Tag: trigger

How to Speak from the Heart: Let Your First Word Be a Breath

“Mindfulness is a pause—the space between stimulus and response: that’s where choice lies.” ~Tara Brach

We’ve all been there.

A sharp reply. A snide remark. A moment when we said something that didn’t come from our heart but from somewhere else entirely—a need to be right, to sound smart, to prove a point, to stay in control, or simply to defend ourselves.

What follows is the spinning. The knowing that what was said didn’t align with our soul. The overthinking, the replaying of the moment, the rumination, the regret, the tightening in the chest, the wish we could take it back.

We justify, we rationalize—but deep down, we know those words weren’t true to who we really are. They weren’t true to the part of us that longs to connect.

For many years, I lived in that loop.

I prided myself on being kind, thoughtful, intelligent, articulate, in control. I made every effort to be so. But I was operating from a place filled with expectations and invisible scripts—needing to prove, impress, or protect. I was filling roles: the composed professional, the high achiever, the witty and loyal friend, the perfect daughter and sister, the confident partner, and the ideal mother.

And so, although my words were often considered, they lacked something deeper and essential: heart.

I thought being thoughtful meant thinking more. Planning my responses. Winning debates. But what I didn’t realize was that thinking without presence can become a wall, not a bridge.

It wasn’t until I learned to pause—to breathe—to allow space between stimulus and response, and to use that space to connect within, that I began to understand a different kind of thoughtfulness. A deeper kind: heartfulness.

This is wisdom—not intellectual but embodied. It lives not in the mind, but in the body. In the breath. In the heart.

The Journey Back to the Heart

This shift didn’t happen overnight.

It came slowly as I gave myself permission to pause, to reflect, to grow. I started noticing how my words were shaping my relationships and my experience of life overall. I wanted to feel better. Calmer. More connected. Ruminate less. Regret less. Suffer less. Feel happier, more relaxed, more authentic.

Mindfulness opened that door.

Through meditation, self-inquiry, and contemplative reading, I began to understand the power of being impeccable with my words.

Books like The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz—and its core teaching: be impeccable with your word—resonated deeply. So did the Buddhist teaching on Right Speech, which invites us to ask before speaking: Is this kind? Is this honest? Is this timely? Does it add value?

These questions became my framework.

I would repeat them silently each morning during meditation. I would return to them during conversations, especially the difficult ones. Eventually, they became part of me.

And here’s what I realized: being impeccable with our words isn’t just about avoiding gossip or negativity.

It’s about creating love.

It’s about adding to the world rather than taking from it.

It’s about using words to build, not break.

That meant pausing before I spoke. Feeling into my body. Listening for what was true beneath the surface.

And slowly, my words began to change.

I began to feel the quiet power of responding instead of reacting. I was no longer using my energy to defend or ruminate. Instead, I was using it to create connection and kindness.

This was a new kind of power—not the kind that makes us feel “in control,” but the kind that offers space. Space to connect with who I really am. Space to choose love.

A Simple, Yet Powerful Phrase to Remember

Just a few weeks ago, I came across a podcast where Jefferson Fisher, a Texas trial lawyer who speaks often about emotional regulation and grounded communication was being interviewed.

He suggested:

“May your first word be a breath.”

And in that moment, I felt the wisdom of the years of practice, reflection, and self-inquiry come together in one clear, simple, and practical sentence, something I could share with others to help implement and integrate the power of pausing before speaking.

This quote offered the simplest reminder for the wisdom I have spent years cultivating.

If there is one thing that you take away from this article, let it be this: “Let a breath be your first response” and see what happens.

This phrase has become a kind of shorthand for me.

A phrase I carry into parenting, relationships, conversations, and teaching.

Because when your first word is a breath…

You create space. You reconnect with the part of you that knows who you want to be. You return to the heart—before habitual reactivity takes over.

Why This Matters

Our brains are wired for efficiency. Most of us live and act from a place of patterned reactivity, what neuroscience calls the default mode network. This is the brain’s autopilot, built from years of conditioning and past experiences. It’s like mental autopilot: fast, familiar, and often defensive.

The brain does not distinguish from good or bad, from positive or negative, from happier or unhappy. It doesn’t filter for what’s kind, truthful, or wise—it simply scans for what’s familiar and safe. It’s designed for survival, not fulfilment.

And when we’re triggered—by stress, conflict, or fear—our nervous system kicks into fight-or-flight mode. In this state, we’re primed to protect, defend, or escape. Our field of vision narrows. Our breath shortens. Our first words are often fast, defensive, sharp—not because we’re unkind, but because we’re unsafe.

This is why we say things we regret.

It’s why we speak without consideration, even when we know better.

It’s why our words can feel out of sync with who we truly are.

But mindfulness interrupts that cycle.

It invites us to pause. To observe. To breathe.

And in that pause, we return to ourselves. We reconnect with the part of us that knows. And we get to choose again.

This matters because when we give ourselves permission to pause, to check in, and to bring more heart into our lives, we begin to create something more meaningful.

We stop living in reaction.

We stop creating pain for ourselves and others.

And instead, we begin to cultivate an inner peace that radiates outward, into our relationships, our work, and our presence in the world.

Let This Be Your Invitation

“May my first word be a breath.”

Not because you have to believe in it, but because you can experience its benefits immediately.

Try it the next time you’re in a difficult moment—before replying to that message. Before responding to your child’s cry. Before defending yourself in an argument.

Pause. Feel your feet on the ground. Feel your body.

Breathe in for two seconds. Hold for two seconds. Breathe out for two seconds.

And ask yourself: What would my heart want to say here?

The Life That Becomes Possible

Imagine a life where your words feel true. Where your voice comes from clarity, not chaos. Where you speak, not to prove, impress, or control, but to connect.

A life where your presence calms the room, not because you’ve mastered perfection, but because you’ve learned to pause.

This is the life I live now.

Not perfectly, but intentionally.

It’s the life that opened up when I stopped performing and started pausing. When I chose presence over reactivity. When I let my heart lead instead of habit.

It’s available to all of us.

And it begins not with a plan, a list, or a big transformation. It begins with something much simpler.

A breath.

So if you’re looking for one practice to change your life—one small shift that creates ripples in how you speak, relate, and live—let it be this:

May your first word be a breath.

July 23, 2025
When Healing Feels Lonely: What I Now Know About Peace

“Avoiding your triggers isn’t healing. Healing happens when you’re triggered and you’re able to move through the pain, the pattern, and the story, and walk your way to a different ending.” ~Vienna Pharaon

I thought I had figured it out.

For a year, I had been doing the “inner work”—meditating daily, practicing breathwork, journaling, doing yoga. I had read all the books. I had deconditioned so many behaviors that weren’t serving me: my need to prove, my need to compare, my negative thought patterns. My self-awareness was through the roof. I had hit that deep, deep place in meditation I read about in the spiritual texts. I met my soul.

I had stripped my life down to the essentials: no coffee, no alcohol, no meat, no distractions. My morning routine was bulletproof: journal, read a spiritual text, do yoga and breathwork, meditate.

I distanced myself from many—putting up boundaries to some of the closest people to me because they “didn’t understand.” I spent my days mainly in nature, alone, in so much stillness and presence. I had finally found peace. Or at least, I thought I had.

And then I went to a silent retreat in Bali.

