Your Trigger is NOT a Fortune Teller

Dr. Carmela Maxell: Welcome back to Rooted in Rising. I'm Dr. Carmilla Maxwell. Before we get into today's episode, do me a favor. If you've been listening and haven't followed or subscribed yet, go ahead and do that. And if today's episode makes you feel personally attacked, which quite frankly it might. Send it to the friend who has ever received one vague text message and constructed an entire Netflix limited series around it. You know the friend. You might be the friend. I might occasionally be the friend. Because today we're talking about triggers. More specifically, we're talking about what happens when your nervous system notices something familiar and then confidently tells you what happens next. Because sometimes your nervous system is absolutely correct that something feels different. It just has no idea why. And that distinction, that distinction can save us from a whole lot of unnecessary emotional chaos. Thinking lately about what it means to even consider getting back into the dating pool. And dating after you've lived some life, completely different experience. Because now you have data. You aren't walking into relationships completely unaware of what can happen. You've experienced things. You've loved people. You've lost people. Maybe you've been lied to. Maybe you've been ghosted. Maybe you've been cheated on. Maybe you've had somebody communicate with you consistently and then suddenly disappear. Maybe you've been in relationships where affection was unpredictable. Maybe you've spent way too much time trying to understand what somebody meant instead of simply asking them. Whatever your history is, you bring that history with you. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. Experience gives us wisdom. Experience teaches us boundaries. Experience helps us recognize patterns. But experience can also create expectations about what happens next. And that's where things get interesting. Because sometimes Our brains see the beginning of an old pattern and immediately assume we're headed toward the same ending. Let's create a scenario. Let's say you start talking to somebody. This is hypothetical. Everybody calm down. Things are going well. Communication is consistent. You hear from them regularly. There's a rhythm. There's predictability. And predictability feels good. Then suddenly something changes. Maybe they're quieter. Maybe they don't respond the way they usually do. Maybe you don't hear from them for a while. Nothing has actually happened yet. Nobody has said, I don't want to talk to you anymore. Nobody has ended anything. Nobody has rejected you. You simply have less information than you had before. And your nervous system goes. not like interesting no it's I know what this is because you've experienced something that started this way before and suddenly your brain becomes the FBI. Exhibit A. Communication changed. Exhibit B. The response time is different. Exhibit C. The tone seems different. Exhibit D. There's a fucking moon next to their name saying notifications are silenced. really? Now we're gathering evidence. Never mind that focus mode could mean absolutely anything. Work, sleep, do not disturb, driving. Maybe this person doesn't want anybody talking to them. Doesn't matter. Your nervous system says, put it on the board. We have enough for an indictment. The jury has been selected. Witnesses have been subpoenaed. Closing arguments begin Monday. And here's what's fascinating. You still don't actually know what's happening. You have information, but you don't have an explanation. And those are two very different things. Your nervous system is a pattern recognition machine. Our brains are constantly trying to predict what happens next. That's useful. We need that. If you've touched a hot stove before, you don't need another randomized controlled trial. Trust me. Hot stove, pain. Don't touch. Excellent. Very efficient. The problem is that human beings aren't stoves. Two situations can look exactly alike in the beginning and have completely different explanations. Someone doesn't respond. Maybe they're losing interest. Maybe they're angry. Maybe they're overwhelmed. Maybe they're sick. Maybe they're asleep. Maybe they're dealing with something at work. Maybe their kid needed them. Maybe they're going through something they haven't told you about. Maybe they're sitting somewhere thinking, I need to respond to that. And then life happens and six hours disappear. I'm totally guilty of this. You don't know. But if you've previously been hurt after someone became distant, your nervous system doesn't particularly enjoy waiting for additional evidence. It says, We know this one. And that's where triggers become tricky. Because sometimes your nervous system correctly identifies something familiar, but incorrectly predicts the outcome. Feeling can be right while the story is wrong. This distinction is incredibly important. There are at least two things happening when we're triggered. There is the