repeat.
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4. WHAT IS TRUST?
Trust is earned wisdom.
It arises from repeated experience, reflection, mistakes, and deep observation.
It is not given to you.
It grows from the ground of presence, pain, and personal responsibility.
You trust water because you’ve drunk it.
You trust the sun because it rises every day.
You trust your feet because they’ve walked you for years.
Trust doesn’t require a certificate.
It doesn’t demand applause.
It doesn’t fight with others.
It simply knows.
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5. BELIEF DIVIDES. TRUST CONNECTS.
Belief says: “I’m right. You’re wrong.”
Trust says: “This works for me. Maybe something else works for you.”
Belief wants converts.
Trust wants connection.
Belief needs proof.
Trust needs presence.
Belief creates religions, politics, wars, mobs, tribes.
Trust creates relationships, healing, forests, silence, and peace.
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6. HOW BELIEF IS USED TO CONTROL YOU
From birth, every system wants you to believe:
Schools want you to believe in marks.
Corporates want you to believe in jobs.
Hospitals want you to believe in symptoms.
Temples want you to believe in rituals.
Ads want you to believe in beauty.
Influencers want you to believe in their life.
Because if you trust yourself,
you won’t need them.
That’s why belief is marketed — and trust is mocked.
Trust makes you sovereign.
Belief keeps you enslaved.
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7. TRUST FEELS DIFFERENT IN THE BODY
Belief is tight. You defend it.
Trust is open. You don’t need to explain it.
Belief makes your stomach churn during an argument.
Trust helps you stay still, even when others disagree.
Belief creates adrenaline.
Trust creates grounding.
If it feels loud, urgent, panicked, and desperate — it’s probably belief.
If it feels calm, deep, slow, and firm — it’s likely trust.
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8. HOW TO SHIFT FROM BELIEF TO TRUST
1. Ask yourself: Have I experienced this directly?
2. Pause before reacting: Is this my truth or someone else’s?
3. Feel your body: Am I trusting or defending?
4. Reflect on past moments of regret: Did I believe blindly?
5. Listen to silence: Trust grows in quiet places.
6. Try before accepting: Don’t outsource your truth.
7. Make mistakes: Every mistake is fertilizer for trust.
8. Get closer to nature: Trees don’t believe. They trust the soil.
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9. DEEP CONSEQUENCES OF A LIFE BUILT ON BELIEF
You become fragile — any disagreement feels like an attack.
You become dependent — always needing validation, reassurance, permission.
You become fake — living someone else’s truth, repeating what you never felt.
You become afraid — of change, of difference, of silence, of death.
Worst of all,
You become angry at those who trust — because they don’t need what you believe in.
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10. TRUST IS THE RETURN TO YOURSELF
Trust is not against science.
Trust is not against spirituality.
Trust is not arrogant.
It is the most humble, natural, alive response to being present.
It says:
“I may not know everything.
But I know this moment.
I know this feeling.
I know what I’ve lived through.
And I’m not borrowing your truth anymore.”
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CONCLUSION: YOU WERE NEVER MEANT TO BELIEVE. ONLY TO TRUST.
You are not a believer.
You are a knower.
Not because you read it in a book.
But because you lived it.
Broke through it.
Saw its roots.
Felt its echoes.
Belief is a bandage.
Trust is a scar.
One is sold in every market.
The other is carved in your soul.
So stop asking what you should believe.
Start asking what you can trust.
And when there’s no answer —
wait in silence.
Because real trust always whispers before it speaks.
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HEALING DIALOGUE
“Drowned in Belief, Afraid to Trust”
A conversation between a troubled urban family and Madhukar, the healer who left everything to live simply with his wife and daughters near Yelmadagi forest.
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Characters:
Ramesh (47) – Father, believes in rules, discipline, job security.
Latha (44) – Mother, believes in religion, rituals, and what people say.
Kavya (19) – Daughter, confused, anxious, wants freedom but feels guilty.
Rohan (16) – Son, addicted to phone, mocks everything, trusts nothing.