I flew across the world, ready to spend eleven days in complete silence, fully immersed in my inner world. I thought it would deepen my peace, open me up to even more divine inspiration, that it would solidify all the healing I had done.

I had no idea it was about to rip me open.

For the first three days, I was in heaven. I was more present than I had ever been in my life. The sound of the river, the feeling of the breeze on my skin—it was intoxicating. I felt like I could stay there forever. I felt like I was home, internally and externally.

But on day four, everything cracked wide open.

Suddenly, the emotions I thought I had healed—the ones I had spent months working through—came flooding back like a tidal wave. It all started with comparison. Comparing myself to other people at the retreat. Comparing my body, my flexibility in yoga class, my skin, my beauty.

I was so confused—I had the awareness to know this wasn’t “good.” I had the awareness to realize this was me defaulting to all these old thoughts and behaviors.

My mind started battling itself—and then I dove right into the “worst” behavior I thought I had healed: judgment. Judgment of others and judgment of myself.

What was going on?! Hadn’t I already done this work? Why was I back here again?

More and more emotions started coming up. I felt so unworthy again, like I hadn’t done enough work on myself. Like this past year was done all wrong, like it was wasted. Like I misunderstood the assignment.

And that’s when it hit me: I had mistaken solitude for healing.

Those few months before the silent retreat, I had wrapped myself in solitude like a safety blanket. I had avoided anything that triggered me—situations, people, even certain thoughts. I had created boundaries—not just with others, but with life itself.

I was at peace… but I wasn’t living.

I had gone so far into solitude, into stillness, that I had disconnected from the very thing that makes life meaningful—other people. I had tricked myself into thinking I had found peace when, really, I had just found another version of control.

But control isn’t healing—it’s just another way of trying to feel safe.

Turns out, I wasn’t at peace—I was chasing again. And this time, I was chasing enlightenment. It looked different from my old pursuits—more noble, more spiritual—but it was still a chase. And I will say honestly (and not egotistically), I reached enlightenment. I know I did. I reached Samadhi, consciousness, pure bliss. But then I started chasing that state, trying to make sure I was always in it. And the only way I could stay in it was by being alone.

That’s where the control came in. I thought I had relinquished my need for control. I thought I was free. And in some ways, I was. But in other ways, I was meticulously curating every single detail of my life to make sure I could always remain in that blissful state. Control had woven its tentacles into my spiritual practice, and I didn’t even realize it.

I needed to be isolated, as much as possible, to maintain my peace. I had convinced myself that this was my purpose. That this was my highest path.

But that also made life so… lonely. Yes, it was peaceful. But suddenly I realized I missed my friendships. I missed my family. I missed all the people who triggered the heck out of me.

Because in complete silence and solitude, I saw the truth—what makes life “life” is being in relation to something or someone.

The truth is, real peace isn’t found in avoiding life—it’s found in moving through it. It’s found in the moments when we feel everything, when we get hurt, when we love, when we mess up, when we forgive.

That’s what life is. That’s what healing is.

And go figure—it took complete silence to show me that.

On my second-to-last day at the retreat, I sat by the river and watched a single leaf fall into the water. Those beautiful big leaves that look so thick and robust, so durable. The current swept it along, pushing it under rocks, pulling it back up, flipping it over, tearing its edges on twigs lodged in the riverbed.

But here’s the thing—no matter what, the leaf kept moving. It got stuck every now and then, but somehow, it would dislodge—a bit more broken and bruised but still moving.

And so do we.

No matter how much life twists us, no matter how many emotions hit us like waves, we are meant to flow with it, not run from it. Not avoid it.

What Silence Taught Me About Real Peace

1. Solitude is a tool, not a destination.

Alone time is valuable, but true healing happens in relationship—with people, with challenges, with the messiness of life.

2. Emotions are a gift, not a burden.

I thought I had reached enlightenment by avoiding pain, but real peace comes from feeling everything—joy, sorrow, frustration, love—and moving through it.

3. You can’t control your way into peace.

I thought if I just kept my environment “pure,” I could protect my sense of calm. But life isn’t about control; it’s about trust.

Flow with life, even when it hurts. That leaf in the river reminded me—life will push, pull, and test you, but you are meant to navigate it, not resist it.

So yes, silence is important. Solitude is powerful. But the work? The real work is out there. In the messy, beautiful, heart-wrenching, soul-expanding experience of being human.

And that’s the lesson I carried with me—not just when I finally opened my mouth to speak again, but into every moment of life that followed.

April 25, 2025
Riding the Wave of Rage: How Mindfulness Became My Lifesaver

“Letting go gives us freedom, and freedom is the only condition for happiness. If, in our heart, we still cling to anything—anger, anxiety, or possessions—we cannot be free.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

My anger has gotten the best of me more than I care to admit. I’ve smashed windows, broken chairs, had movie-worthy brawls on the beach, and said gut-wrenching stuff that has brought people I care about to tears.

I grew up when mental health was not taken seriously, nor was it even on my radar. I just took my wild nature to mean I was screwed up and hopeless. And sadly, the thought of seeking support only brought up more anger. It felt like I was weak, pathetic, and a loser for being unable to sort my life out.

So, without understanding why my emotions were such a rollercoaster (undiagnosed depression and type II bipolar disorder), I didn’t know where else to turn except to my dear ole friend Sailor Jerry, the purveyor of fine spiced rum. Alcohol only fueled my emotional outbursts, exacerbating the problem.

Knowing that kind of anger lived inside me brings on an emotional blubbering mess of a show. Because overcoming the guilt that came from identifying with those actions and feeling like that’s who I was as a man took years of therapy.

It feels so different than the person I am now.

I understood in therapy that it’s not my fault per se, but it is my responsibility to do something about it.

Nothing has driven that lesson home more than being a dad.

And if my daughter is anything like my wife and me, we got ourselves a wild child ready to test our limits.

Living with Canadian winters means it’s inevitable that, at some point, you’ll lose control of your car. I once did a complete 360 on the highway on the way to work as I lost control on black ice. I didn’t think; I just acted based on what I learned in driving school.

If you’re driving your car and it starts to skid, you go with the flow of your vehicle and move in the direction of the skid, not against it. That’s how you regain control, even if it seems counterintuitive.

Anger is the black ice of emotions. You’re often thrown into a spiral of anger before you even have the chance to mindfully be aware that you’re losing control. That’s why I’ve found the practice of mindfulness and daily meditation life transforming.

The anger never goes away because you never stop experiencing the emotions of life, but through the practice of mindfulness, you create space between the stimulus (my wife and I fighting, exhausted from a sleepless toddler, and businesses to run) and the response (thinking it’s time to end the marriage).

You can choose to respond and act differently because you see the trigger for what it is for you.

Think of it like a gigantic pause button that allows you to slip into Matrix mode. You see the stimulus, pause for presence, and respond with intention. My daughter is not purposely trying to throw our lives into chaos. My wife and I aren’t fighting because we no longer love each other. We’re dealing with the tornado nature of a toddler, running businesses, and being pushed to our limits.

It’s better to respectfully and constructively communicate your feelings with your partner if you plan to stay married. I get it. Easier said than done, but we need to believe that we’re not inherently flawed and beyond help.

My previous relationships all had their fair share of fights (stimulus), resulting in my doom spiralling into believing it was time to burn it all down (response). Without a pause between stimulus and response, the middle became a breeding ground for an unconscious poison cocktail of guilt, shame, and a need to escape the uncomfortable reality of what I was facing.

