Triggers

Tonight, I tried to soften.

I tried to breathe slowly, to anchor myself in the present, to speak gently to the parts of me that were trembling. I did everything I’ve learned to do—the grounding, the reminders, the slow orientation back into the room. I told myself I was safe.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

There are moments in healing no one warns you about—the moments when all the coping skills in the world feel like trying to stop a tidal wave with cupped hands. When you reach for softness and your body is too overwhelmed to accept it. When the logic of “I’m safe now” disappears under the weight of old fear that still knows your name.

Tonight was one of those moments.

People talk about healing like it’s a series of successes, as if every trigger should be met with wisdom and calm responses. But sometimes I get pulled under. Sometimes the past is louder than my breath, more vivid than the room I’m standing in. Sometimes my nervous system doesn’t listen to the gentleness I offer.

And that doesn’t mean I’ve failed.

It means the trauma was loud.

It means the memory was strong.

It means my brain was doing what it learned a long time ago to survive.

Sometimes I can soften into the moment.

Sometimes I can’t.

Both are part of healing.

Tonight, I didn’t find comfort. I didn’t win the battle with my own body. I didn’t light a candle and breathe my way back into peace. I shook. I spiraled. I felt myself slipping into a place that didn’t feel safe, even though I knew logically nothing around me was dangerous.

But here is the quiet truth I’m holding onto:

Not every moment of healing will feel triumphant.

Not every trigger will dissolve.

Not every grounding technique will soothe.

And even on the nights when nothing works, I am still surviving them.

Sometimes, the win is simply staying—staying in the body, in the moment long enough to feel it pass. Sometimes the only courage I have is not giving up on myself even when I can’t calm myself.

This wasn’t a soft night.

It wasn’t a poetic night.

It was a survival night.

And survival still counts.

Even when it feels messy.

Even when it feels like failure.

Even when it feels like the past swallowed the present whole.

Healing isn’t only found in the moments you rise.

It’s also found in the moments you endure.