09/29/2025
Trigger warning
That jolt in your chest when someone cuts too close.
The heat in your face when a word lands like a slap.
The sudden urge to bolt, fight, or shut down.
Most of us call it overreacting.
But activation is not an overreaction—it’s a signal flare.
It’s your nervous system saying: something familiar just got touched.
Not familiar as in good—familiar as in old.
Old betrayals. Old neglect. Old moments where you learned love was conditional, safety was fragile, and being yourself carried a cost.
Activation is a blacklight.
It makes visible what’s usually hidden: the fingerprints of your history. The places where you swallowed your voice, tightened your chest, or learned to disappear to keep the peace.
It’s not just anger or panic.
It’s your body holding a flashlight to the exact coordinates of your unfinished business. A map drawn in neon.
So the question isn’t, “Why am I triggered?”
That’s surface.
The deeper question is: “What is this showing me about the places that still ache?”
Because every spike of activation is an invitation.
Messy, yes. Uncomfortable, yes. But also honest.
It’s a doorway—if you’re willing to walk through it instead of slamming it shut.
Your triggers aren’t proof that you’re broken.
They’re proof that your body remembers.
And maybe what it’s asking—underneath all the static—is that you finally remember too.
So instead of spiraling into “Why am I like this?” you pause.
You ask: “What’s this moment showing me about what still hurts? About what still needs care?”
That’s how you turn the trigger into a teacher.