Let’s be honest. I wasn’t making any effort to change. Repairing a relationship without tools is damn near impossible. Through therapy, I gained a deeper understanding of my emotional struggles and the root causes of my anger. Now, I have a fully stocked toolbelt that I feel comfortable using.

And that’s where the power of mindfulness comes in. You learn to know and trust yourself well enough to tap into a greater energy around you, and you become calm in any situation. You see the black ice, grip the wheel, and control the situation by keeping yourself present with the stimulus.

When faced with a challenge, do you possess the mental flexibility and self-awareness to remain centered and connected with that space between stimulus and response, and move forward in a way you can be proud of?

Or do you struggle against challenges, only to give up because negative self-talk and conditioned thinking compel you to repeat the same destructive pattern, leaving you guilty and ashamed?

I’m not saying I never get angry anymore. But I sure as hell try my best not to throw rocket fuel on the fire. Addressing the root of the problem—undiagnosed depression and type II bipolar disorder—helped me better understand how to cope with a rollercoaster of emotions and feelings that previously felt beyond my control.

Life is a lot like being in a high-stress athletic event. The ability to react to another player’s actions without emotional triggers often makes the difference between making a wise or a poor decision and ultimately winning or losing the game.

The only difference is that the game of life truly never ends. We will only lose if we stop improving and holding ourselves to a higher standard for how we show up in the world. Taking full responsibility for our lives can be terrifying, but it also creates a sense of personal freedom. This is because it allows us to take action toward becoming the people we know we’re capable of being.

To thrive, you must mindfully choose to go with the flow of your emotions and drive toward anger, shame, and guilt, not away from them. You must sit with these feelings, pause to recognize how you’ve been triggered, and consciously choose a response you’ll feel good about. This way, you regain control of your life by releasing yourself from a pattern of actions that no longer serves you. Remember, practice makes progress.

July 21, 2023
5 Life Lessons from a Brain Tumor That Could Have Killed Me

“Life is a balance between what we can control and what we cannot. I am learning to live between effort and surrender.” ~Danielle Orner

I was slumped against a wall at Oxford Circus Station early one Sunday evening when an irritated male voice suddenly barked, “MOVE!”

Moments beforehand, I had lost my vision.

Without conscious thought, I muttered, “RUDE!” and staggered off without clearly seeing where I was going.

It was only months later, on retracing my steps at Oxford Circus, that I realized I’d been blocking his view of some street art.

I’d allowed a guy to bully me out of the way while in a vulnerable state so that he could take a picture for social media.

Lesson 1: Not all disabilities are visible.

We can never fully know what someone else is experiencing. Mental health, chronic pain, and disabilities are not always apparent. So, when we come from a place of not knowing and are patient with others by default, we open up a window of possibility that exists outside of our judgment.

Minutes prior, I’d stepped off an underground train and onto an upward escalator. A pain hit my right temple like a bullet. It took my breath away, everything went black, and I felt I might faint.

Desperately, I clung to the railing. And as the top of the escalator approached, my right foot went floppy, and my vision disappeared. I could see light and color, but the world was blurry, lacking definition.

I used what little vision I had to follow the distinctive white curve of Regent Street down to a spot where I’d arranged to meet a friend

Panic finally set in when I realized that my friend was walking toward me, and I could recognize his voice but I could not see his face at all.

We sat down in a restaurant, and a concerned waitress brought a sugary drink.

My mind went into overdrive: “Had I cycled too much? Was my blood sugar low? Had I eaten/drank enough? Given myself a stroke? Was I just stressed?”

Twenty minutes later, my vision slowly returned.

Relieved but freaked out, I asked my friend if he thought I should go to A&E (ER). He said, “Only if you think you need to.” I felt silly. Scared to take up space. Afraid of being a drama queen. I didn’t trust myself or my experience.

LESSON 2: Don’t seek external validation.

The opinions of others are helpful, but only you see and experience life from your own unique perspective. Learning to trust and validate our own experience first and foremost is how we step in our power.

Later I went back home but couldn’t shake it off.

The next morning, I visited my doctor, who sent me straight to A&E (ER). The hospital admitted me overnight, concerned it was a mini stroke or aneurysm. But the following morning they discharged me, citing dehydration as the cause.

One week later, I was back in A&E. More dizziness, more foot numbness, more blurred vision. A doctor described it as “classic Migraine Aura.”

My gut leapt; that didn’t feel right. “I don’t get headaches,” I protested. “I rarely take painkillers. Why so many all of a sudden?”

They seemed confident it wasn’t serious, but booked an MRI scan, just to be certain.

Twenty-five minutes of buzzing, clanking, and humming later, I glided out of an MRI scanner.

I thanked the technician. “All good?” I asked.

“It’s very clear,” she replied.

LESSON 3: Listen to your gut.

If your gut says that something is off, listen to it. A gut feeling is typically a lurch from your stomach rather than chatter from the mind.

My gut knew it wasn’t migraines; it told me so, and if I hadn’t strongly advocated for myself, then I may not have got that MRI scan.

A week later, I was back with my local doctor, experiencing vertigo and earache.

Did I have an ear infection? Was that the issue all along, some sort of horrible virus affecting my sight and balance?

The GP opened my records up on his computer and his face immediately dropped.

“Do you mind if I take a moment to read this?”

“Of course,” I said.

He composed himself but his face was ashen.

“Has anyone spoken to you about your MRI result?” he ventured at last.

I found myself detaching from reality, like I was watching a movie.

He told me that they’d found a lesion on my brain and there was a possibility of brain cancer. “I’m so sorry,” he offered finally.

I left and immediately burst into tears.

Six days I lived with the idea of having brain cancer.

Had it spread? How would they treat it? Could they treat it?

More dizziness, more vertigo ensued, and a wise friend firmly told me to go back to the emergency room and refuse to leave until I got answers.

Reluctantly, I entered A&E (ER) for the third time.

After a long wait, a neurologist sprang from nowhere, took me to a room, and showed me my MRI scan. I was shocked by the large white circle in the middle of it.

“How big is that?” I gasped.

“About the size of a pea,” the doctor said casually. “I believe it’s a colloid cyst, a rare, benign, non-cancerous tumor. It can be removed by operation, using a minimally invasive, endoscopic camera.”

Relief flowed through me. “It’s not cancer?”

After reassuring me it was not, the doctor sent me away, telling me to await further news.

Outside the hospital I hung around updating loved ones by phone. Suddenly a withheld number rang.

It was the neurologist: “I’ve spoken with neurosurgeons, and they think you should be admitted to the hospital for emergency surgery. If the cyst bursts you have one to two hours max, or that’s it.”

“Okay,” I stammered. “I’m actually still at the hospital.”

“Not this hospital,” he said. “A different one.”

A taxi ride later, it was 5 p.m., and I was in an emergency room for the second time that day and fourth time that month. Despite the chaos around me, I eventually curled up and got a little sleep.

Suddenly it was 3.30 a.m. and I was still in A&E. Staff rushed in, grabbed my bed, and hurtled me through corridors. Bright lights from London’s skyscrapers flashed past windows, everything surreal and movie-like again

The next day, surgeons explained that they wouldn’t be sure that they could reach the tumor until they operated, and there were four different options for surgery, ranging from a minimal endoscopic camera through to opening my skull up with major surgery.

