What Makes Us Trust the Person Helping Us?

I saw a post from a children's ski instructor this week that really resonated with me.

She was talking about the importance of connection when teaching children to ski. Her point was that you can have years of experience, technical knowledge and qualifications, but if you don't have a genuine connection with the child in front of you, something important is missing.

And my immediate thought was: why would that stop being true when we become adults?

We might get better at hiding what we're feeling as we get older, but I don't think we ever grow out of wanting to feel understood.

I've been thinking about this a lot recently, partly because of the conversations I'm having with ski instructors, but also because of my own work.

I've spent years training. Mindset coaching, EFT, Matrix Reimprinting, Hypnotherapy. I find the brain fascinating and I'm constantly learning more about why we respond in the ways we do.

Those qualifications and that knowledge matter to me. Of course they do.

But I could have every qualification in the world and, if the person sitting opposite me doesn't feel comfortable with me, doesn't trust me or doesn't feel that I genuinely understand them, I'm not sure how much any of it matters in that moment.

Because people aren't problems to be solved.

And confidence isn't something I can simply apply a technique to.

I need to understand the person first.

That's something I think the best ski instructors instinctively understand too.

You can give somebody technically perfect advice, but if they're standing on the mountain worrying that you're judging them, frightened of holding everyone up or too embarrassed to tell you that something doesn't feel right, how much of that information are they actually able to take in?

Perhaps that's why connection matters so much.

It creates the conditions in which somebody feels able to tell you what's really going on.

And adults can be remarkably good at making sure nobody knows.

A child who doesn't feel safe might cry, refuse to move or simply tell you they don't want to do something.

Adults tend to have a few more strategies available to us.

We laugh things off. We say we're tired. We make an excuse. We tell everyone else to go ahead. We become frustrated with ourselves. Sometimes we become frustrated with the person trying to help us.

And sometimes we do the thing anyway because admitting that we're frightened feels worse than doing something we don't want to do.

From the outside, that can look like all sorts of things.

Which brings me back to something I've written about before: curiosity.

If we see someone hesitating and immediately decide they're simply a nervous skier, we've already made an assumption.

If we have enough connection with that person to ask, “What's happening for you here?” - and they trust us enough to answer honestly - we might discover something completely different.

Perhaps they had a bad fall on similar terrain.

Perhaps they're returning after an injury.

Perhaps they know they're technically capable but don't trust themselves anymore.

Perhaps they're far more worried about looking stupid in front of the group than they are about the piste itself.

Or perhaps they can't explain it at all.

That's useful information.

Not because we need to analyse every emotion on the side of a mountain, but because once we understand what someone is actually experiencing, we have a much better chance of giving them the support they need.

And I think this matters whether you're teaching someone to ski, coaching them, travelling with them or simply skiing alongside them.

It also makes me think about the people who have helped me at different points in my own life.

It's rarely just their qualifications or knowledge that I remember.

I remember how I felt around them.

Whether I could ask the stupid question.

Whether I could admit I didn't understand.

Whether I felt judged.

Whether I believed they were actually listening to my answer rather than waiting for their turn to speak.

Perhaps that's one of the reasons I'm becoming increasingly interested in collaboration between mindset support and great ski instruction.

I don't think skiers need to choose between technical expertise and understanding what's happening in their head.

The two influence each other.

A good instructor can help someone develop their technique, understand the mountain, make better decisions and build trust in their skiing. The work I do can help someone explore some of the thoughts, experiences and responses that might be getting in the way.

But neither of us is working with a pair of skis.

We're working with a person.

And people are complicated. We just are!

Two people can have similar skiing ability and need completely different things from us. The same words can reassure one person and put pressure on another. One skier might need encouragement to challenge themselves while another needs to know that saying “not today” isn't a failure.

We only discover those differences when we take the time to know the person in front of us.

So yes, qualifications matter.

Experience matters.

Technical knowledge matters.

I'll continue studying, learning and adding to the ways I can support the people I work with. I'd expect the professionals I trust with my own skiing to take their development seriously too.

But none of those letters after our names can guarantee connection - that part is human.

And perhaps that's what the post I saw this week reminded me of.

Children need to feel safe, seen and understood before they can really trust the person teaching them.

I'm not convinced adults are all that different. We might just be better at pretending we are.