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A “circle of trust” is not one fixed psychological term. It usually means a small group of people with whom someone feels safe enough to be open, take social or emotional risks, and expect discretion, respect and good faith.
The phrase is often used in group work, coaching, therapy and organisational development. In those settings, the “circle” marks a social boundary. People inside it agree, either in words or through shared norms, that what members disclose will not be mocked, exploited or passed on without consent. Trust does not mean that everyone agrees. A sound circle of trust should allow disagreement, challenge and feedback without threatening membership of the group.
Psychologically, several processes sit beneath the idea. One is psychological safety: the belief that a person can speak, ask questions, admit uncertainty or make mistakes without fear of social punishment (Edmondson, 1999). Another is interpersonal trust, which involves choosing to become vulnerable because one expects another person to behave in a broadly reliable and decent way (Mayer et al., 1995). Self-disclosure also tends to deepen relationships when it receives an empathic and responsive response (Reis & Shaver, 1988).
The term can also refer to a more formal group method. Parker J. Palmer, for example, developed a model called the Circle of Trust, linked to his work on reflective practice and the inner life. His approach stresses careful listening, questions rather than advice, silence, confidentiality and the right not to speak. The aim is not for the group to solve someone’s problem but to create conditions in which that person can hear their own thoughts more clearly (Palmer, 2004).
How do circles of trust develop?
Calling a group a “circle of trust” does not make it trustworthy. Trust grows from repeated conduct. Confidentiality must hold, power differences need attention, people must retain the right to withhold personal material, and breaches need to have consequences. Pressure to disclose because “this is a safe space” can itself make a group less safe.
In coaching, I would therefore treat a circle of trust less as a technique than as a relational agreement about how people will treat vulnerability. That distinction becomes useful when working with groups because trust, psychological safety and confidentiality overlap, but they are not the same thing.
Yes. A circle of trust has to be made through repeated exchanges. It cannot be declared into existence. There is no single agreed stage model for this process, but research on group development, psychological safety, trust and self-disclosure suggests a fairly clear sequence. I would describe it as five stages.
- GUARDED MEMBERSHIP. At first, people assess the group. They watch how others speak, who has status, what happens when someone disagrees, and whether the stated rules match actual conduct. This resembles the cautious dependency found in early group development (Tuckman, 1965). Trust at this point rests less on affection than on predictability.
It grows when leaders explain the purpose of the group, set clear boundaries, treat people with equal respect and do what they say they will do. It collapses when rules shift without explanation, some people receive special treatment, confidentiality proves doubtful, or the leader demands openness before earning it.
- TESTING THE BOUNDARY. People then make small experiments. Someone admits uncertainty, disagrees with a popular view, reveals a minor difficulty, or asks what may seem a foolish question. They are, in effect, asking: “What happens to me if I show something that could be used against me?”
This stage matters greatly. Psychological safety develops partly through evidence that interpersonal risk does not lead to humiliation or exclusion (Edmondson, 1999). A thoughtful response to a small disclosure makes a larger disclosure more likely. Ridicule, unsolicited advice, gossip, dismissal or a breach of confidence can stop the process at once.
- CONDITIONAL TRUST. Once enough tests have gone well, members begin to assume that the group is reasonably safe. Conversation becomes less managed. People disagree more freely, disclose more important material and ask for help.
This is still fragile trust. It depends upon continuing evidence. Lewicki and Bunker (1996) describe a related move from trust based on calculation towards trust based on knowledge of others. Members become able to predict one another’s conduct.
The group strengthens this stage when people listen closely, acknowledge difference and allow members to set their own limits. It weakens when belonging starts to depend upon agreement, disclosure becomes a sign of loyalty, or one member starts to dominate the emotional life of the group.
- RECIPROCAL VULNERABILITY. A stronger circle appears when vulnerability becomes mutual rather than one-sided. Members can say “I do not know”, “I got that wrong”, “I disagree”, or “that affected me” without losing standing. Leaders become especially important here. A leader who can acknowledge an error without making the group care for them gives powerful evidence that status does not depend upon appearing invulnerable.