I hoped and prayed for endoscopy but wouldn’t know the outcome until I woke up.

The operation was planned for 8 a.m. the following morning. I said an emotional goodnight to my sister. Suddenly a lady interrupted us and said, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I saw you earlier and you don’t look sick enough to be on this ward.”

And there it was—the trigger again, the gift, the insight, the lightbulb moment:

“Despite how bad I feel on the inside, I don’t look ill enough to have a brain tumor.”

I didn’t look ill enough to the guy at Oxford Circus taking a selfie.

I didn’t look ill enough to my friend.

I didn’t look ill enough to the doctors who turned me away initially.

And now I didn’t look ill enough for this lady’s expectations of who should be in a head trauma ward.

I breathed into that pain. Into the feeling of not being seen. Of not being heard. Of not being validated. Of feeling like a fraud, an imposter. Of not deserving to take up space. Of not trusting my experience.

And when I found my center, I quietly replied, “Actually, I’m having surgery to remove a brain tumor tomorrow morning.”

Her face fell, then she wished me luck and moved on.

LESSON 4: Our triggers are our gifts.

When we are triggered, it shows us what needs to heal.

It was me who felt unworthy of taking up space. It was me who felt like a fraud. She was simply my mirror. It’s up to me to heal those aspects within myself and to believe that I’m worthy of taking up space—and to then take it.

The next morning, my operation got pushed back. It was a major trauma hospital, and bigger emergencies took precedent. I engaged in mindfulness to stay centered.

I did an hour of breathwork to calm my nervous system. I listened to uplifting music to raise my vibration. I watched emotionally safe movies to collect warm, fuzzy vibes. I drew on my iPad and alchemized my head tumor into a cute pea cartoon character—benign, polite, and cute, not threatening at all.

A porter arrived at 5.30 p.m. and whisked me away for surgery. After weeks of surrendering to the unknown, it was now time for the ultimate surrender of any illusion of control. I took a deep breath as anesthetic filled my veins.

LESSON 5: Surrender.

We can’t always control what happens to us or the outcome. We can only control what happens inside of us and how we choose to show up. We take our power back when we lean into the unknown and surrender. When we resist our current reality, we suffer more.

I woke up two hours later and got sick.

My brain was rebalancing after months of increased head pressure. Clutching a blue plastic bag, I looked up to see one of London’s best neurosurgeons waving cheerfully at me. “Your operation is over. We used an endoscope. Minimal invasion. We think we got it all, and it’s not likely to come back.”

Relief, nausea, and gratitude flowed in abundance.

I dozed a little while morphine played tricks on my mind. Delicious little dreams filled my head, and I saw the world as one big, animated garden with flowers as cartoon characters.

I giggled at the thought of plants acting as humans do and imagined an aggressive rose bush declaring war on all of the other plants and throwing bombs. It seemed ridiculous. Humans should be more like flowers, I thought—less ego, just growing, flourishing, blooming.

I enjoyed this magical trip a little longer, a welcome respite from the hell of the last month, and eventually they wheeled me back to the ward.

I arrived in time to see the sun setting across London from the twelfth floor.

It was magnificent. Its beauty, color, and intensity moved my weary body to tears.

A nurse came to check that I was okay, and I assured her that I was crying happy tears.

I silently watched the sun as it made its final slip over the horizon, safe in the knowledge that I’d survived another day.

October 27, 2022
How to Better Manage Stress So Little Things Don’t Set You Off

“It’s not stress that kills us, it’s our reaction to it.” ~Hans Selye

I was driving home from work, minding my own business, when a car cut in front of me.

Pretty common in Sydney traffic, right? Normally, I would just brush it off.

But not today. For some reason I couldn’t explain, that simple event set me off. I got so irritated that I pressed both my hands on the horn and started shouting at the other driver—who just gave me the finger and continued on his merry way.

That’s when I lost it. How dare he do something like this?

I was determined to get even. To teach him a lesson.

I was so immersed in rage that I almost caused an accident just to prove a point.

Not my proudest moment, I know.

Have you ever been through something like this? Something trivial suddenly escalating to a new level of crazy?

Well, the other day I witnessed my neighbor screaming from his balcony at a dude passing by, just because he had gangster rap blasting out of a speaker. Okay, I can understand that you don’t agree with his musical preferences, but is this a reason to pick a fight with a stranger?

Or, one Christmas Eve at a crowded parking lot of the local supermarket, I had a lady lash out at me for touching her car door with mine, when I was trying to hop in while holding a couple of grocery bags. I had to use all my self-control not to jump down her throat.

I guess this sort of things happen to all of us. You know, you lose your cool and end up shouting at your kids in the food court of the shopping center. Or, you snap at your partner for loading the dishwasher the “wrong way.”

It is as if we all have a Mr. Hyde waiting to come out.

But why does this happen? And most importantly, how can we control the impulse to kill someone?

The thing is that the “event” in itself is never the root cause of a rage fit. It is just the last drop on a very full cup.

For instance, the day of my road rage episode, I was going home from a day that didn’t go as planned. While driving, I was ruminating on the things that didn’t work and I was already on edge.

So, when the other driver cut me off, it just unleashed something that was already in the making. And if it wasn’t this event, it would have been something else.

I was simply stressed out and unable to be my best self.

And you know what? All of us are continually exposed to stressors. From our worries and anxieties, relationship conflicts, existential crises, and poor lifestyle choices to background noises, overstimulation, and information overload.

Which means that our cups are constantly full. And if we don’t deal with it, we’ll always be one drop away from overflow.

But is it realistic to think that you can completely eliminate stress from your life?

Heck no. This type of expectation would only create more stress. You’d be stressing about not getting stressed.

So what can we actually do to live better?

Well, you have two options: you can empty your cup on regular basis, or you can upgrade your cup size (if you work on both, even better).

Emptying your cup is what is known as stress-relief strategies. Those are the things you do on regular basis to blow off steam, like going for a jog or taking a bubble bath.

These activities help you take your mind off your problems, creating space for your body to calm down. During this time, your body shifts from “fight or flight” to “rest and digest” mode, which is necessary to replenish your energy and recover from stress.

But the key word here is REGULAR.

Because these strategies are not likely to work when you are already bursting at the seams (you know what I mean if you ever tried meditating when you had a lot in your mind).

Nope. They need to be part of your daily self-care routine. My suggestion is to create the habit of blocking off space in your calendar for a little “me time.”

I know what you’re thinking. “Are you kidding? I don’t have time for that.”

Seriously, self-care is not a luxury. It is a necessity. For your sanity, and the safety of others around you.

Now, there will be times in which you may not be able to relax even after a whole hour of deep tissue massage. Those are the times you get restless, lose sleep, and can’t function properly. That’s why you need to build a bigger cup (or a bucket) so that you’re better able to tolerate potential stressors.

Upgrading your cup simply means investing time in building mindset skills. Skills to help you manage stress, deal better with adversity, and become a problem solver. As a result, you’ll be able to take more on without going cuckoo.

It’s like developing a superpower.

How? Here’s a little framework that can help you respond more wisely to stressful situations and minimize unnecessary stress.

1. Becoming aware

Awareness means noticing (without judgment) what is going on in your mind and body. It’s learning to identify emotions and feelings, thought patterns, and responses (how you react when something happens).

This way you’ll be able to discover what sets you off and put a stop on knee-jerk reactions that you may have on autopilot.