feeling. And then there's the interpretation. The feeling might be something changed. I feel uncomfortable. I feel anxious. I don't feel secure. I noticed a shift. Those things can be completely legitimate. Then your brain creates an interpretation. They're leaving. They're mad at me. They're rejecting me. They're cheating. They're ghosting me. I'm getting fired. My friend doesn't like me anymore. I did something wrong. And sometimes. Your interpretation might eventually prove correct, but sometimes your brain is simply trying to close an information gap. Because uncertainty is uncomfortable. For some of us, uncertainty is almost intolerable. So we'd rather have a terrible explanation than no explanation. Because at least the terrible explanation gives us something to prepare for. Trauma hates an unfinished sentence. Trauma especially hates ambiguity. Because ambiguity means you can't prepare. If you've experienced situations where painful things seem to happen suddenly, your brain may become hyper-aware of the signs that preceded them. The change in tone, the delayed response, the shorter message, the closed office door. The friend who usually calls suddenly not calling. The partner who seems quieter than usual. The supervisor who sends Can you come see me when you have a minute? First of all, managers, please stop doing that. Put another sentence nothing bad. Quick question about the schedule. Wanna know your thoughts on something? Do you know how many people have updated their resumes between receiving can we talk and actually having the conversation? Save lives. But seriously, sometimes you aren't imagining the change. Something actually did change. The problem isn't that you noticed. The problem happens somewhere between something changed and I know exactly what this means. There is an entire universe between those two sentences. And trauma loves filling that universe with history. Don't make someone guilty of a crime your past committed. This is the big one. Don't make someone guilty of a crime your past committed. Sit with that for a second. Because the person standing in front of you today is not automatically the person who hurt you yesterday just because they accidentally touched the same bruise. Your body doesn't always understand that distinction immediately. Your body says, this feels familiar. And sometimes we translate familiar into. This is the same. But familiar isn't identical. Maybe you've had a partner cheat before. Your future partner being late doesn't automatically mean they're cheating. Maybe you've been abandoned. Someone asking for space doesn't automatically mean they're leaving. Maybe you've had a friendship suddenly end. A friend being quiet doesn't automatically mean something is wrong between you. Maybe you've been unexpectedly terminated from a job. Your current supervisor scheduling a meeting doesn't automatically mean you're getting fired. Your history provides context. It doesn't provide prophecy. Intuition and trauma can sound very familiar. This is where things get complicated. Because people say, but I trust my intuition. And you should listen to yourself. But intuition and trauma can sound remarkably similar. Both can say, something feels different, but there can be a difference in what happens next. Intuition often says pay attention. Trauma often says do something right fucking now. Fix it. Confront them. Get reassurance. Leave before they leave. Send another message. Find proof. Check Instagram. Check whether they're online. Check who they followed. Check whether they watched your story. Check whether their notifications are still silenced. Maybe consult the moon. Maybe call three friends. Maybe perform an independent forensic investigation. Because action gives us the illusion that we're controlling the outcome. But sometimes the healthiest thing you can do is observe. Something feels different. Okay, let's see what happens next. That's uncomfortable. But discomfort is survivable. Your trigger is information, not instruction. Write this one down. Your trigger is information, not instruction. A trigger tells you something here touched something there. Something happening now activated something that happened before. That's useful information. There's a wound here, a fear, a memory. A pattern, something worth understanding. But your trigger doesn't automatically tell you what to do next. You still get to decide. And sometimes the decision is I'm going to wait until I have more information. That's still a decision. Doing nothing immediately isn't weakness. Sometimes it's discernment. Healing doesn't mean you never get triggered. I think sometimes we have a really unrealistic picture of healing. We imagine that once we've done enough work, nothing will activate us anymore. We'll become these perfectly serene, emotionally regulated creatures. Someone disappears for two days and we'll sit there drinking herbal tea, saying, Whatever is meant for me will find me. Bullshit. Sometimes healing looks like walking through your house