You’re Doing It: Stages of Becoming

Excerpt from Chapter 1: Trust vs. Mistrust (Birth–18 months) | Are people and the world safe?

I spent roughly three hours alone with my parents before being brought home to a house already bursting with little lives—six older siblings, all under the age of five. I was the seventh, the baby. I held that role until I was four years old, when my mom gave birth at home. I was present for the delivery and still remember watching as the crown of my baby sister’s head emerged into the world.

There are many photos of me as an infant, but most include a sibling—sometimes two, three, or all six. Few are just of me and my mom, or me and my dad, and almost none of just the three of us without another small child in the frame. I don’t consciously remember infancy—but my nervous system does. When I look at one particular photo of my mom breastfeeding me while my siblings climb on her, I wonder how much peace I had during those early moments.

My parents were incredibly present and filled our big home with love, books, culture, music, and celebration—but they were also busy caring for a 14-month-old, a 2-year-old, three 3-year-olds, and a 4-year-old—before I even arrived.

I wonder how my parents and siblings took care of me when I cried, when I slept, when I wet my diaper. I wonder if they noticed—or how quickly they could respond. I know I was loved. I know I laughed a lot—I'm beaming in every photo. And still, I wonder what my nervous system held on to and carried into later stages of my life.

Erik Erikson’s first psychosocial stage is Trust vs. Mistrust, spanning birth to 18 months. The task of this stage is simple but profound: to learn whether or not the world—and the people in it—can be trusted. When a child’s basic needs are consistently met with warmth and reliability, they develop trust: a belief that others will show up, that the world is predictable and safe. But when needs are inconsistently met—or met with stress, distraction, or chaos—the seed of mistrust can take root. The world becomes less safe. Relationships, less secure.

I was raised in a beautiful, big, mostly safe home, surrounded by love—but also surrounded by a lot of need. Mine. My siblings’. My parents’. Everyone’s. Some of those needs were met, and some weren’t. I’ve come to understand that my early development included both trust and mistrust. And it makes sense that I sometimes feel comforted by closeness—and other times overwhelmed by it. That I’ve learned to both expect connection—and prepare for disappointment. That I crave being seen—while bracing for the moment I’ll be forgotten.

This stage was the beginning of my nervous system’s story—and I’m still learning to listen to what it remembers.