The Stages We Carry. Stage One: Relearning Trust

Developmental psychologist Erik Erikson proposed that we move through life in stages — one psychosocial crisis at a time. Each stage presents a conflict we must navigate in order to grow. In theory, development appears linear — a steady movement forward from one stage to the next.

But life does not always move in straight lines. 

Life has a way of reawakening earlier lessons when trust is broken. Later life crises can reactivate earlier psychosocial conflicts. Sometimes, it pulls us back to a stage we thought we had already outgrown. 

At 16, I had t relearn trust. 

I started archery at eight years old. What began as my parents’ attempt to get their “chubby fish ball” daughter active quickly became everything to me. I fell in love with the weight of the bow in my hands, the quiet focus before release, the thrill of watching an arrow meet its mark. Soon, I found myself searching for Olympic archers online, imagining that one day I might stand among them.

That was when I decided: I wanted to become an Olympian. 

I trained relentlessly and entered the national selection pool within two years. Medals followed. Records were broken. Outsiders saw promise and discipline.

What they did not see was the environment I trained in. 

From the age of 11, I endured racial discrimination, verbal humiliation, and physical intimidation from seniors. I was told to stay silent if I wanted to survive in the team. My coach mocked me openly. Every training session felt like stepping into a battlefield that had nothing to do with sport. 

Still, I stayed. The dream burned quietly inside me. 

At 16, everything collapsed. My father witnessed my coach yelling at me, telling me I would never make it and that I was foolish to believe I could go far. For the first time, my father saw what I had been hiding. And he wanted me to quit. 

I resisted. Archery was not just a sport — it was my identity. If I let it go, who was I without it? If I stepped away, would the world outside of it be any safer? 

Trust is not only about whether the world is safe. It is also about whether your dreams are safe.

I tried switching to shooting, hoping to salvage the possibility of remaining a national athlete. But I was blacklisted due to my former coach’s influence. Another door closed in my face. 

That was when mistrust turned inward. 

I cried every day — at school, at home, alone in my room. I isolated myself. I stopped believing in people. Worst of all, I stopped believing in myself. Every reflection in the mirror felt like confirmation of what they had said: maybe I was not good enough. 

Yet somehow, even in that season, I kept showing up. I completed my American High School Diploma and graduated as the youngest student in Malaysia at the time. On paper, it looked like success. Internally, I was still rebuilding.

I learned that resilience does not always look loud — sometimes it looks like quietly surviving while your world feels like it is falling apart. 

When trust breaks, it does not just target others. It seeps into your sense of self. 

Then, unexpectedly, another opportunity appeared. An officer from MSN reached out and suggested I try judo.

I was stunned.

Judo was nothing like archery. It was physical, confrontational, unpredictable — everything I was not used to. 

I hesitated, overwhelmed by doubt. I no longer trusted systems, coaches, or even my own judgment. 

But my father looked at me and said quietly,

“I believe you can do it. No one will believe in you unless you believe in yourself.” 

Those two sentences struck me and has stayed with me ever since. In that moment, I realized something: sometimes trust is borrowed before it is rebuilt. 

So I took the leap. 

I began training in 2020, just as the COVID-19 lockdown started. There were no competitions, no immediate validation, no guarantees. I trained alone at home, following programs, pushing through soreness and uncertainty. 

This time, I did not have proof that it would work. 

I only had faith in the process. 

Trust, I learned, is not blind optimism. It is choosing to move forward even when outcomes are uncertain. 

Five years later, I became number one in Malaysia in my category, defended my national title three times, and earned my black belt. I was even invited to speak at Malaysia’s first athlete mental health awareness event — sharing the very struggles I once hid in silence. 

According to Erikson, the stage of trust vs mistrust begins in infancy.

And at 16, I revisited it.

Maybe development is not simply about advancing through stages, but about returning — again and again — to the foundations that teach us how to trust, hope, and begin. 

Trust is believing in your path after betrayal. 

Trust is rebuilding identity after loss. 

Trust is showing up again after failure. 

You and I may not share the same story. But we may share the feeling of loss, doubt, or disappointment. If life ever brings you back to the first stage again, perhaps it is not a sign that you failed — but an invitation to rebuild trust in yourself.