What Does It Mean To Be ‘Triggered’?

A meeting was conducted in a place I knew could possibly be visited by a person who had abused me a few years ago. The weeks prior my mind didn’t connect any dots, I put the meeting in my calendar as I would with any other and then forgot about it again until the day of. The day of came, and that morning it dawned on me. My chest immediately tightened. I paced around my room trying to catch my breath. Memories involuntarily kept flushing back.

“What am I going to do?”.

“Will they be there?”.

“How will my body react if I see them?”.

“How should I react?”.

The meeting was in the early evening, and all day I tried to distract myself with work but whenever I caught a quiet moment, tears started rolling from my eyes. My mind imagined every possible scenario to protect myself, to prepare myself. Will they leave if they see me? Will they say something? What if the person I am meeting knows them and calls them over to introduce me? Will I start crying? What are my options to just walk away and hide in the bathroom? “Don’t go!!!” I pleaded with myself, but I knew I had no choice, it would have been unprofessional to just not show up or cancel at the last minute.

As the time to leave approached, I sat on my couch trying to catch my breath, my heart was beating loud and fast. Sweat dripping off me. I kept pushing back the time to put my shoes and coat on, as this to me meant there was no turning back. When I finally jumped on my bicycle I felt a sense of intoxication. I thought to myself I probably shouldn’t cycle; my mind was so focused on what I could possibly walk into that I wasn’t capable of watching the traffic around me. Part of me didn’t care; “Just hit me.” I thought, at least that way I have an acceptable excuse to get out of this meeting.

In front of the building, I took another few deep breaths as I was locking my bike to the railing. I was shaking. I wiped the sweat off my forehead before I pushed the door open and greeted the awaiting person with a smile. My eyes firmly affixed on that person only. I needed to stay oblivious to whomever else was inside the premise. I opened the conversation with my best introductory small talk. I had long taught myself how to “fake it” and I am very good at it — no one would have been able to tell I was in distress. I was guided to our table, again not chancing a glance to my right, nor left. I could hear my heartbeat thumping. I could feel my breathing was heavier than usual. I wondered if my peer noticed the to me obvious panting. With a cheery exterior I talked the talk, yet only able to ingest half of what the other person was saying. Whenever I stopped speaking, my mind was trying to prepare myself for the worst-case scenario, interminably giving myself an emergency run through on how to react, if….

A generally average place triggered a reaction to a very painful memory, which led to a day of dealing with insufferable traumatic recollections. The place itself harboured no incidents of abuse, in fact I myself had never before been there, I merely learned that person regularly roams the hallways. Now, that place bears a memory it had never created.

Another time, I did not deliver the desired results. A last-minute work request came my way. I had eight minutes to sort “the issue” before heading into a meeting, and instead of asking the requester to look for alternative options, I assured them that I will get right to it. Anxiously I wrote emails and made hopeful phone calls, watching the time to not be delayed for the meeting. Five minutes later I had it sorted. Pleased with myself I got on with what was left of my official working day. An hour later I received a message saying that it seemed to not have worked out after all. Back I was on my phone, apparently there was a delay which naturally wasn’t welcomed, and the person now irritated, used their own resources to resolve the error. I immediately cursed myself for being so incompetent and panicked over how I could make it up to the person. I sent apologetic messages — internally begging for the person to forgive me for having let them down. But it was already too late, my mind was triggered, and a learned narrative rushed back berating me:

“You are useless”

“You never do anything right.”

“You are a failure”

“You are a disappointment”

“You are so stupid”

“You are an imbecile”

“You’re good for nothing”

“You’re a joke”

“You’re a waste of space”

I started crying, certain that this person will never work with me again and now definitely thinks of me not good enough and incapable. I aspersed myself for being so useless and felt a hefty guilt for having failed that person. I cried for most of the night, my racing mind robbing me off my sleep, trying to think of grand gestures to make it up to them. I just knew they would now sit there and think lesser of me, so I had to dig deep to show them I am not the failure they are now surely think of me as. I hated myself in that moment and just wanted to disappear and give up. The insults I hurtled at myself, the words I called myself that night, I would never dare to say to anyone else.

