Throughout my journey as a child and as an adult, I have come to realize that trust is not a simplistic or singular decision, but a process. It’s not merely about extending trust to others, but about confronting my inner doubts; both about people and about the plan for my life. I’ve learned that my skepticism and reluctance to trust stem from wounds of the past, and from my fear of what might happen if I let go of control. Trust, I now see, isn’t blind; it’s informed by wisdom, discernment, and boundaries.

There were moments when I questioned not just others, but also the divine, wondering why painful experiences were allowed to happen, and why I was left feeling unprotected as a child and later in life as I defended into young adulthood. The uncertainty bred doubt in my own ability to discern who or what was safe. Yet, what I have gained is an understanding that trust begins not with others, but with a foundational trust in a higher purpose, even when the path forward seems obscure.

I learned that trust is not something to be given indiscriminately or withheld entirely. It is an invitation to vulnerability, tempered by the understanding that discernment is a gift, honed through experience. It has become clear to me that trust is less about guarantees of safety or certainty and more about growth through relational and spiritual stretching. There is wisdom in establishing boundaries, not as a form of self-preservation, but as an act of respect for both myself and those around me. Boundaries do not signify the absence of trust, but rather the preservation of healthy, intentional trust.

The deepest lesson, however, is the recognition that trust requires a recalibration of my heart. It is not my role to control or to predict the actions of others or the unfolding of life’s events, but to trust that each step I take, though uncertain, moves me closer to healing. I now understand that trust is a slow dance between wisdom and vulnerability, one that I must navigate with an open yet discerning heart. The fear that held me captive no longer defines my capacity to trust. Instead, trust becomes a daily practice of releasing control, setting healthy limits, and believing that I am safe within divine protection, even when circumstances remain unclear.

—

In childhood’s darkest corners,
Fear lived behind the front door,
A silence I could not question,
But learned not to trust.

Friends, once anchors,
Became driftwood in shallow waters,
Loyalty lost like whispers,
And I abandoned floating alone.

In a failed marriage, trust was a mirror
Shattered by pretense,
Each shard reflecting a version of myself
That I no longer recognized.

Relationships, at times, felt like betrayal,
A wound wrapped in promises,
Yet in moments of intimacy,
I found trust’s delicate bloom.

Now, trust is a flickering light,
Sometimes dim, sometimes strong,
A compass not for others,
But for the faith I rebuild within myself.

— Sincerely, Boris

As I guide my daughter through the complexities of the world, I recognize that the pressures of modern culture seek to mold her in ways that may distort her sense of self. In this process, my role becomes one of fierce protection, gentle guidance, and deep listening.

I must first instill in her an unshakable belief in her intrinsic worth. Society will try to measure her by external standards; appearance, achievements, social validation; but I teach her that her value is inherent, stemming from her character, kindness, and the unique power she brings into the world. I show her that true confidence is cultivated from within, rooted in understanding who she is, rather than how others see her.

Part of this journey as a father is ensuring she understands the importance of setting boundaries. I teach her to listen to her intuition and to assert herself, knowing that saying “no” is not a sign of weakness but of strength. In a culture that often exploits vulnerability, I help her discern trustworthiness in others and remind her that her body, her mind, and her heart are hers to protect (with a little help from her father).

It is essential that she finds a balance between independence and connection. I encourage her to pursue her passions with relentless curiosity while also fostering deep, meaningful relationships with those around her. The strength I want her to embody is not only about resilience in the face of challenges, but also about cultivating compassion; for herself and others.

I embrace my role as a father in the fullness of my imperfections, showing her that strength is not about being infallible but about owning mistakes and learning from them. Through my actions, I seek to model what it means to be emotionally available, self aware, to listen before responding, and to act with integrity.

As a divorced father, I have an added responsibility to provide her with stability, even when life feels fractured. I must be the steady presence in her life, offering her a safe haven where she can explore the world without fear of judgment. I make it clear to her that her family structure does not define her; she is not diminished by it but can find strength in her ability to navigate its complexities with grace, as I have.

My love for her is an anchor, one that will carry her through the challenges of adolescence and beyond. My hope is that, through this unconditional love, she will grow into a woman who is not only strong but wise, empathetic, and unapologetically herself.

—

I promise, daughter, to be your guide,
To walk beside you, to never hide.
I’ll show you strength and how to stand,
With courage held in your own hand

I promise to let you grow and be,
To find your path and set you free.
In every step, through joy and strife,
I’ll honor the woman you shape in life.

I promise to protect your heart,
To guard your spirit from the start.
No matter where I am or roam,
I’ll always find my way back home.

— Sincerely, Boris

Because “yes”
Means yes
And “no”
Means no,
Especially when I’m being
Ever so
Serious with the things
I’m seeing
From you; Messaging
But never speaking.
Stop asking questions when
I say so (then
Maybe I’d try to
Be nicer to
You).
There are reasons as to why
I don’t really cry
In front of those I can’t rely
On. Stop bugging me
And then we’ll see.

I love me
Then I   love  me not
One second I am thriving,
The next I an stirring the ***
Once again

Somewhat sensitive
I'll never know peace
No! **** that!
Don't be, just a subject
Of your conditioning

I'm here
To treat you
With decency
And teach you

How to see right through the *******

Each of us is a world
Self-contained and sprawling
With high towers and deep caverns
Open fields and endless skies

Our worlds can collide
                                           encroach
Drift into others
Accidentally
Deliberately
With a rush of wind and crash of sound
Or creeping in like mist, slow and silent

Many of us build walls
                                          protection from encroachment
                                                    ­                                             actual or feared

Walls provide distance from others
Space to breath, to think
To exist

Wall-building is difficult
It requires practice
Rebuilding to maintain them

Sometimes our walls grow spikes
Provide offense
                              as well as defense
Cause harm
To both encroachers
And passersby

Or they grow so high
We can’t see over the top
Can’t distinguish a siege attempt
                                                         ­    from a knock on the wall

Walls provide necessary protection
Room for respite, but
Our walls can’t discriminate for us
                                                               a threat from an invitation

We must stay aware
                                     of the worlds beyond our walls
Build walls of glass
Instead of stone

View with curiosity
All who approach
Distinguish true encroachment
From clumsiness or ignorance
Retain the ability to reach beyond your walls
Reach out
                   without encroaching

To connect with other worlds

Like a cell drawing in pure water, rejecting unnecessary, undesirable molecules.

Like a virus spreading multiplying, taking over with vigor and tenacity.

Like the bubbles on the burbling lips of a toddler, growing and popping and dripping.

Like a ronin samurai without a lord, coming and going like the wind.

Like a thought that just won’t quit, a feeling that burrows into the bones.

Like the intensity of a fire, when a steady wind presses the seat of the fuel source.

So is my passion for life.