There’s a thought I came across recently that went something like, “Triggers show us the parts of us that still need healing.”
Without painting with a broad brush like The Holistic Psychologist (remind me to share how I fell out of love with her recently) and pushing the notion that triggers as teachers is true for everyone, I have found this thought to be true in my lived experience.
Here’s a trigger for me:
A bookshelf that holds books from my last semester of college before I dropped out. There are more books there than just that semester, but I don’t notice those books the way I notice the ones that feel incomplete.
This bookshelf used to make me sad. Disappointed. Embarrassed. Anxious. Very very anxious.
But it’s gotten better.
When I look at those books and think about who I am compared to who I was is where the healing takes place.
I look at these books and the subject matter still makes me come alive. Studying the human experience through a psychological lens has always fascinated me. When I ask the question “why/how does XYZ happen?” I’m given endless perspectives and possibilities. Contrary to math subjects where there’s typically just one way to look at things. One formula to follow to find the one solution. Not exactly my jam.
But something came up for me during my studies that I couldn’t shake. I couldn’t just swallow it and make it quiet down long enough for me to make it through to graduation. It wouldn’t let me.
I had to heal. I had to face the truth that I had been dealt a hand early on in life with unresolved trauma that needed to be seen and treated. My academic adventures would have to wait.
This bookshelf only just became a bookshelf. Before that these books were hidden in the closet of my messy office space that is now my daughter’s room.
I had a hard time finding a place for them. Should I sell them to Amazon? Should I hold on to the ones that had pertinent information? Should I give them to goodwill? Should I read them again?
I’m honestly still not sure what their end goal will be but I know I‘m supposed to honor them and give them a proper home for now. I’m supposed to let them do their work on me. I’m supposed to let them trigger me until they just don’t anymore.
Exposure therapy, maybe?
I’ve recently enrolled in some classes that are kind of like the stuff on this bookshelf… but also not at all like the stuff on this bookshelf.
But somehow, in some weird mysterious way, the books were leading me toward this path the entire time.
I remember taking the class connected to The Pacific Northwest book pictured on the bottom shelf and thinking, “This will be a fun elective that doesn’t require much of my attention and has nothing to do with my personal career goals.”
My current classes and the entire whirlwind of life experiences and spiritual awakenings that happened from that point until now have respectfully disagreed.
Triggers are teachers and guides, I’ve learned. Their messages and lessons are better understood in the rearview mirror.
It’s easier to reflect that way.