Be Grateful For Your Triggers; They Point Where You Are Not Free
Triggers: an event or thought that births a psychological thorn which, in turn, snags a thread from the folds of our minds and leaves us tossing and turning – worried, anxious, filled with self-doubt, circling the drain with our thoughts and attacking our psyches with feelings of shame, regret or self-loathing. Sometimes a trigger is something outside of ourselves that keeps us bound – an emotional response to something someone else did or said, worry for others, fear about events we predict may happen in the future, or concern for our personal circumstances – our home environment, our finances, our family politics, or dread of an upcoming doctor appointment or possible diagnosis. Regardless, a trigger is a moment in time – an exchange or a thought - that has waggled its finger in a psychological soft spot that now, in all its hot sensitivity, is left reeling. All nerve endings standing at attention – raw and blistered, like a sunburn.
As we free fall through the stratosphere of our minds, a hiccupping sequence begins to unfold. We scrabble for a life preserver and we find one. We cling to it, but then a new thought - shot through with panic - is born and we begin to cartwheel again. Our hands swipe through the neuro-galaxies and we discover a finger hold. We dig in, but the grasp is tremulous and we lose our grip. And so on and so forth. It’s an exhausting series born in fear. We are not at peace and, because we are not at peace, we are not free.
I recently came across a Paulo Coehlo quote that resonated: “If it costs you your peace, it is too expensive.” Short of health and the well-being for those I love, there is little in this life that is as valuable as peace of mind. And, as chance would have it, peace of mind is an elusive little buggar that seems to play an endless game of catch me if you can.
Hey, hey, it seems to taunt. Look at me! I’m just over here! I leap, as if in a game of Marco Polo. He slips away and thumbs his nose at me. Aha – gotcha! Now I’m over here! Sometimes I succeed in catching the little thief and pinning him to the ground, and then I get to enjoy a moment in time in which I am in a happy groove: swinging, joyful, optimistic, full of possibility. My skirts are full, my garden bountiful. But then the buggar slithers from beneath the net and out he runs again. My spirits plummet and the world once again feels limited, murky and confused.
Oh, that little elfin buggar. Oh, those painful triggers. I have to look at them. I have to examine them - turn them over in my fingers like a skipping stone and gaze at all the imperfections. For it is only in engaging in a dialogue with what I fear that the force of that same fear begins to lose its luster – like a shooting star twinkling toward its death. Triggers are a roadmap providing directions and instructions. They point to where I am not free and, in so doing, are perhaps my very best ally.