You’re in the middle of a conversation. Someone makes a casual comment—maybe they correct you in front of others, joke about something you’re sensitive about, or shift their tone just slightly. Suddenly, you feel a wave of heat rise up your chest. You snap, or shut down, or tear up before you even understand why. Then comes the shame spiral. Why am I reacting like this? What’s wrong with me?

Here’s the truth: you weren’t overreacting.
You were remembering.

Maybe not consciously. But your body remembered something—a time you felt dismissed, humiliated, or invisible. Your nervous system flagged the moment as familiar danger, even if your rational mind knew you were “safe.”

That’s what a trigger is: a bridge between now and then. It’s not just about the present situation—it’s about what it touches in your past. A trigger activates stored emotion, often from unhealed experiences or unmet childhood needs. And while it may feel overwhelming or irrational, it’s not a sign that you’re broken. It’s a sign that something inside you wants to be acknowledged.

Many of us grew up believing emotional control was the same as maturity. We were praised for being “strong,” for not crying, for keeping our voice calm when everything inside felt like it was breaking. Over time, strength became silence. And silence created disconnection from our feelings, from our bodies, and from our inner truth.

So when something triggers us—a delayed response, a withdrawal of affection, a tone shift—we don’t just feel it. We feel ashamed for feeling it. We downplay our needs, minimize our reactions, or punish ourselves for being “too much.” But this response pattern doesn’t come from nowhere. It’s deeply tied to how our nervous system has been conditioned.

Here’s what’s happening underneath: the part of your brain responsible for emotional regulation (the prefrontal cortex) goes offline when your nervous system detects a threat. The older part of your brain—the limbic system—takes over, activating stored emotional memories. That’s why a simple text delay can make you spiral, or why your partner’s silence can feel like abandonment. It’s not about the moment—it’s about the wound it hits.

Let’s say someone forgets your birthday. It hurts more than you expected—not because you’re dramatic, but because it brings up old stories: I don’t matter. I’m always forgotten. Or maybe your partner gives you feedback during an argument, and you instantly feel attacked, not because they were cruel, but because your body associates correction with being unsafe or emotionally rejected.

These are trauma responses, not character flaws.

Most people cope with triggers in one of two ways: they explode outward, or shut down inward. But there’s another option—pause and presence. When you feel activated, take a breath and ask yourself:

• What just happened?
  
• What emotion did I feel in my body?
  
• What memory or belief did it activate?
  
• What did I need in that moment?
  
• What do I need now?
  

This simple self-inquiry interrupts the auto-response and creates space for healing. It teaches your body that it’s safe to feel, without collapsing into the feeling.

You don’t need to get rid of your triggers to grow—you need to change how you relate to them. A trigger is often your inner child asking: Do I get to have needs now? Do I get to speak up without being punished? Am I allowed to feel without being shamed?

Healing doesn’t happen through suppression. It happens through acknowledgment. It happens when you stop abandoning yourself during emotional activation—and start staying with yourself instead.

Next time you’re triggered, try not to see it as a setback. See it as a signal. Your nervous system is flagging an old pattern and offering you a choice: to react from survival, or respond with care.

The work isn’t to become less triggered. It’s to become more loving toward yourself when you are. Because you weren’t being irrational. You were remembering. And now, you’re ready to meet that memory with presence instead of punishment.

That’s not weakness.
That’s healing.

With love,
Lydiah