A Sunday Reflection on Trust, Care, and Quiet Resistance

How giving and receiving help us rebuild trust, restore relationship, and remember we’re not alone.

Dear friends

Though I’m officially on vacation, I’m bringing you tomorrow’s hope post a day early. I’m currently working on a separate piece that exposes Trump’s actions in another sphere, and that one should land tomorrow instead.

In the meantime, I hope this reflection offers exactly what Sunday calls for — a chance to exhale, reconnect, and remember what still matters.

We tend to think of authoritarianism as going after our rights, but it goes after our relationships, too. You’ve already experienced this. Maybe you’ve lost your parents to beliefs you can’t share. A sibling. A close friend. Maybe it was someone at work we used to trust. And since Trump returned to power, that distance has grown. Conversations that once felt easy now feel like walking a minefield. Often, they’ve stopped altogether.

This is all part of the plan.

Authoritarianism doesn’t want people trusting each other, because that's the foundation for relying on each other and standing together. So it chips away at the conditions that make trust possible. It punishes vulnerability and rewards silence. It makes people afraid to say what they think — and eventually, afraid to say anything at all. And over time, that fear doesn’t just shape what we say, but how we relate. We hesitate to reach out. We wonder if our kindness will be misread. We start to weigh our words not by what’s true, but by what feels safest to say. And we begin to expect the worst from others, because we're all just trying to survive.

That’s how authoritarianism isolates us — not just by building walls, but by fraying the invisible threads between us.

It teaches us that we need to compete for safety rather than share it, and trains us to conserve energy, to see care as something that draws from a limited resource. It makes giving feel dangerous and receiving feel weak. And bit by bit, that breaks down our relationships.

We still go through the motions of daily life, but something keeps us held back. We stop expecting warmth. We stop offering it. We stop trusting that the people around us might still be capable of standing with us, rather than apart.

That’s deliberate relational and emotional damage.

But here’s the thing: that damage is not irreversible. Trust can be rebuilt. Care can be reclaimed.

One of the most powerful ways is to return to giving and receiving as a practice, a way of staying intact. In Zimbabwe, it was how we survived — sharing what we could, and accepting help when it came. It often wasn't easy, but it was necessary. And in this context — in a country growing more authoritarian by the day — it’s necessary again.

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Giving and receiving are simple everyday gestures that help keep relationship alive in a culture that’s working to strip it away. They create small moments of connection that authoritarianism can’t easily touch — a kind word, a willingness to accept care, a shared moment that cuts through the fog of distrust.

Giving reminds us that we still have something to offer, and that what we do can make a difference. In times of uncertainty or fear, we often feel powerless, but the act of giving — whether it’s our time, attention, kindness, or support — pushes back against that narrative. It shows us that we are not helpless. We are still capable of shaping the space around us, however small. And it helps break the isolation that authoritarianism feeds on. It rebuilds trust, reaffirms our shared humanity, and opens up channels of connection that make it harder for fear to take root.

Giving doesn’t have to be grand or self-sacrificing — small, ordinary gestures count. Whether that's a moment of listening, sharing resources or a few words of encouragement, each act is an affirmation: I see you. You’re not alone. We’re still here.

In that way, giving becomes not just an act of care, but a quiet, steady form of resistance.

But our willingness to give has to be balanced by our willingness to receive. Receiving is equally vital because it completes the circuit of connection.

When we allow ourselves to receive — whether it's help, kindness, encouragement, or support — we affirm that we are worthy of care. We remind others that their efforts matter. And we create space for trust to grow between people, rather than reinforcing the myth that strength means doing everything alone.

In authoritarian systems, people are often praised for self-reliance, and punished — formally or informally — for showing that we have needs. That conditioning runs deep. But in truth, receiving is not weakness, but participation. It is how relationships deepen. And it is how we stay human in a culture that wants us isolated.

So if we want to sustain connection, we need to give. But we also need to let ourselves be touched by the care others offer — without apology, and without shame. Ultimately, when we give something freely we’re making space for someone else to feel seen. When we allow ourselves to receive, we’re keeping the channel open. Not as a transaction, but as a way of staying connected. A way of remembering that we belong to each other.

Authoritarianism wants us to retreat into ourselves, but giving and receiving help us resist that pull. They remind us what it feels like to be in relationship. And when so much is uncertain, that feeling is deeply grounding.

These needn’t be grand acts — many won’t be noticed by anyone else. But they do make a difference. They’re how we retain trust — slowly, quietly, one interaction at a time.

In Monday 11th's post, I’ll share a practical way to begin. Meantime, I wish you a restful and restorative Sunday.

In solidarity, as ever

— Lori

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📌 I’m taking a much-needed annual break from tomorrow. While I’ll still be sharing my reflective ‘hope’ posts at the beginning of each week, later in the week, I aim to use the space to highlight some wonderful writers here, whose work I deeply admire.

During the time I’m away, I’m planning a proper rest from social media too. If this weekend is anything to go by, there’s every chance Trump may throw a spanner in the works, which could call for an unscheduled post or two. But outside of that, I don’t aim to reply to messages or comments until I return. I really appreciate your understanding — that’s the only thing that will make rest possible.

I’ll be back on Monday, 1 September — rested and recharged for the road ahead. I really look forward to a personal catch-up with you again, then!

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