The most powerful way I’ve found to build trust is to share a time I’ve struggled, tell a story about a lesson I’ve learned the hard way, or tangibly show people the real me. Vulnerability, it turns out, is the secret sauce of trust.
There’s more that goes into the recipe, for sure.
And everyone will have a slightly different flavor.
Yes, you have to be dependable.
You need to be trustworthy.
You have to at least know a bit of what you’re talking about.
Consistency, integrity, competency. All those ingredients matter.
Some add in a dash of things like optimism or candor, depending on personality and taste.
But the whole thing really comes together when you add in a heap of vulnerability.
Trust itself is an act of vulnerability.
It’s always a risk to put faith in something or someone.
I’ve learned this is why choosing to be vulnerable is one of the most important things we can do as leaders. Because our willingness to put our real selves out there, no matter how imperfect, makes it feel safer to trust us. For trust to happen, someone has to choose to be vulnerable first.
I’ve seen this at home with my son. He’s 10, and he’s smart.
He’s also 10, which means he’s very much a pre-teen with all the attitude that entails.
I’ve intentionally let him see me grow this past year. I’ve apologized when I’ve gotten things wrong. His mother and I have let him see us when we’re sad and even when we’re frustrated. I’ve shared with him things I’m learning, and I’ve not shied away from answering questions by saying, “I don’t know about that one, buddy.”
Now, he still doesn’t listen super well. Remember, he’s 10. But there’s been a definite change. More awareness. More understanding. He trusts his parents more. Not because we’re perfect. Because he sees that we’re humans, too.
I don’t think we really trust people who seem too perfect.
We might admire people who seem to have it all together.
And we’re definitely a little (okay, a lot) jealous at times.
But there’s something about people who insist on only showing the perfect version of themselves that keeps the rest of us at a distance.
It’s hard to put your faith in something that doesn’t seem like it’s ever been tested. You don’t really know how they’ll hold up when things get tough.
I made Megan a cookbook for her birthday a few years ago. I filled it with recipes from dozens of people who love and care for her. There are elaborate dishes and a few “here’s how to boil water” submissions.
The recipes Megan comes back to most aren’t the ones that sound fancy.
They’re the tried and true ones.
The ones her grandmother made and her mother after her.
The ones she grew up with.
The ones she’s made dozens of times.
You don’t trust a recipe because of how nice it might look. You trust the ones that have been tested. Mistakes have happened. Adjustments have been made. Those are the recipes worthy of being handed down. They are the ones you turn to when you need something you can count on.
We don’t necessarily trust the people who are the most put together.
We trust people who show us that they, too, are human.