She didn’t expect there to be so much uncertainty. The first physician couldn’t give her clear answers; there was concern, but not clarity. She got a diagnosis, but not a plan. There was enough information to raise the stakes, but not enough to settle them. So she did what most people do when the stakes feel personal and unclear—she went looking for answers on her own.
What changed her experience wasn’t the next appointment. It was what she found before that.
It was just a simple website. But that website presented a message that was direct, specific, and confident about what they did and how they did it. They didn’t try to cover everything, but they spoke clearly about one thing, and it spoke with certainty. By the time she walked into that second office, something had already shifted. The anxiety wasn’t gone, but it had been replaced by something more stable. She felt like she was in the right place.
Trust-Building Begins Before the First Conversation
The story shared above is the essence of a recent conversation I had with Betsy Jordyn on her podcast, “Consulting Matters.” The story has stayed with me, not because it was dramatic, but because it captured something most of us overlook: Trust had already begun forming before a single word was spoken between doctor and patient.
In my work, I study how trust develops between leaders and the people who choose to follow them. What consistently emerges is that trust doesn’t arrive all at once, and it doesn’t begin where we tend to think it does. It forms through signals, often subtle ones, that people interpret long before any formal interaction takes place.
The research points to three areas where those signals show up.
The first is ability. People are asking themselves, sometimes consciously and sometimes not, whether this person is capable in their role. This does not happen in a general sense, but in a way that feels specific to the situation. When the message is broad or vague, confidence is harder to establish. When it is focused and precise, people begin to relax. I believe that this is the right person for the job.
The second is integrity. This is less about credentials and more about consistency. Do the words hold together? Does the explanation make sense? When someone describes what they do and how they do it, does it feel grounded in reality, or does it feel like positioning without substance? Integrity builds when the message aligns with the evidence, and it continues to align as people learn more. I believe that this person keeps their promises and tells the truth.
The third is benevolence. This is where trust becomes personal. People are not only asking whether you can help them, but whether you will. Whether you see them, whether you understand the weight of what they’re dealing with, whether your interest in the work includes an interest in them as fully formed human beings. This is often the hardest signal to communicate, but it may be the most important. I believe that this person cares about me and my needs.
What I find striking about Betsy’s story isn’t just that these elements were present. It’s that they were present before the relationship ever began. The website communicated ability through its focus. It suggested integrity through its clarity. And it conveyed benevolence in the way it spoke to the reader’s concern without overstating certainty. By the time the physician entered the picture, trust was already in motion.
I agree with Betsy that leaders often fail to recognize the trust-building opportunity. There’s a tendency to believe that trust begins in the first conversation, that it’s built through rapport, through listening, through demonstrating insight in real time. Those things matter, but they are not where trust starts. By the time someone agrees to speak with you, they have already formed an impression of your ability, your credibility, and your intent. They may not be fully committed, but they are not starting from zero.
Their interpretation of your trust-building ability precedes the first meeting. This means that your reputation—your brand, your message, your positioning, the way you describe your work—is already doing part of the job. The question for you is whether it is doing that job well.
This is something I came to understand more clearly through my work with Betsy. What I initially expected was getting her help in refining my brand positioning. What I got instead was a deeper examination of how I was showing up in my own work. Not just what I do, but how I describe it, who it’s for, and what problem it is actually solving.
What I learned from her was this: It’s one thing to show off your decades of experience. It’s another to communicate that experience in a way that allows someone else to recognize its value quickly and confidently. That gap is where trust can either begin to form or quietly erode.
What Betsy pushed on, consistently, was clarity. Not broader appeal, but sharper focus. Not more services, but more definition. The work was less about adding and more about removing—stripping away the parts that blurred the message until what remained was something people could understand and respond to without having to interpret it.
In many ways, what we did mirrored the difference between those two physicians presented in the story. One created uncertainty without intending to. The other reduced it, almost immediately, through the way their work was presented and explained.
There’s a broader implication here for anyone whose work depends on the trust of others: People don’t arrive ready to trust you. They arrive with questions they may not even be able to articulate. They are trying to determine whether you can help them, whether you will be honest with them, and whether you have their best interests in mind.
And they begin answering those questions before you ever meet them. If your message is unclear, they feel it. If it’s inconsistent, they notice it. If it feels self-focused rather than client-focused, they respond to that too.
The opposite is also true. Clarity, consistency, and relevance in your message can create the desired connection. These things don’t necessarily guarantee trust, but they make trust possible.
At the end of our podcast conversation, Betsy and I came back to the same idea from a different angle. Clients don’t come to us at their best. They come when something matters, and when they’re not entirely sure what to do next. That’s what makes the work meaningful, but it’s also what makes trust so essential.
The interaction you have with them is part of that equation. But it’s not the beginning. If you’re interested in hearing the full conversation, including the story that shaped much of this reflection, you can find it on the Consulting Matters podcast with Betsy Jordyn.
And if nothing else, it’s worth asking a simple question as you look at your own work: How is your message building trust with someone before you ever speak to them?
Click the link below to watch our interaction, and go to Betsy’s website to learn more about how she helps coaches and consultants: https://www.betsyjordyn.com/