Trigger Warning: Making Peace with Trauma Responses

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Three and a half years ago, I went through a traumatic event, the repercussions of which rippled out into what I hope to call the worst year of my life. And while that time is now behind me, and life has once again gone back to normal, there is one side effect that still casts a shadow over my life. It feels like I hear people talking about triggers all the time, about being aware and sensitive. But I rarely see anything that resembles an understanding of what I experience when I say I am triggered.

Triggered, in a clinical sense, is understood as an emotional or psychological reaction to a stimulus, which can prompt a re-experience of trauma and produce an overwhelming response. For me, it’s a whole-body reaction that can take days to subside. Once upon a time, it was weeks. While I consider my reduced recovery time a win, I’m starting to accept that, to some degree, this may be something I have to deal with for the rest of my life. 

The hardest thing to explain is that triggers aren’t necessarily rational. I’ve watched TV shows that graphically depict events similar to my experience and had no reaction. In contrast, something seemingly innocent and irrelevant can send me into a tailspin, like a badly worded text message. It’s very hard to give a blanket set of instructions about what sets me off. There are obvious things, which are directly threatening or aggressive, but then there have been more subtle cues which have caught me completely off guard. They make no logical sense, which makes it even harder to come to terms with the extreme reaction that I then have to contend with.

I am a writer and educator, and after 15 years of working in education in Southwest England, I thought I had a solid understanding of the effects of trauma. But when my event happened, I had no concept of the longevity of its effects. Physically, I was fine. I remember a counsellor telling me that I was standing at the base of a mountain and internally shrugging it off. I had moved from the city to the countryside a year earlier for a slower pace of life and felt certain that recovery would be a matter of weeks. Had you told me that 3 years later, I’d still have days where I felt out of control, it would have terrified me. I thought these reactions were part of the event. For me, accepting them as part of the recovery has been an incredibly important part of moving on.  

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What Being Triggered Feels like in my Body and Brain

For me, being triggered starts in my gut.

It’s cliché, but it’s like a punch that knocks the air out of my lungs. Then it spreads. My knees get light, like there is an air bubble pushing them up, ready to spring. I struggle to regulate my breathing, and I stress sweat profusely. My back and shoulders tense. My skin itches. I can’t sit still. I can’t focus on anything but the stimulus. Whatever it was, no matter how big or small, it’s all I can think about.

Imaginary rows with invisible people lasting days.

Worse, I struggle to stay present and function. Holding a conversation is challenging because the trigger is still playing out in my brain. If I’m not engaged, I disassociate: more absorbed with the imagined threat than the real world.

I struggle to eat. I’ve fallen into bed exhausted, only to be unable to sleep, on a couple of occasions, for several days. I develop tics. Rocking myself, rubbing my hands together unconsciously — all attempts to self-soothe. I literally can’t sit still.

But what I have to be particularly careful of is what's going on in my brain. While I have often been told by my therapist that I get full marks for self-awareness, that in itself can be a curse. Knowing the absurdity of what I’m going through can make it worse, as I start telling myself off for not being able to calm down. I have to walk a fine line between forgiving myself for my reactions and giving myself space to process the trauma, while acknowledging when my thoughts are trapping me in my panic state. Far from controlling the sensation in my body, my brain tries to rationalise it. Justify it. Turn whatever prompted this reaction into a monster that makes my response appropriate and necessary. I have to be careful about who and how I talk about what I’m going through. The wrong type of validation can prolong the experience.

The Only Way Out is Through

While the urge is to regurgitate the event over and over again, what I’ve realised is that, in my case, this hamster wheel doesn’t help me. It simply prolongs the agony by getting validation for the fear from external sources, something that I crave. This started at the time of the event; while some people can hide their experiences for years, I found that I had to tell everyone: friends, family, strangers. Any within earshot could detonate the trauma bomb.

Now I am careful of how I talk about what I am experiencing. I know that the trigger itself (however big or small) is not the issue. It’s about convincing both mind and body that I am safe in my space. Replaying the danger doesn’t help. Staying in myself, noting the physical sensations without judgement, and talking to ‘safe’ people, like trusted friends and professionals (Somerset’s Mindline service has been invaluable to me, they offer a 30-minute call-a-day, alongside other mental health support services). Trying to ignore what is happening only makes it worse. The only way out is through it.

I’ve also realised how important it is to maintain my self-care routines. Making sure I eat and exercise to try and get some endorphins flowing. But it has to be the right kind of exercise. Walking gives me too much time to stew and ruminate. Swimming, on the other hand, seems to naturally mellow me out a little.

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How I Live with my Triggers

I’m learning to accept my triggers and forgive myself for them. Because however uncomfortable it feels now, once upon a time they were sane reactions to a crazy situation. There was a time when I was in danger and failed to keep myself safe. My reactions are my body’s way of trying to make sure that isn’t going to happen again. My triggers are terrifying and paralysing and mind numbing, but they keep me safe.

As I’ve had to rebuild my life in the last few years, they have forced me to pay close attention to my own wants and needs. Something that has done me good in helping me form better habits, hobbies, and stronger relationships. I’ve learnt how to step away from unnecessary conflicts and give myself space to have reactions. It’s made me aware of some of my own self-destructive patterns and helped me take steps to make healthier choices.

I can’t say I’ll ever be ‘grateful’ to have triggers, but I’m not scared of them anymore. They have helped me rebuild myself out of a crisis, and I’m content knowing that even if I have to deal with them until my dying day, it means that I’ll have to take better care of myself. I pay more attention to my needs, even on good days, and prioritising self-care makes the good days better.  

I may not always be in control, but I’m working with myself now, not against. And that feels better.