Trigger Warning

I am supposed to be writing more of Allison the Alliteration Ant right now. Instead I’m sitting on the couch, my butt burning from the “booty cream” I just put on, eating a mint chocolate chip yogurt popsicle. And before that, I did a whole bunch of other things that were not writing Allison the Alliteration Ant. I even went on a run. 

And now I am writing this…

Why?

A Trigger. 

Which then led to a breakdown..

Which then led to avoidance of the things I love most… 

Which then led to attempting to tackle that avoidance by staring it in the face.

This morning I tripped through a wire that wasn’t supposed to be there. I was enjoying a nice walk with Chris and the girls (we always refer to our dogs as “the girls”) and there was no indication that anything was off this morning in my soul.. in my mind. And perhaps there really wasn’t. Perhaps I did wake up happy. Perhaps I did wake up ready to tackle the day. Heck, I probably planned to do too many things today, because the whole “when you do what you love, you love what you do” thing perhaps took over my disorganized mind this morning. 

And even still, with all of today’s exciting work things just on the other side of that walk, I completely face planted. 

Many know already that I had been dreaming about becoming a writer for quite some time. I would scritch- scratch a line or two here and there, write a story, then another, but there was always this nagging “can’t” in the background. It was a negativity and a doubt in myself that I couldn’t shake for a very long time. 

Cue the past… 

Someone very close to me, whose opinion mattered a whole lot, would often provide commentary on other people’s lives, lives that were lived in ways similar to what was sleeping inside of me. A creative’s life. And, if you are anything like me, we do what I like to call collecting data.

For years, I had been collecting data (their opinions) about my dream career, trying to figure out where I landed on his scatter plot of what was considered reasonable and worthy. I was secretly looking for validation that the way I wanted to spend my time and the career that I wanted to build was perfectly acceptable, and I was going to get that by collecting and storing positive reactions that this person had kindly bestowed upon others who liked to spend their time similarly to me- creating. However, those positive opinions and reactions rarely came, if at all. They were the opposite, and they were ever so slight. 

With each one I deflated. 

And, you know, that just became the norm. I would still discuss my aspirations to be an author from time to time, until one day, once the lack of support that I was met with had become so unbearable, I stopped talking about it. I had been waiting for enough support and validation to run full fledged into the fold. I had many stories already written and ready to go, but they needed my time and attention.. and of course money. Money was the biggest hurdle and not because the money wasn’t materially available. It wasn’t idealistically available. The money was unwilling to support the mission, you could say, because the mission wasn’t proven worthy. The mission didn’t yet have a business plan. It didn’t yet check all the boxes it was supposed to. The mission’s success had to be highly likely, provable, and backed by evidence. It wasn’t enough that supporting this mission would mean supporting my dream. The thing that made me tick (nevermind the fact that the same money was spent in other random ways that were less important..). And don’t forget the ever present data collecting that my own mind constantly participated in throughout every day interactions. That part of it simply never stopped. 

Eventually, one day I was told how annoying it was to hear me talk about writing, wanting to write.. wanting to publish. And that was it. I stopped shedding light on my dream after that. I started to tell myself that it would still be a part of my life, but likely just as a hobby. That every once in a while, when I could prove that I hadn’t spent that much money over the course of a few months, I could commission some illustrations. Then slowly work through to publishing when I had time between my real job. Working every once in a while behind the scenes, in secret, until one day my dream could prove its worth without me having to be its mouthpiece. It was psychologically troubling for a long time to imagine my dream was unworthy. A dream so close to the essence of who I am that to deem it unworthy is almost to do the same to me.

Fast forward to now, a time when this highly influential opinion is no longer a part of my life and hasn’t been for a while, and we get back to today’s trigger. 

With the unending encouragement from my incredible support structure, I ran full force back into the arms of Samantha, Author. But ever since I began creating my children’s books and writing more regularly, freely, and most recently full-time, I have struggled with that decades-worth of sneaky negativity and contempt towards my dream. It creeps up often, like muscle memory, although less so these days. Today just happened to be one of the “less so” days.

Today, while walking and discussing plans (near-term and far) for this writer’s journey, Chris offered his input. 

And I got defensive. 

Even though his (usually welcomed) input was valid, sensical, and supportive, today it mysteriously was unwelcomed. Today it propelled me back into a world where I was withering, unsupported and invalidated in who I was. His advice was a “consider this” type of approach that my mind met with..

you don’t think I am capable 

Which led to…

his support will run out one day

And a myriad of others…

This is all too good to be true

This is fake support

This is lip service

All is well while all is well, but when this falters, the support will disappear with it

I don’t really add value to our lives

There will come a time when I am no longer good enough

… and just like that, the original thing was no longer the “thing” that had my mind spinning. I began to spiral. It wasn’t really about a threat to my dream. This was about abandonment. 