Madhukar (43) – Former veterinary doctor and scientist. Now lives off-grid with his wife Savitri and daughters Adhya and Anju.
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Scene:
A simple bamboo hut near the forest. Clay cups of herbal tea. Silence. The city family sits nervously, surrounded by trees, unsure why they feel so hollow despite doing “everything right.”
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Madhukar:
You said you wanted peace.
But you also said you want your beliefs not to be touched.
How can both happen?
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Ramesh:
We came here because... we’re lost.
But also, we’re not crazy.
I still believe in hard work, job security, saving for the future.
That’s how life works.
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Madhukar:
Did it work?
You’re here. Burnt out.
You can’t sleep. You fight every night.
Your daughter’s afraid of making a mistake.
Your son doesn’t believe in anything — not even his own life.
So I ask again:
Did your belief work?
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Latha:
We did what good people are supposed to.
Daily prayers. Gave donations. Fasted. Sent kids to top schools.
We never cheated.
Then why does it feel like... everything’s collapsing?
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Madhukar (gently):
Because belief is not trust.
You followed rules.
You never asked if those rules were made for you.
You borrowed everyone’s truth — never discovered your own.
Belief feels safe.
But it’s a safety that chokes.
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Kavya (quietly):
I don’t know who I am anymore.
I always did what I was told.
Now when I’m alone, I don’t know what to feel or trust.
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Madhukar:
That’s not failure.
That’s the beginning.
The noise is ending. Now silence has come.
Trust is born in silence.
Not in slogans, not in lectures, not in apps.
It’s born when you sit with your own breath — without needing someone to explain it.
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Rohan (sarcastic):
So what? Just stare at trees and believe in nature?
Even trees die. Even nature burns.
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Madhukar (nodding):
Yes, even trees die.
But they don’t die bitter.
They don’t die confused.
They don’t live their whole life pretending to be plastic.
Do you trust your own hunger?
Do you trust your own feet?
Do you trust your own tears?
Or do you still wait for someone else to approve them?
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Ramesh:
But then what do we follow?
We need something. Some rules.
We can’t live like animals.
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Madhukar (firmly):
No, you can’t live like animals —
because animals don’t betray their instincts.
You do.
Animals don’t fast according to calendars.
They don’t study books on how to be themselves.
They eat when hungry. Rest when tired. Defend when attacked.
That’s trust.
That’s nature’s curriculum.
You gave that up.
For belief.
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Latha (softly):
But trusting feels dangerous.
What if we go wrong?
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Madhukar:
You will go wrong.
But it’ll be your mistake. Not someone else’s dream.
The real danger is spending 80 years living correctly — and dying never knowing who you were.
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Kavya:
How do we start trusting again?
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Madhukar:
You don’t start by jumping.
You start by stopping.
Stop repeating.
Stop defending your old beliefs.
Stop distracting yourself every time discomfort comes.
Sit. Feel. Observe. Wait.
Let life show you.
Trust isn’t a voice. It’s a vibration.
It never shouts. It just doesn’t leave.
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Rohan:
So you’re saying throw away all beliefs?
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Madhukar (smiling):
Not throw.
See them.
Touch them.
Smell them.
Ask: “Does this still serve me?”
Keep what grows life.
Let go of what shrinks you.
Belief is like scaffolding.
Useful only till you’ve built your house.
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Ramesh (tears in eyes):
I never trusted myself.
Only my position. My salary. My father’s voice in my head.
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Madhukar (warmly):
Then begin now.
Walk barefoot. Cook your food. Watch your breath.
Say no when you mean it.
Rest when you’re tired.
Don’t follow — feel.
You’ll make mistakes, yes.
But they will fertilize your roots.
That is trust.
That is life.
And that is healing.
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(Silence. The family looks around. No answers. But also, no noise. A beginning.)
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FOLLOW-UP: 3 MONTHS & 12 MONTHS LATER
For the family who drowned in belief but slowly learned to trust
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AFTER 3 MONTHS
The city dust still clings to their tongues. But something has shifted.