thinking, What the actual fuck? Sometimes healing looks like being anxious. Sometimes healing looks like being pissed. Sometimes healing looks like calling your best friend and saying, I'm not doing anything, but I need you to listen to me talk shit for approximately 15 minutes. Sometimes healing looks like your nervous system absolutely losing its mind while your behavior remains grounded. And that matters. Because feeling something isn't the same as acting on it. You can feel abandoned without accusing someone of abandoning you. You can feel rejected without assuming you've been rejected. You can feel angry without sending the angry text. You can feel afraid without making a fear-based decision. Healing isn't emotional numbness. Healing is having more choices about what you do with the emotion. Sometimes I'm regulated and irritated. I need this on a shirt. Because emotional regulation doesn't mean everything becomes acceptable. You can regulate yourself and still say, I don't like that. You can understand somebody's explanation and still say, that didn't feel good. You can understand that someone is busy and still value consistent communication. You can recognize that your history intensified your reaction and still decide something doesn't work for you. That's important. Because people who have done a lot of work on themselves sometimes start doing something strange. We start gaslighting ourselves. Someone behaves inconsistently, and we say, Maybe this is just my trauma. Maybe part of your reaction is connected to trauma. But that doesn't automatically make the behavior okay. Maybe somebody disappearing for several days activates an old abandonment wound. Okay. That explains why your reaction might feel especially intense. But maybe you also don't want a relationship where somebody regularly disappears for several days. That's allowed. A trigger says, This reminds me of something painful. A standard says This is what I need in my relationships. And those are not the same thing. So don't therapise yourself out of having standards. Please. Because we do this. Especially people who are very self-aware. We analyze ourselves into oblivion. Maybe I'm projecting. Maybe I'm triggered. Maybe I'm anxiously attached. Maybe I need to regulate. Maybe I'm expecting too much. Maybe I'm being unfair. Maybe I need to give more grace. Maybe. But after you've done all of that reflection, you're still allowed to arrive at actually I still don't fucking like this. Growth doesn't require unlimited tolerance. You can understand why someone behaves a certain way and decide that behavior doesn't work for you. You can have empathy and boundaries simultaneously. So here's something practical. The next time you feel activated, open your notes app or grab paper. Let's do a three-column check. Column one. What do I actually know? Facts only. They haven't responded since yesterday. Fact. My boss scheduled a meeting. Fact. My friend canceled twice. Fact My partner seems quieter tonight. Observation No conclusions. Column two. What story am I telling myself? Now be honest. They don't want me anymore. I'm getting fired. She's mad at me. He's cheating. They don't care. I'm annoying. I screwed everything up. Those are interpretations. Maybe they're correct. Maybe they're not. But identifying them as interpretations creates space. Column three. What else could be true? And this is not where we gaslight ourselves. We're not writing, everybody loves me and nothing bad ever happens. No. We're simply identifying other plausible explanations. Maybe they're overwhelmed. Maybe something happened. Maybe they're processing something. Maybe they're distracted. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe they're sick. Maybe something happened at work. Maybe there's information I don't have yet. And yes, maybe my original interpretation is correct. The goal isn't optimism. The goal is accuracy. Ask yourself, what year am I responding to? This is another question I love. When your emotional response feels enormous, ask yourself, what year am I responding to right now? Seriously. Is all of this emotion about what happened today? Or did today's situation open a file from five years ago? Ten years ago? Childhood? A previous relationship, a previous marriage, an old workspace, a friendship that ended badly? Because sometimes the person in front of us is receiving an emotional response that belongs partially to someone who isn't even in the room. That doesn't make the emotion fake, it makes it layered. And once you recognize those layers, You can start deciding what actually belongs to the present. Also, what response will I respect tomorrow? This might be my favorite question. When you're activated and you're about to respond, what response will I respect tomorrow? Not what will make them answer me? Not what will make them feel guilty? Not what will show them I don't need them. Not how do I win? What response will I respect when I'm regulated again? Sometimes it's I'd like to talk about what happened. Sometimes