Then came the next part, one that I used to dread: explaining the feelings. 

Yeah, you guessed it, I had been here before. I had previously experienced those negative thoughts in situations that were really happening and those same negative thoughts were validated through scoffs, eye rolls, and other little things that reminded me just how annoying I was. And just because, in this moment, the negativity and the lack of support wasn’t really there, it didn’t mean that my mind and my body weren’t going to propel me into a past life where it was really there. The thing is, if the phrase, action, or look is even remotely familiar to a trauma in the past.. WHAM- forget it. The trigger has been pulled and now I have to deal with the aftermath. 

But what if in dealing with that aftermath you have a swath of other triggers to dodge?

Yeah, winning. 

In the past I was well aware that I was “too emotional” and there wasn’t even a way to escape that label due to constant head-shakes and fingers pointed in my direction. Even still, my emotions had to be discussed to aid in the other’s understanding, so I would. I would try to explain why I was upset which inevitably would lead to more of an issue. Which would then lead to 1-3 weeks of emotional neglect depending on the severity of the emotions I was trying to explain and their involvement in the circumstances that developed them. 

So now, way outside of those past circumstances, Chris and I talked, and he was kind, understanding, and patient. He was exactly the way he always is when I trip through a wire that someone else laid there. It continues to blow my mind and help me heal wounds that are so deep and unique to me that only I can understand the intricacies. But that’s not all that happened. It would have been nice to end it there with the butterflies and rainbows of this love of mine that has shown me what a healthy relationship looks like. 

But it didn’t end that way because it just so happened that it was promptly Chris’ gym time (he is a creature of habit) at the conclusion of my “emotional explanation” and he made a joke that “it was OK” that it was time for him to leave for the gym because “you need some alone time anyway” as he smiled and hugged me tight (the jokester). Little did he know that it used to be the norm for me to be left alone immediately following a situation like this and that often I would be invalidated in some way or another and then consequently neglected, pushed out, or walked away from. 

I broke down into sobs in his arms as he hoped to understand what in the world just happened. 

What happened?

What did I say?

Sob. sob. 

Is it what I just said? 

I’m sorry… What happened, my love?  

Sob. [Holding my shoulders, he pushed me away slightly and looked into my eyes, inquisitively..]

I admitted.. Yes, it was what you said. 

And then I had to explain that trigger to him. Oh boy. At this point I felt like panicking, because it had now been 30 minutes of this whatever the heck is happening and for sure he was going to think that I am just a crazy person. 

But I proceeded to explain that I would usually be left alone after an emotional event, which is something that my body still has not forgotten… as evidenced by being in his arms, sobbing, shaking, and unconsciously moving into some assortment of breathing exercises that I had learned some months ago to stave off panic attacks.

And that is the thing with triggers. Even when I can rationalize with them, sometimes my body can’t meet my mind in that space. Sometimes the muscle memory of a trauma is too strong for the rationale to be able to override it. Sometimes triggers beget triggers beget triggers. 

I cannot explain to you how this works, but our minds have an incredible way of flashing past moments into the now, in the middle of an entirely different, present reality. I see the same faces, hear the same harsh words, the same eye rolls and scoffs and exasperated sighs. It tricks my mind into believing there is a real threat, right now. Then, I have the fight, flight, or freeze reaction just as I would have had then. I have become more of the “freezing” type as of late, sometimes feeling stunned and crippled as if I am incapable of continuing to handle this same trauma event popping up. It gets exhausting. It’s like a Furby that eventually you just take the battery out of. Can’t.. handle.. this.. anymore. Shlump. Wilt. Power-off. Hide.

The good news is, it can and does get better. No one’s journey looks the same, and the solutions don’t always look the same either.

I realized that I had to drastically change my circumstances in order to start healing my traumas. It is hard to heal wounds when new ones are consistently thrashed upon you so I knew I had to remove myself from the space that was creating the wounds. 

I also realized that the support system that I surround myself with is vital in helping me create (and train my brain to remember) my new, healthier normal. They remind me of who I am and that my unpleasant experiences help me to be stronger and more resilient. 

And lastly, I realized that I am not the only one who has experienced trauma, who deals with triggers and their aftermath, or who has loved ones swallowed up by it from time to time while trying to help navigate the murky waters.  

This is just one minor, triggering event.. in one day, about one past norm, but there is so much trauma out there relating to SO many different things. 

I open up about mine for others who can’t or aren’t ready to do so yet. I open up because people need to be reminded that we all struggle and that they aren’t the only one. I open up because the support network is vital for helping each other to heal.

So…I have said it before, and I’ll say it again. 

To my #IIIs. 

Cheers, 

Samantha