For instance, noticing that you get irritated when you feel disrespected, which leads to an acid remark from your part. Awareness gives you the opportunity to pause and choose a better way to respond.

2. Practicing mental hygiene

Mental hygiene means going through our mental rules and deciding on what is useful and what only causes us stress.

The mind creates mental rules based on array of past experiences. The thing is that these mental rules end up defining how you’ll respond to an event in the future. That’s how we get stuck in vicious cycles.

We create rules about how things “should” be done, how people “should” act, how they “should” respond in certain situations, how the world “should” work… With so many ideas of how things should be, we end up living in defense mode, constantly fighting against everything our mind judges as “wrong.”

To move on, you’ll need to learn to let go.

For example, I made a rule in my head that said that things needed to be neat all the time after growing up with a neat father. This was totally fine while I lived on my own. But when I moved in with my partner, it became a constant source of attrition. My Mr. Hyde often came out when my partner’s behaviors went against my internal rules. So, I decided to let go of this rule in order to have a peaceful home life.

3. Rewriting the rules

The truth is that all beliefs serve a purpose. They are the code of conduct that guides our behaviors. So when we decide to get rid of a rule, we need to make sure that the unconscious need behind is being met in another way.

For instance, to be able to let go of the rule I mentioned above, I had to ask myself why it was so important to have things organized. With a little bit of soul searching, I came to realize that when my environment was neat and orderly, I could process thoughts and emotions more efficiently, which meant that I felt more in control of my life. This helped me put things into perspective and develop new guidelines.

Now, I allow myself to make things neat, but I don’t obsess about it anymore. That means that I don’t get upset when my husband leaves a dirty sock here and there. I just remind myself that having a peaceful environment is more important. And I developed other ways to feel in control of my mind and body like adopting a meditation practice and building an exercise routine.

So now I ask you, how full is your cup? And most importantly, what can you do to prevent spillage?

If this’s all very new to you, you could start by creating a self-care routine that helps you empty your cup on regular basis. And if you already have one, then work on upgrading your cup. This way you’ll be less likely to explode over little things.

Oh, and don’t get put off if you have slip-ups. Keep in mind that stress management is a skill that gets better (and easier) with practice.

December 26, 2021
How Conflict in Relationships Can Be a Catalyst for Growth

“The mind is the place the soul goes to hide from the heart.” ~Michael Singer

“You think you’re so much better than me!!”

As this phrase—laced with contempt—exited my mouth, I recognized the familiar words. I had grown up hearing this phrase often. The “rich people,” the girl who won the competition, the inconsiderate neighbors, the rude supervisor… “They think they’re so much better than us.”

So, I diligently spent my childhood trying to prove them all wrong.

I wore myself out trying to be the smartest, the best, the prettiest… you name it. I wasn’t going to let all those losers be better than me, or my family. No way!

But who was I really fighting against?

The answer is no one.

In truth, I was fighting against my parents’ belief system, which came from their own childhoods. I was fighting their ghosts from the past. But I didn’t know that at the time.

I had no idea I had carried this belief system into my own adult life. After exhausting myself trying to prove I was worthy as a child, I then spent decades working on self-improvement and personal growth. I had moved beyond all that silly limited thinking.

Or so I thought.

Until that day in the kitchen with my husband…

In my mid-forties…

When he politely declined to eat the meat I had prepared for dinner.

Suddenly an uncontrollable rage welled up inside me, and I screamed at him, with tears streaming down my face…

“YOU THINK YOU’RE SO MUCH BETTER THAN ME!”

My mind immediately starting playing endless clips of all the times my husband had demonstrated his assumed superiority over me. I was completely triggered and unhinged, so I bought into it.

As I continued on with my ridiculous fit, another part of me, a more detached part, asked this simple question: “Where is all this coming from?”

Immediately, I recognized the familiar phrase. I knew exactly where it came from. I stopped my raging in an instant and excused myself to the bedroom.

Once there, I took the energy away from the mind and into the heart. There was no need to analyze it. No need to further engage the mind in its joyous rebuke of my innocent husband.

Michael Singer has a quote that I love. “The mind is the place the soul goes to hide from the heart.” We don’t want to feel those painful feelings, so we rationalize them endlessly in the mind. But, there’s another option. I placed my attention in the heart, disengaged from the continuing chaos in my mind, and allowed the energy to release.

Minutes later, I went back to the kitchen, feeling much calmer, and apologized to my husband. Peace was restored. I had also progressed spiritually by releasing some of the stored garbage that had been hiding in my heart for decades.

I’m now to the point where I can be grateful when my husband hits a nerve, presses my buttons, triggers me, or whatever you prefer to call it. I’m only able to release that old stuff when it gets hit and brought to the surface. Otherwise, it just lays there, dormant, silently waiting for the perfect opportunity to erupt. Like a volcano.

We all know the feeling of that volcano when it erupts without notice. Those closest to us are the most adept at causing an eruption. They can so skillfully and predictably hit our stuff.

We eventually realize that an intimate relationship is like a mirror. Our partner has an uncanny ability to reflect back to us the parts of ourselves that need the most healing. If we understand this, we can learn to use the conflict in our relationship as a catalyst for spiritual growth.

We can stop the blame and anger. Instead, we feel immense gratitude when we find yet another old wound in need of healing. This is how we grow spiritually together. And, in the process, we create great connection and intimacy.

In an intimate relationship, we are like two rough pieces of sandpaper, constantly rubbing up against each other. Over time, if we use this process to our benefit, we become smoother. Then, our relationship reflects back to us this smoother, gentler, happier version of ourselves.

We don’t get so triggered anymore. We chill out. We are able to enjoy life and each other. Peacefully. Joyously.

March 30, 2020
The People Who Hurt Us Are Vehicles for Our Growth

“You only see in others what you have in yourself.” ~Annette Noontil

I now recognize, after observing painful patterns repeat many times, how things that trigger me are just lessons I need to learn that are often delivered through other people. The more painful the experience, the more I can see (in retrospect) I learned from it.

Every now and then, when I find myself getting sucked into thoughts about the rightness or wrongness of a situation and how much pain it’s causing me, I take a step backward. I can see that people are just the mechanism to my growth, and painful experiences are just big Wrong Way signs redirecting me to my best life.

In his book Scattered Minds, Dr. Gabor Maté wrote, “It is well recognized now that people will form relationships with others exactly at the same level of psychological development and self-acceptance as their own… What we might call the law of equal development holds true even if the people themselves buy into the mythology that one of them is more emotionally mature than the other.”

I love this insight from Dr Maté, especially when he goes on to give a typical example of a married couple with one spouse that appears to be functioning in the world more successfully than the other. When the relationship is examined more closely it can usually be seen that both people have a lot of maturing to do in order to be able to function healthily as individuals rather than in a codependent state.

It’s no coincidence that we form relationships with people who trigger us. We are drawn to people who are, in some way, a match to our own issues, and they both challenge us and help us heal and grow.

As a homeopathic practitioner recently observed, about two differing constitutions often drawn to one another: “One is in their head and has to learn to connect from their heart, the other is in their heart and has to learn to connect from their head.”

But all this holds true whether it’s an intimate relationship or a more distant one; if someone triggers you (positively or negatively) they have something to teach. Michael Kerr puts it simply as “People gravitate toward their emotional mirror images.”