Trust now becomes relational rather than procedural. People know something about how particular members are likely to respond. Disclosure and responsiveness can then reinforce one another (Reis & Shaver, 1988).
This stage can be demolished by exploitation of vulnerability. Quoting someone’s disclosure later in an argument, forming factions, sharing private material outside the group, or using personal knowledge to establish power may damage much more than the relationship between two people. Everyone else learns from the breach.
- RESILIENT TRUST. A mature circle of trust is not one in which nobody becomes angry, disappoints anyone or gets something wrong. It is one that can survive those events.
This is an important distinction. A group that depends upon constant harmony may feel pleasant but remain psychologically unsafe. Strong trust allows challenge because members have evidence that disagreement does not threaten membership.
At this stage, repair becomes crucial. Someone can say that a boundary was crossed; the other person can hear it, acknowledge the effect, apologise where appropriate and change their conduct. A breach that receives serious repair need not destroy trust. In some cases, repair strengthens it because members discover that the relationship can withstand strain.
I would therefore represent the process roughly as:
Caution → Testing → Conditional trust → Reciprocal vulnerability → Resilient trust
But I would not present these as fixed steps. Groups move backwards as well as forwards. A new member, change of leader, conflict, breach of confidence or change in the group’s purpose can return a mature group to an earlier stage.
There is also an important asymmetry here: trust accumulates through many small pieces of evidence but can be damaged by one striking counter-example. A hundred confidential exchanges may establish the expectation that the group keeps confidence. One serious breach proves that this expectation has limits.
For coaching, I think this makes a useful distinction between ‘creating conditions for trust‘ and ‘trying to create trust‘. A facilitator cannot make participants trust one another. They can control many of the conditions under which members decide whether trust seems warranted. They can protect choice, model candour, prevent ridicule, attend to power, enforce boundaries and respond well when something goes wrong.
The strongest circle of trust may therefore contain a mild paradox: people eventually feel safe because nobody requires them to feel safe. They retain the right to speak, remain silent, disagree, withdraw a disclosure and decide for themselves how much trust another person has earned.
References
Edmondson, A. (1999). Psychological safety and learning behavior in work teams. Administrative Science Quarterly, 44(2), 350–383.
Lewicki, R. J., & Bunker, B. B. (1996). Developing and maintaining trust in work relationships. In R. M. Kramer & T. R. Tyler (Eds.), Trust in organizations: Frontiers of theory and research (pp. 114–139). Sage.
Mayer, R. C., Davis, J. H., & Schoorman, F. D. (1995). An integrative model of organizational trust. Academy of Management Review, 20(3), 709–734.
Palmer, P. J. (2004). A hidden wholeness: The journey toward an undivided life. Jossey-Bass.
Reis, H. T., & Shaver, P. (1988). Intimacy as an interpersonal process. In S. Duck (Ed.), Handbook of personal relationships (pp. 367–389). Wiley.
Tuckman, B. W. (1965). Developmental sequence in small groups. Psychological Bulletin, 63(6), 384–399.
A recent exchange on WhatsApp has made me think about the nature of shame. I had politely asked someone to move an extended discussion from a general community group into a group created for that topic. A third person accused me of “naming and shaming” them.
My first response was one of some puzzlement. Can I, in fact, shame another person? I had tended to think of shame as something that happens within us. In broadly psychodynamic terms, I might experience shame when something I have done, thought or revealed comes into conflict with my internal sense of how I ought to be. In older psychoanalytic language, I might think of this as the ego finding itself judged by the superego.
That view is not wrong, but these days it seems incomplete.
Freud gives the superego a key role in self-judgement, although his account deals more with guilt than with shame (Freud, 1930/1961). The distinction matters. Guilt tends to concern what I have done: I have behaved badly and may need to put something right. Shame reaches further into my sense of self: I am foolish, inadequate, unacceptable, or somehow less worthy in the eyes of others. Research on self-conscious emotions has supported this distinction (Tangney et al., 2007).
I cannot feel shame without some standard against which I judge myself. Many of those standards began outside me. Parents, teachers, peers, partners, institutions and cultures all help shape what I come to regard as acceptable. What later feels like an internal voice has a social history. The superego, if I retain that language, is not a private moral machine that appeared from nowhere. It carries traces of relationships and social rules.
