Triggered
And the gift of witness
Ughh…I got triggered.
And I tried to demand that I stay out of regression. I tried to demand that I use all my tools but this one was tough. I judged myself. I slipped. A younger version showed up. She was hurt and deeply sad. But this time she wasn’t rageful.
This time I had some vague objectivity, some small sense of outside observation, that allowed me to resist the magnetic pull where past invades present. Still, staying was taking everything I had.
So I reached for someone I trusted. A witness. A friend. Someone I could speak my truth to.
I touch the feelings with my words. Roll them around between my fingers.
And this observer, she doesn’t judge me. She doesn’t see me only through the picture I am painting. She holds all of my parts in mind while I dive down deep into the one that is currently running the show.
I let this part come to life.
In full form, full tantrum.
And just as I feel it may burst, I meet her gaze. She still sees me whole, despite being this one very specific part. She even says she understands this piece, its reaction, the size of its feelings. And then just as quickly as it took up my universe, it deflates. Like a balloon with the air let out.
My being starts to come back to its original form. And that trigger is released. Discharged. Into the ether.
As stuck as I felt. As impossibly here as I thought I would stay.
I moved.
It moved.
It rightsized and all my other parts did too.
I recognised this so much. What struck me wasn't that the trigger disappeared, but that you weren't alone with it. There is something profoundly healing about being with someone who can see the frightened, angry or grieving part without mistaking it for the whole of who we are. I've found those moments don't make the feelings vanish—they simply help them return to their proper size. Thank you for such an honest piece.