“People tend to sort themselves out by levels of emotional development for many purposes, not just marriage, “ writes Stanley Greenspan, “because those functioning at different levels are practically speaking different languages…. People widely separated developmentally in fact have very little to talk about.”

It can be tough to look at people I have, at one time, literally despised and consider that we were emotional mirror images—for example, a jealous colleague who went out of her way to discredit me on a number of occasions. This doesn’t mean that I am a bully because someone bullied me (although it could mean that for someone else); it means that we both had an equal emotional stake in the same interaction.

In retrospect, I can see that my former colleague triggered pain from my childhood relationship with my mother.

My colleague’s modus operandi was an unfiltered lashing out at anything that stood in her way. Her unprofessional conduct went unchecked and unmanaged because she had been promoted for the short-term results she’d achieved.

Her behavior reflected the unfiltered (tongue) lashing I often received from my mum when she was feeling highly anxious.

As a child, I learned to stay out of trouble by anticipating her emotions and striving for perfection in my behavior so that I received no criticism (which was usually unfounded and always delivered in a way that felt crushing and unfair).

Not that I was ever passive, but when I wanted something I would go after it from a point of defense, justifying myself rationally rather than having healthy boundaries around my own needs and desires.

To be criticized publicly by a colleague was, therefore, not something that felt safe to me. My attempts at repairing the relationship privately were unsuccessful, and it was not until I stood up in a meeting and told her pointedly that I would not allow her (nor anyone else) to bully me that I garnered her respect.

This experience allowed me to see how much hurt I’d been harboring from my childhood, and to put energy into healing that old wound rather than perpetuating any more situations that echoed it.

With the benefit of hindsight and my own years of parenting, I can now see I wasn’t responsible for my mum’s anxiety; rather it was an amplification of her own anxiety as a child in reaction to the culture and environment she grew up in, and the way her behavior was managed.

While it’s easier for me these days to detach myself from issues that trigger me emotionally, note that I do still get triggered. That, I believe, will never change because there is no surer way to know what we do want without first experiencing what we don’t want. It is just best not to get stuck feeling sorry for ourselves.

I’ll admit it’s sometimes hard to see a way through the emotions of the moment, especially when it relates to an ongoing situation. When I’m triggered, it’s still through other people whom I would dearly love to validate my view, just as they would no doubt love me to validate theirs, so there is a lot to work on.

The beauty, though, is that I mostly choose to do it from a point of intrigue and willingness to learn and grow rather than feeling powerless and at the mercy of others.

Again, note I said mostly. Old habits die hard, and there are still many times where I’ll find myself turning to confidants to rant about something. For this reason I choose to confide in people who gently prompt me back to the observer’s chair, and the broader view.

And when similar situations keep arising, I know that life is presenting an important lesson for me. It’s not always immediately obvious what the real lesson is and how I can overcome my struggle, but experience has taught me that things become clear when they are ready to; my job is to cope as best as I can with my frustrations rather than make myself miserable.

And since the lessons are most often delivered through others, I try not to vilify them for their part. I know that in the future I will be thanking them—even if only inwardly—for the role they played in my ongoing growth and journey through life.

So what are you currently triggered by, and who is the focus of your frustrations? Think about past situations where you’ve felt similarly. When was the first time you can recall feeling this way? Try to see the pattern, and what it might be telling you.

Rather than living through the pain as a helpless victim, try to see the lessons you’ve come to learn. In whatever way the lesson is being played out, the true lesson will be some version of learning to love yourself more; it always is.

Can you imagine a world full of people who are seeking their power through self-love rather than trying to take from others? Now that is a world I’d like to live in.

September 10, 2019
Why Some Things Trigger You Emotionally and Others Don’t

“If you’re hysterical, it’s historical.” ~Anonymous

I had been having problems with my email. I dreaded calling technical support, since my experience in the past involved sitting for a long time on hold and listening to someone reading from a script instead of thinking creatively about my problem. However, since I could not fix the problem myself and I felt I had no other options, I called my Internet service provider’s technical support line.

True to form, after thirty minutes on the phone we had barely moved past the point where I had repeated my name and account number to four different people. Then, after another hour on the phone while attempting to solve my problem, the technical support representative actually lost some of my emails.

I’m not going to sugarcoat this. I went ballistic.

Like most people, I’ve spent many hours of my life on the phone with technical support representatives, attempting to fix something that is very important to my life and my livelihood—my computer, my Internet connection, my phone, etc. When they can’t fix the problem, I become completely hateful toward them. For some reason, it’s this one area that just turns me into the ugliest version of myself.

I’m not proud, but I have said some of the most vile things to these people on the phone because I want them to feel as bad as they are making me feel with their robotic repetition of “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience” or their insistence that their software isn’t the source of the problem; it must be my hardware.

I used to hide the fact that I went ballistic. It felt like an ugly secret that I would occasionally lose it with someone on the phone. I think it’s healthy to be embarrassed about completely losing your cool, but it’s also healthy to learn from the situation so you don’t lose your cool so easily the next time.

I have always assumed that my level of anger during these situations is much greater than the general population’s, although recent recordings of profanity-laced customer service calls around the Internet is making me question this.

When I mentioned to a friend that I was fighting with Comcast, she quickly replied, “That’s enraging.” Even my therapist described her own experiences with technical support calls as “crazymaking.” Hey, it’s from a therapist. That makes it official.

I still knew that my particular reaction was overblown. How do I know this? I look to the people around me as a gauge. I pick those people who have a generally positive outlook on life, who are stable, content and able to meet life’s challenges with resilience. I observe their example. I don’t look to those people who have a generally negative outlook on life. Grumpalumps are not a good gauge for what is normal behavior.

I wondered aloud to a friend one day about my overblown reaction to these situations. She knows me well and offered this piece of wise advice. She said, “When you’re hysterical, it’s historical.”

Growing up, I had a pervasive sense that I was surrounded by incompetent people who could not help me when I clearly needed it. I sensed this because it was true. Trust me. That sense of frustration was something that sat, ever so close to the surface, ready to be triggered, well into my adulthood.

Enter the incompetent technical support representative who knows less about my iPhone than I do. In that situation I am, in fact, surrounded by people who cannot help my when I clearly need it.

Trigger. I flash back to feeling like that frustrated little kid who felt that my clear requests for help went unheeded. I wound up figuring everything out by myself, since the people around me were unable to recognize the needs of others and to be of help. That made me furious—and exhausted. It’s that part of me who freaks out at the technical support representative.

We are all carrying around that kind of old, outdated baggage in our present-day lives. This is why what triggers one person is absolutely no big deal to another.

I found it such a relief to connect the dots between my specific type of childhood angst and my extreme reaction to an ordinary technical support nightmare. Making that connection immediately diffused my emotions around it. I was still frustrated—may I remind you it was a technical support call—but I wasn’t “ballistic-frustrated.”

Why does something attached to childhood carry so much force? Remember that children have very little control over their lives. They have limited ability to have experiences that test the worldview presented to them. They have little ability to communicate their needs. They have little power to resist the authority around them. Problems seem so big when children are so small.

Not anymore! As adults, we have power, resources, experience, and a much broader perspective than we ever did as children. We’ve learned a thing or two.

I’ve been around long enough to know that even if there isn’t an immediately obvious solution, I’ll probably figure it out, or find someone else who can. I’m no longer helpless, powerless, or incapable. The kid in me forgets that sometimes and throws a tantrum.