There is also something distinctive about being seen. Shame seems to contain an imagined pair of eyes. I become conscious not only of what I have done but of how I appear to someone else. Sometimes that other person need not even be present. I can recall an event years later and feel shame because I can still imagine how I must have looked. Tracy and Robins (2004) place this form of self-evaluation at the heart of self-conscious emotions, while Scheff (2000) links shame closely to threats to social bonds and social standing.
This leads me to distinguish between shame and shaming.
Another person can certainly perform an act that might reasonably be called shaming. They can expose me, mock me, draw public attention to my failure, invite others to condemn me, or portray a minor breach as evidence of some defect in my character. Yet they cannot determine whether I experience shame. I might instead feel angry, amused, confused or indifferent. I might reject the standard by which they are judging me.
The reverse is also true. I can feel deeply ashamed when nobody intended to shame me. Someone may make a mild comment which touches an existing vulnerability. They may not even know that they have done so. In that case, the intensity of my shame tells us at least as much about my inner world as it does about their behaviour.
This makes the phrase “you shamed me” more complex than it first appears. It may mean “your behaviour was designed to humiliate me”. But it can also mean “I experienced shame in response to what you did”. Those are not the same claim.
The WhatsApp exchange illustrates the problem well. Asking someone in a public group to move a discussion elsewhere does expose the correction to an audience. That makes embarrassment possible. It may even evoke shame. But the mere fact that an intervention takes place in public does not seem enough to define it as shaming. Much depends on what is being communicated.
There seems to me to be a major difference between saying, “Could you move this discussion to the group set up for it?” and saying, “You are once again showing no regard for everybody else.” The first identifies an action and asks for it to change. The second moves towards a judgement of the person. One concerns conduct; the other risks turning conduct into character.
This distinction also fits the research on guilt and shame. Guilt leaves room for repair: I did something that I might do differently next time. Shame can make the whole self the object of judgement: this behaviour reveals what sort of person I am (Tangney et al., 2007). It is easy to see why the latter can provoke withdrawal, anger or counterattack rather than reflection.
I am therefore modifying, rather than abandoning, my original view. I still do not think one person can simply inflict shame upon another in the way that one might inflict an injury. The final psychological event occurs within the person who feels ashamed. It depends upon their own standards, history, sense of self and interpretation of what has happened.
Yet I had underestimated the interpersonal part of the process. Other people can provide the audience, the judgement and the threat to social standing that make shame possible. They can also act with the intention of producing shame. A group can do this collectively. Cultures can build whole systems around it.
Perhaps the most useful distinction for me is therefore between three things: an act that may be shaming, another person’s interpretation of that act, and the feeling of shame that may follow. These overlap, but they are not identical.
That distinction also guards against an awkward circular argument. If feeling ashamed were enough to prove that somebody else had shamed me, my emotional response would settle the moral question about their conduct. Yet the same public request might leave one person mildly embarrassed, another furious, another grateful for the reminder, and another untouched. My feeling deserves attention, but it cannot by itself tell me what another person intended or whether their conduct was unreasonable.
Perhaps this is where my original psychodynamic intuition still has value. When I feel shamed, one useful question is not only, “What has this person done to me?” but also, “What judgement about myself has their action awakened?” That does not excuse cruelty or public humiliation. It simply recognises that shame takes form at the meeting point between the social world and the internal one.
References
Freud, S. (1961). Civilization and its discontents (J. Strachey, Trans.). W. W. Norton. (Original work published 1930).
Scheff, T. J. (2000). Shame and the social bond: A sociological theory. Sociological Theory, 18(1), 84–99. https://doi.org/10.1111/0735-2751.00089
Tangney, J. P., Stuewig, J., & Mashek, D. J. (2007). Moral emotions and moral behavior. Annual Review of Psychology, 58, 345–372. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev.psych.56.091103.070145
Tracy, J. L., & Robins, R. W. (2004). Putting the self into self-conscious emotions: A theoretical model. Psychological Inquiry, 15(2), 103–125. https://doi.org/10.1207/S15327965PLI1502_01