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Adventures in Being Triggered Post #1: I spent most of yesterday triggered.

I spent most of yesterday triggered.

Money pulled unexpectedly from my account.

Also, it was the first post-holiday day back to “regular life”. Faint listlessness hummed.

I moved tasks for the day to later in the week.

I spent an inordinate amount of time on the New Year’s Resolution post.

I did blow dry my hair. In Black Girl land, that’s a big deal. A whole endeavor.

My mind shook her (freshly blow-dried) head. “Don’t you get it? You’re not doing enough! There was other stuff to do! You’re ruining your life!”

The thought was jumpy in my body. The fact that nothing good, wise, or true has ever come after the question, “Don’t you get it?” meant nothing. The fact that DUDE—I JUST WROTE A WHOLE FUCKING POST about dropping action-oriented thinking, meant nothing. Reasoning doesn’t matter to a triggered body.

I had capacity to not try to get rid of the jumpiness. But I could feel suffering happening.

By early evening, the thought came: “Fuck all this nondoing bullshit.” My mind glowered at the jumpiness, balled her fists. “You gotta go.”

And then something brilliant came through—I think because I hadn’t tried to make the jumpiness go away.

A tiny voice inside said, “Let it stay.”

My mind did a double-take at me: Bitch—let it stay????

It was a spark. A moment of grace wrapped in a risk. Would I accept?

The jumpiness held its breath. Goddess and God and all the angels did, too. Even Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, Mrs. Which, and Aunt Beast looked up. These things matter.

“It stays,” I decided.  

Instantly, the suffering shifted. The jumpiness remained, but just like that, now it was mine. I damn near felt protective. “You can stay,” I said to it, and it sighed a big sigh of relief and nestled on in.

And then I obsessed about my tits getting droopy, yelled at Arden for not being in the tub an hour after having run her bath, ate some goldfish crackers. Watched some fitness vids on Youtube. Yelled at Arden to get in the fucking tub this very fucking instant or I’d return her to the orphanage this very fucking evening. Added, “I’m serious” as she rolled her eyes and calmly returned her attention to her iPad. Yada yada yada. Life.


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