Think about a situation that makes you crazy. What part of you is reacting to the situation? Is it the five-year-old in you that felt ignored and taken for granted? Is it the angry teenager who felt oppressed and smothered? Is it the scared ten-year-old who feels insecure and incapable?

Am I ultimately saying that our negative emotions around those things that trigger us all are unjustified? Not at all. I’m saying our reactions to them can be overblown.

When we are triggered emotionally it’s a signal that something from our past is surfacing. Once I was able to disconnect my past from my present, my emotions diffused and I was no longer able to be triggered. I had a clear enough head to be able to handle the problem with out all of the angst.

I eventually found someone to help me with my e-mail. He was, in fact, a rare find. Now I’m thinking about getting rid of cable and moving to Internet-based television. I’ll tackle that when I feel I’m in the right state of mind and have some extra time on my hands. In the meantime, maybe I’ll create a national network of Technical Support Support Groups.

July 11, 2019
How to Identify Your Emotional Triggers and What to Do About Them
“Awareness is the birthplace of possibility. Everything you want to do, everything you want to be, starts here.” ~Deepak Chopra

Ever wonder why some people respond in the same destructive way over and over even though they keep getting the same bad results?

Many of us can relate to having unhealthy coping mechanisms and responses to things like stress, fear, or other agitating emotional states. Often, we are unaware of the subconscious processes going on and we may, for example, instinctively reach for an alcoholic beverage at the end of a long, hard day, never realizing we are setting ourselves for an addictive pattern that may one day claim our health, or possibly our life.

I know this was certainly my situation. But, I was unable or unconscious of how to get out of this pattern of behavior—until I learned to identify my emotional triggers and re-route my unhealthy habitual responses.

Addiction or other self-destructive behaviors or habits are learned responses to environmental and emotional triggers. You can un-learn these responses and create new ones, thus building a healthier way of engaging with the world, your emotional landscape, and your family and friends.

An example of one of my triggers is when someone downplays something I’ve achieved. One day I was talking to my husband about an accomplishment at work. His response? “Anyone could’ve done that.”

I felt dismissed and belittled, as if what I had accomplished didn’t mean anything and had no value. Any time I felt dismissed in this way, I used to lash out in angry ways. Or worse, I’d get myself a large glass of wine and then another, and another.

Was this a healthy or productive response? No. Did it resolve anything in a useful way? No. Was I in a position of power acting this way? No. In fact, I was allowing other forces and factors to control my behavior.

It wasn’t until I realized where this emotional trigger came from that I began to recognize my actions for what they were: a reaction rather than a calm and poised response.

I realized that I grew up with a perfectionist mother who would often criticize me if she didn’t feel like I was living up to her high standards. This often left me feeling devalued as a person, or “less than.” So, whenever I felt devalued, I lashed out in anger.

I suppose this is a natural defense mechanism. But it was harmful to me in many ways because I never really acknowledged my pain, nor did I ever address it in a healthy way. Instead, I would often turn this anger inward upon myself and, in order to numb the pain, drink it down.

This was an ongoing cycle for years and how I dealt with any kind of emotional pain: anger or sadness turned into inward hatred, and I drank to dull the pain.

When we don’t recognize our triggers and our unhealthy reactions to them, it can lead us down a long, tortuous path.

Part of my recovering from a debilitating substance abuse problem involved understanding how triggers work and also learning healthier ways of responding to them. This is why now when I feel dismissed or rejected, I give voice to those emotions. I open my mouth and say, “You know, that hurt my feelings because…”

I have found that by giving my pain a voice, I no longer have to turn it inward upon myself and suppress it with alcohol. This helps keep me sober to this day.

Let’s go over a few other emotional trigger examples:
- A person who felt ignored and dismissed growing up might start yelling whenever they feel they aren’t being heard.
- A person who had emotionally unavailable parents (or partners) may get insecure whenever someone isn’t there for them.
- A person who felt controlled in the past might get angry when they think they’re being told what to do.
- A person who felt helpless for years might panic when they’re in a situation over which they have no control.
Do any of these emotional triggers resonate with you? Ask yourself, “How do I handle it when this occurs?” Many of us turn to food, alcohol, or other substances to dull our pain when faced with unresolved anger or other emotions.

A trigger is simply a stimulus that evokes upsetting feelings, which may lead to problematic behaviors. We all have triggers, and we all have unhealthy ways in which we deal with them. But, we have the power to stop our automatic responses and re-route. The challenge is learning to identify our triggers and then recognizing them when they are happening.

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” ~Viktor E. Frankl

Often, our triggers are experiences, situations, or stressors that unconsciously remind us of past traumas or emotional upsets. They “re-trigger” traumas in the form of overwhelming feelings of sadness, anxiety, or panic.

The brain forms an association between the trigger and your response to it, so that every time that thing happens again, you do the same behavioral response to it. This is because what fires together, wires together.

This means when neurons fire in the brain, they wire together the situation, emotions, and responses that caused that firing of the neurons in the first place. Sensory memory can also be extremely powerful, and sensory experiences associated with a traumatic event may be linked in the memory, causing an emotional reaction even before a person realizes why he or she is upset.

Habit formation also plays a strong role in triggering. People tend to do the same things in the same way. For example, a person who smokes might always smoke while he or she is driving; therefore, driving could trigger an urge to smoke, often without the smoker’s conscious thought.

Because our responses to triggers usually occur at the subconscious level, and we are completely unaware of the firing and wiring we have created, we are doomed to repeat self-destructive behaviors until we identify our triggers.

Once we know our triggers and begin to recognize them when they happen, we can see them for what they are—over-reactions to a perceived threat. Then, we can learn to respond in ways that are more life affirming, useful, and healthy for us.

There are two different types of reactions to triggers:

Emotional

We get stuck in negative emotions such as anger, sadness, or anxiety and react in extremely emotional ways—getting violent, yelling and screaming, withdrawing completely, etc.

Physical

We crave certain substances (food, sugar, alcohol, drugs, etc.) This happens because the emotional pain triggers our habitual way of indulging in some kind of physical activity that we are using to suppress the emotion or dull the pain.

When it comes to physical reactions, it helps me to create space by doing something else, for example, taking a walk.

For emotional reactions, it helps me to clearly communicate my feelings. Mostly I had to learn to understand my emotions, acknowledge them, and then give them a voice.

Instead of unconsciously reacting to a trigger/stimulus, you can learn to consciously respond to them by doing what I call The Trigger and Response Exercise.

Start by taking a sheet a paper and creating three columns. Title them: Trigger, Current Reaction, and New Response.

In the Trigger column, write each one of your triggers. You can think of these as things that “push your buttons.”

In the Current Reaction column, list how you normally react when this button is pushed.

In the New Response column, write what you could do as a conscious response instead of your normal knee-jerk reaction.

Below are a few examples:

Example 1

Trigger: When I feel that my spouse dismisses my comments or feelings about something

Current Reaction: I get angry and yell at him.

New Response: I’ll tell him my feelings were hurt.

Example 2

Trigger: When I feel insecure about my body

Current Reaction: I eat a bag of cookies.

New Response: I’ll go for a walk around the block.

Example 3

Trigger: When I get overwhelmed and stressed

Current Reaction: I binge drink.

New Response: I’ll practice deep breathing.

