There are phrases that can sound exactly the same and yet come from completely different places.
“I trust the process” is one of them.
I have heard it recently in two different conversations. In one, it sounded almost like resignation. What I felt underneath was: “I’m not really sure what to do, and I don’t particularly want to go through this uncomfortable transition… so let’s see what happens.”
In the other, I interpreted something completely different. Without my counterpart saying it explicitly, what I sensed underneath was: “I’ve worked on this. There are uncertainties and things probably won’t unfold exactly as I want. But I know from experience that if I stay consistent, apply judgement and keep adjusting, I will greatly increase my chances of achieving my goal.”
Same phrase.
Almost opposite positions.
And that led me to a question that also came up in a coaching session:
When I say I trust the process, how much ownership do I really have of that process?
Because “the process” can easily become something external. A kind of mechanism to which we hand over responsibility. If it works, great. And if it does not, we can always say that we did what we were supposed to do and, simply, the process did not work.
But there is another way to look at it.
I can trust a process because I have built it consciously. Because I know which part depends on me, which capabilities I am bringing into play, which decisions I am willing to revisit and what level of effort I am prepared to sustain. Because I observe what is happening, learn and adjust.
In that sense, trusting the process does not mean stepping away from it. It means taking ownership of it.
And taking ownership does not mean controlling everything. In many important processes there are external variables that will never be in our hands: a hiring decision, a sale, a promotion, an investment or a professional transition.
The real question is different: what percentage of the process am I willing to take responsibility for?
I may not be able to control whether someone hires me, but I can control the quality of my preparation, the conversations I create, the people I approach, the capabilities I develop and the number of times I try.
I may not be able to control when an opportunity appears, but I can control how much I am doing to be ready when it does.
I may not be able to control the outcome, but I can control my consistency, my learning, my willingness to ask for help and my readiness to go through the discomfort that usually comes with any real transition.
From the perspective of ontological coaching, Rafael Echeverría argues that our judgements condition the possibilities we are able to see and the actions we end up taking. A breakdown can leave us trapped in explaining why something is happening, or it can open a different conversation: what action can I generate now?
That is why I would distinguish between two ways of saying “I trust the process.”
One is:
“I trust that something will happen.”
The other is:
“I trust a process that I take responsibility for, because I am willing to do my part, observe what happens and change what is not working.”
The second does not guarantee the outcome either. But it completely changes our position towards it.
Because trust should not be a way of giving up responsibility. It should help us sustain the effort even when we still cannot see the result.
And perhaps the most useful question is not simply whether we trust the process.
How much ownership do I have of the process I say I trust?
And one even more uncomfortable question:
Am I trusting the process… or am I waiting for the process to do for me what I am still not willing to do myself?
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