Ramesh wakes up without an alarm now. Not because he read it in a productivity book — but because the birds wake him. He stopped watching stock market trends every morning. Instead, he sits barefoot in the balcony and waters a basil plant.
He still wants security. But for the first time, he realizes:
he never felt secure even when he had it.
Latha has reduced her rituals. Not out of rebellion, but reverence.
She no longer chants mantras out of fear. Now she lights a lamp only when her heart feels full.
She has begun writing small poems — things she hadn’t done since her college days.
Sometimes she burns the rice while watching the sky.
She doesn’t feel guilty anymore.
Kavya deleted three social media apps. She’s scared — not of missing out, but of confronting herself. But she writes in her journal daily.
One entry reads:
"I have no belief to hold me, but I’m learning to hold myself."
Rohan still scrolls, but he’s aware now. He rages less.
He has begun to draw again — strange, silent drawings of animals and shadows.
He doesn’t mock anymore.
Instead, he asks questions. Not to fight — but to know.
They still argue. They still doubt.
But now, after every argument, someone makes tea. And nobody storms out.
That’s trust —
not that the storm won’t come,
but that the roof will hold.
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AFTER 12 MONTHS
They visit Madhukar again. This time, they don’t come with questions.
They come with stories.
Ramesh has cut his work hours.
He didn’t resign. He reclaimed.
He walks two kilometres every evening, alone.
He doesn’t talk about it.
He just walks.
Latha joined a small women’s group in their colony.
They sit once a week and talk — not about beliefs, but about what hurts, what heals, and what holds them together.
She has stopped being "the strong one."
Now she’s just herself.
Kavya took a gap year from college. Her relatives think she’s gone mad.
But she’s learning pottery in a village near Tumkur.
She wrote a letter to herself last week. It began with:
"I forgive you for blindly following. You were only trying to be loved."
Rohan no longer calls everything fake.
He cooks once a week. He still plays games, but he also helps clean the rooftop garden.
He cried during a documentary about elephants. That was new.
He didn’t hide it.
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They haven’t become perfect. They’ve become real.
No longer drowning in beliefs.
No longer afraid of mistakes.
They now know:
trust is messy, slow, and sometimes terrifying —
but it is theirs.
And that’s enough.
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“YOU BELIEVED EVERYTHING BUT YOURSELF”
(for the family that drowned in belief and learned, slowly, to trust)
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you grew up believing
your parents were right,
your school was truth,
your priest was closer to god than you,
your job was your identity,
your fear was your compass,
and your suffering was a virtue.
you didn’t live.
you rehearsed.
you believed in
the nation,
the news,
the report card,
the resume,
the mortgage,
the medical report,
the horoscope,
the applause,
the shame,
the pill,
the prayer,
the plan.
but never once
did you sit with your own silence
long enough
to ask your gut,
“do you even agree?”
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and then
when it all fell apart —
not with a bang,
but with a dull ache in your bones
and your daughter's fading eyes —
you came looking.
not for god.
not for meaning.
just for something that didn't lie.
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you met a man who had stopped pretending.
he didn’t have a guru beard,
or a TED Talk voice.
he didn’t sell workshops.
he just sat there
with sun in his hair
and dirt under his nails,
and said,
“if you’ve never trusted your hunger,
what the hell have you fed?”
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and now
it’s been a year.
you still forget.
still shout.
still break.
but you don’t worship the break anymore.
you sweep the floor.
you make tea.
you cry without scheduling it.
you say “no”
without writing a 300-word explanation.
you trust when the leaves fall
that they know what they’re doing.
and you don't look at their certificate.
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your daughter stopped performing.
your son stopped mocking.
your wife stopped hiding behind ritual.
and you —
you finally let go of the man
you were taught to be.
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you once believed
that belief would save you.
now you know:
belief is noise.
trust is the silence that holds your ribs
when everyone else leaves.
and in that silence
you hear
something strange and familiar:
your own life
breathing.
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