Now that you’ve written your list of triggers and changed how you’ll respond, you’ve got to learn to make these responses your habitual way of being.

Keep this list handy and use it as a guide. You can add new ways to manage your triggers as they come to you.

Don’t get discouraged if you falter, as it takes time to learn new ways of being. Just keep practicing them, until over time, they become your new habits. In this way, you are powerful in that you consciously own and choose how you respond to people, situations, and circumstances. You aren’t blindly reacting anymore.

Life is full of triggers, know this. But, also know you have the choice and the power to respond to those triggers in ways that are healthy and achieve better outcomes. In this way, you transform your life for good.
September 6, 2017
How to Stop Feeling Like You’re Not Good Enough

“Shame is the most powerful, master emotion. It’s the fear that we’re not good enough.” ~Brene Brown

I’ve always had a temper for as long as I can remember. It would show up at the most innocuous times—when playing a board game with my family, at the dinner table, or sometimes right in the middle of a shopping mall.

At the time I had no idea why I would get so frustrated, so red-in-the-face with pure rage and an intense feeling of absolute helplessness. Even more puzzling was the triggers to these episodes.

Usually it involved losing at something as trivial as Trivial Pursuit. Sometimes it was because I was struggling to get my point across and felt dismissed. Other times it could be out of pure jealousy of something or somebody.

The victims of my ire would be widespread and varied, from my dear sweet elderly grandmother, to my passive cool dude of an elder brother, and many family members, teachers, and friends in between.

It wasn’t until years later that I began to realize that all these events and triggers had something in common: I didn’t feel good enough.

Let me give you a shining example that I hope you can relate to.

I was fourteen years old and in my art class, fooling around as usual. (I later came to realize that was another modus operandi to get attention and distract people from my perceived flaws and real feelings. In later life I even made a successful career as a professional stand-up comedian out of it!)

We were making the classic piece of art every kid in every school at some time make—sticking macaroni to paper using glue. Yes, it wasn’t exactly Jackson Pollock or Andy Warhol, but I was told it was art all the same.

The teacher was like a lot of teachers I had, complimentary of the kids she liked, dismissive and frustrated with the ones that challenged her. Guess which category I fell into?

I empathized with my teacher, as it was easy to get frustrated with me. I could be belligerent, defensive, grumpy, and sometimes downright offensive. However, I never knew why.

On this particular afternoon, I decided it would be fun to place the macaroni on the paper, but not actually use any glue. When it was my turn to stand up and show my work, the result would be a macaroni tsunami of epic proportions!

Yes, the kids laughed and I was the clown, the jester, the hero—for a while. Then I became the laughing stock as the teacher berated me for not following instructions. Now I felt angry! From the comedian swept away in adulation to the scolded victim seething with bitterness in less than five seconds!

I vowed to fail every art class I attended, to make every class difficult for the teacher, to show her she was wrong to dare challenge me.

The thing is, I was only hurting myself. This is where I learned the idea of projection. I thought I was attacking the teacher, but in reality I was attacking myself.

It took many years of work, struggle, upset, despair, and hope to get to where I am today. Here’s what I learned to be true: to understand why I was behaving this way, I had to look at when I first experienced trauma.

Nobody gets out of childhood unscathed. There is no such thing as a “normal upbringing.” We can suffer large scale events that are memorably traumatic, or smaller, more frequent events that are less memorable but no less damaging. I fell into the latter category.

What I learned is that my mother never really listened to me. She was just too busy. Too busy working nights as a nurse, too busy trying to pay bills, too busy cooking, clothing, and feeding us.

It really must have been hard for her. At the time I never realized this—of course, which kid does! Now I know that she did her best. She is innocent. I believe every parent is, despite the damage they cause.

In fact, I realized we are all innocent, and no human being ever sets out to hurt anyone. Our circumstances and experiences make us this way.

By not being listened to I was denied love, attention, and care. It was a form of subtle neglect. I also learned that when we experience such feelings (that let’s face it, aren’t very nice!) we find ways to cut them off and stop them happening again.

We do this by deflection. Shutting down, running away, or getting angry are all great deflection techniques that work—for a while. Getting angry was a convenient way of hiding my real feelings. Hiding what pain I was experiencing inside. Hiding the trauma I’d suffered.

I also learned that humor is another defense mechanism that works well for hiding from the truth. However, like anger, it only serves us for so long. Eventually you can’t operate like that anymore. It simply takes too much energy, costs too many relationships, and feels too painful.

Now I follow these simple (but not always easy!) rules to help me overcome my struggles:

1. Recognize triggers.

When we are triggered, our limbic brain (emotional brain) gets first bite at the trigger. I now know that if I can get past this part of the process, I’ll be fine.

One technique I’ve learned is to simply excuse myself from any given situation, take stock, and ask myself a few questions.

These are: What’s the trigger, and what is it triggering? What am I feeling here, and can I allow myself to feel it, understand it, and soothe it? Finally, what’s the truth? Often our emotional brain tells us lies!

What kind of things trigger you to feel not good enough? Minor rejections? Being around people who seem to have achieved more than you? Receiving unsolicited advice? Recognizing your triggers is the key to taking back your power.

2. Revisit the situation.

One of the best ways to bypass and overcome our emotional brain is to revisit what’s making us emotional. Your emotional brain will calm down when forced to see things again in a different light.

Here’s where you can revisit the situation and calmly and rationally explain how you really feel. This is where you get to be vulnerable and communicate what’s going on for you. The aim here is to be met with empathy.

The first step is to practice by yourself in the mirror beforehand. So, in a highly charged or triggered situation, immediately take yourself out of harm’s way (for example, make an excuse to visit the bathroom).

Next, take a few slow, deep breaths, calmly and rationally explaining how you really feel about the situation to yourself in front of a mirror. You can do this out loud (privacy and confidence permitting) or in your head.

The great thing about this step is the empowerment you’ll feel. By looking inward at yourself and talking to yourself, you learn so much about what’s going on for you.

If you are still feeling charged, simply repeat the process above again, but a little slower this time and with more feeling.

When you are ready, take yourself back to the person who triggered you and repeat the process above in front of them. Again, the aim here is to be met with empathy. And because you’ve just practiced this speech and now are more confident and calm, your chances of success will increase dramatically!

3. Be thankful to your trigger.

When I’ve gotten the empathy I need, when I’ve been listened to, I’ll thank the person who triggered me. After all, they are never the problem, the trigger is. I’ll acknowledge them and, circumstances permitting, give them an embrace—or at least a smile—with lots of eye contact.

Here’s where you get to spread your love for yourself onto others. By working on your part of the relationship, you can acknowledge another human being for being understanding, patient, and present for you.

It’s difficult for people to be vulnerable and show empathy. We’re usually conditioned not to do this through our experiences. So make this step an important one and recognize other people’s bravery. They’ll not forget that in a hurry!

4. Now forgive yourself!

Finally, forgive yourself and congratulate yourself for having flaws, for not being perfect, for being simply human. It’s your way of making shame ashamed of itself for ever showing up.

You see, shame makes us feel not good enough. But the truth is that our greatest fear isn’t being not good enough, it’s actually that we might just be powerful, wonderful, and capable of anything we put our minds to.

Today, believe what is true. You are an amazing, wonderful, and powerful human being who the planet is lucky to have walking on it.

Woman smiling image via Shutterstock

November 18, 2015