Moving past trauma does not come from fixing the past or controlling emotions. It happens slowly by how we take care of ourselves in the present.
What we think about, how we talk to ourselves, and whether we choose to honor our exhaustion rather than punish our perceived failures.
People who appear more resilient are not untouched by hardship; they have learned ways to carry it without being consumed by it.
Four Things I do When I am Triggered:
- Breathe
- Check in
- Let it out
- Remind
Breathe
The first thing I do when I’m consumed with the past is breathe. Not the shallow, panicked breathing that comes naturally when you’re triggered, but intentional breathing. Deep inhales that fill my lungs completely. Slow exhales signal to my body that I’m not in danger right now.
This has to come first. It’s not optional. When my nervous system is activated, nothing else works. I can’t think clearly, and I can’t access the rational part of my brain. I can’t connect with the parts of me that need attention.
Breathing calms the nervous system down. It tells my body: I’m safe, and I can handle this.
Check In
Once I can breathe, I check in with the different parts of me that got triggered.
The parts of me that are still the little girl who survived trauma, and the ex-wife in me who learned that abuse meant something, were fundamentally wrong with me. The old version of me, the mom, who feels guilty for everything. For the past, for staying in an abusive marriage for 24 years, and for things I can’t control. There are parts of me that are exhausted from trying so hard to be different, to break cycles, to heal.
I’ve learned in therapy that these parts all have something to say. They all need to be heard. And when I get triggered, it’s usually because one of them is scared or hurting and trying to protect me the only way they know how.
So I check in. I ask: which part of me is feeling this right now? What does she need? What is she afraid of?
Let It Out
After I’ve breathed and checked in, I need to let it out. The feelings can’t stay inside my body. They need somewhere to go.
Sometimes I journal. I write without editing, without trying to make it make sense. I let the fear, the guilt, and the helplessness spill onto the page. I write about the abuse I survived and how it still haunts me. And I write about whatever might have triggered me that day. Even if it was only the dog getting into the trash.
Sometimes I talk to someone who understands, like my therapist or my husband. I say the things out loud that feel too big to carry alone. I let someone else witness my pain without trying to fix it or minimize it.
Just: I see you. I hear you.
Getting the feelings out doesn’t make them disappear. But it makes them manageable. It takes them from this overwhelming internal storm and gives them form, language, and a place to exist outside of me.
Remind
The last tool is the one I need most: remind.
When the old shame tries to convince me I should have healed enough by now to not get triggered, I remind myself:
I did the best I could with the tools and knowledge I had. And I’m doing the best I can now.
When I feel like I’m failing because I got derailed again, I remind myself that a brief moment of being consumed isn’t failure. It’s part of being human. It’s part of having a nervous system that remembers trauma. What matters is what I do after.
I also remind myself that I’m safe now. And I am loved.
Healing comes in waves, just like grief does. Sometimes the waves are higher and harder, like when an anniversary of trauma comes around, when my nervous system gets activated by something I didn’t see coming. Sometimes the waves are just ebbing, gentle reminders that I’ve been through hard things, but I’m okay now.
Self-help culture promises a permanent better. It sells the idea that if you do the work, use the right tools, and heal properly, you’ll reach a destination where you’re fixed. Where you don’t get triggered anymore. Where you’ve moved past it all.
That’s a lie. The truth is that healing isn’t reaching the shore. It has the tools to stay afloat. And it is the repetition of returning to these practices, not because you failed the first time, but because this is what healing actually
Yoli's Write To Sanity 