Trust, much like awareness, does not sit neatly in theory. It unfolds in the moment, in contact with others and with oneself. It ebbs and flows constantly in the immediacy of relationship; felt, withdrawn, extended, and at times broken. It got me to thinking about ways of attending to the world and this piece is what followed. 

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The psychiatrist and philosopher Iain McGilchrist offers an articulation of two fundamentally different ways of attending which he describes as present through the functions of the brain’s left and right hemispheres. While this distinction is not about anatomy in any simplistic sense, it does point toward two qualitatively different orientations to experience. These orientations, in turn, shape how trust is formed, maintained, and eroded.

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One way of attending is oriented toward control, certainty, and definition. This mode seeks to grasp, to reduce complexity into something manageable, to create clarity through boundaries and rules. Trust, from this perspective, becomes something contractual. It is built on explicit agreements, enforceability, and predictability. We might recognise this in the way organisations rely on policy, governance, and oversight to manage behaviour. While these structures have their place, an over-reliance on them can communicate that trust is not assumed, but must be secured.

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Another way of attending is more receptive. It is relational, contextual, and alive to nuance. Rather than grasping, it allows. Rather than reducing, it holds complexity. Trust here is not something constructed through rules alone, but something that emerges through presence, mutual recognition, and shared experience. It is less about certainty and more about a willingness to remain in contact despite uncertainty. This kind of trust cannot be forced. It develops over time, often in the spaces between words. In tone, gesture, silence. These two orientations are not mutually exclusive. Both are necessary. The question, as ever, is one of balance.

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In many of the systems I encounter, there is a noticeable weighting toward the former. A privileging of control over relationship. Where rigid structures replace dialogue. Where compliance stands in for commitment. From a functional perspective, this makes sense. Control reduces risk. It creates the appearance of order. Yet there is a paradox here. The more we attempt to secure trust through control, the more we may erode the very conditions that allow trust to develop. It may exist on paper, but not in lived experience.

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There is also something to be said about language. Much of what we call trust does not live in explicit statements. It lives in the felt sense of being with another person. A glance, a pause, a shift in tone or body language. All these often carry more weight than any formal agreement. When our attention is dominated by what can be measured and articulated, we risk losing sensitivity to these subtler forms of communication. And with that, something foundational to trust is lost.

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Rebalancing this competing demand for both certainty and relationship does not mean abandoning structure. It means reintroducing presence. In practice, this can look deceptively simple. Listening, not just to what is said, but to how it is said. Noticing one’s own internal responses in moments of tension. Allowing for uncertainty rather than rushing to resolve it. Staying with discomfort long enough for something new to emerge. This is not always easy work. Trust, in this sense, requires a tolerance for risk. To trust another is, in part, to relinquish control. To acknowledge that we cannot fully predict or manage the other. In a culture that often equates control with safety, this can feel counterintuitive. 

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There is also a systemic dimension to this. Trust does not exist in isolation between individuals. It is shaped by the wider contexts in which we live and work. Histories, power dynamics, cultural narratives all inform how trust is given and received. To ignore these is to oversimplify. To become overly fixated on them, however, can lead to a different kind of rigidity. Again, we are brought back to the need for balance. Holding both structure and agency. Context and choice.

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In many ways, trust can be understood as an act of attention. Where we place our attention shapes what becomes possible. If our attention is dominated by control, we will build systems that reflect this. If our attention includes relationship, nuance, and presence, something different can emerge. This is not a call to abandon clarity or rigour. It is an invitation to expand our way of attending, and in so doing, incorporate more of what is available between people and organisations into any present frame of dialogue or action. Relational trust deepens clarity and rigour. 

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From a Gestalt perspective, this brings us back to contact. Trust develops at the boundary where self meets other. It requires awareness, differentiation, and a willingness to stay with what is unfolding. Not forcing, not withdrawing, but engaging. The beauty, and the challenge, is that this is always happening in the present moment.