In reality, I had worked with that person for a few months. Delivered on everything which was asked of me with perfection and diligence. All was running smoothly up unto that point. I had indeed sorted the problem. I had received confirmation that it would be dealt with by a third party (I couldn’t physically attend to it myself). I had done my job, the third party let myself and that person down, not me, yet I blamed entirely myself and in my mind so did that person (I never found out their thoughts on this which encouraged my internalised detrimental dialogue to run amok). In any case, this was a minor issue which could be resolved in other ways with no repercussions.

The next evening, my mind finally allowed me the freedom to rationalise the situation. I started to understand that the person most likely didn’t think about my “failure” at all again and long had moved on. It wasn’t a big deal. No one but myself thought of me as an utter waste of space. I got annoyed with myself that years later, I still allow for my abuser to control my personal dialogue when things go wrong. I also felt confusion as to why I continue to go out of my way to assist in order to please others in the hope they then in turn view me as ‘capable’ and ‘worthy’ of their time. Why, to this day, do I lack any sense of self-belief and draw all my confidence from the satisfaction of others and why would I rather suffer a burnout than disappoint another human (whether they are deserving or not plays no part)?

Today I can have a rational conversation with myself and recognise that my reactions are a product of years of abuse. I understand that my immediate uncontrollable responses to criticism for example, are directly linked to a learned, abusive narrative which is incredibly difficult to re-write. It took me years to connect the link between the abuse experienced and my own involuntary behaviours and having talked to individuals about triggers, I am only too aware of how misunderstood and confusing these behaviours are not only to “witnesses” but also to the victim & survivor themselves

So, What Are Triggers?

A victim can get triggered by certain words, actions or places which cause for painful memories or certain symptoms to resurface. These (to the spectator) “over-sensitive” reactions are due to the fact that a victim is re-experiencing symptoms of trauma, not the present scenery they’re surrounded by.

Take panic attacks as an example. Your body knows a panic attack to display symptoms of a raised heartbeat, shortness of breath, or sudden burst of fear. Your mind remembers those symptoms. Nothing in particular needs to have happened, you could be chasing a bus. Your heart starts beating faster, you are short of breath, you are anxious because you might be in trouble if you show up late again — your mind can confuse these symptoms with a panic attack and your body starts to react and instigates that panic attack. A victim’s memories of abuse work like that too. They can hear a word their abuser used to say all the time or witness a harmless interaction which is reminiscent of something more sinister to the victim, their body starts reacting involuntarily to their mind’s memory.

As in my examples, for many years I had been told that I am useless repeatedly and consistently. The abuser manipulated situations to showcase my apparent failures and I started to believe their belittlements. I would try so hard to to be met with the tiniest slither of approval and appreciation for my efforts, which were rare and far in between. So, I would try even harder to the point of complete exhaustion. Grand gestures to make up for “my” mistakes were a desperate attempt to not only keep the peace but an exaggerated need for validation by the person I loved. In my case, I had learned in childhood that acceptance and love is something that must be earned, and when this already internalised fear was ignited again in adulthood it caused a wildfire reaction within me. A familiar love that wasn’t exclusive of trauma. I went straight back to that mindset — having learned that I am not loveable just as myself, I had to prove to the person that I am a worthy companion. Today, that mindset can still get triggered in what would be innocent circumstances.

If you witness someone “overreacting” it could mean that person is struggling with the present or a lingering past. Talk about it, listen, ask questions but please don’t probe and if you do like to offer some advice, please consider that you wouldn’t try consoling someone experiencing a panic attack by telling them that other people have panic attacks too, to stay positive and to try move on from it. And you shouldn’t say these things to someone who gets triggered by traumatic memories of abuse either, because sadly it is just not that simple. We wish!