it's that didn't sit well with me. Sometimes it's I need some time before I respond. Sometimes it's perfectly normal. Good afternoon. Sometimes it's nothing. Because not every feeling requires immediate communication. the Here's another uncomfortable question. When you desperately want to send that message, ask yourself, am I trying to communicate or am I trying to make this feeling stop? Whew. Because sometimes we think we're seeking information. We're actually seeking reassurance. We want somebody else to respond in exactly the right way so our nervous system will calm down. And listen, reassurance isn't inherently bad. We need reassurance from people sometimes. Relationships involve co-regulation. But it's helpful to know what you're actually asking for. Because if you're sending five messages because silence feels intolerable, the fifth message probably isn't about communication anymore. It's about trying to make the anxiety disappear. Recognizing that gives you another option. Maybe I regulate myself first, then decide whether there's actually something I want to communicate. Patterns matter more than moments. And this is where we bring everything together. One weird interaction doesn't necessarily define somebody. One delayed response doesn't define a relationship. One bad day doesn't define someone's communication style. One moment doesn't make a pattern. But patterns matter. If someone repeatedly disappears, that's information. If someone repeatedly makes you guess where you stand, that's information. If someone consistently communicates even when life gets difficult, that's information too. If somebody makes a mistake, acknowledges it, repairs it, and behaves differently afterwards, that's information. We don't need to diagnose everyone. We don't need to label everybody avoidant. We don't need to call everyone a narcissist. We don't need TikTok University giving everybody a DSM diagnosis. Sometimes the question is simply. Does this pattern work for me? And this is bigger than dating. This episode really isn't about dating. Dating just makes triggers incredibly obvious because vulnerability is involved. But this happens everywhere. At work, in friendships, with family, in parenting. Someone changes their tone. Someone doesn't respond. Someone cancels. Someone closes a door. Someone says, we need to talk. And suddenly your brain starts searching its archives. Where have I felt this before? What happened last time? How do I prevent that from happening again? Sometimes that instinct protects us. Sometimes it helps us recognize patterns earlier. And sometimes we're responding to ghosts, not the person in front of us. Your past can inform you without running you. And maybe that's the balance. I don't want to forget what I've learned. I don't want to become naive. I don't want to ignore patterns because I'm afraid of being called triggered. I want my experiences to make me wiser. But I don't want my past making every decision about my present. Because if every new person has to answer for what somebody else did, then the people who hurt us are still controlling our relationships. They're just doing it from somewhere else. And I don't want that. I want to be able to recognize this reminds me of something. This scares me. I know why this scares me. And I'm going to see what this situation actually is before I decide how I'm responding to it. That's power. Your nervous system is trying to help you. And please don't leave this episode angry at yourself. Your nervous system isn't the enemy. It's trying to protect you. If you've been blindsided before, of course some part of you wants to prevent that from happening again. That part learned. Watch carefully. Don't miss the signs. Don't get hurt again. There's something incredibly human about that. So instead of saying, why am I like this? Maybe try, I understand why this scares me. And I'm gonna wait for more information. That's self-compassion and accountability at the same time. You don't dismiss the fear. You just don't hand it the steering wheel. The goal isn't to become someone who never gets triggered. I am not interested in becoming emotionally bulletproof. I want to care. I want relationships to matter. I want friendships to matter. I want my work to matter. I want to love people. I want to be excited about things. All of that requires vulnerability. The goal is becoming someone who can experience a trigger without immediately surrendering their judgment to it. Someone who could say, This feels familiar, and then add, but familiar does not mean identical. Someone who can say, I've seen this before, and then add, but I don't know the ending yet. Someone who can say, I'm scared. Without automatically concluding, I'm unsafe. That's growth. So the next time something changes, the next time that text doesn't come, the next time somebody's tone feels different, the next time your friend gets quiet, the next time your supervisor says, Can you come see me? The next time something inside you immediately says, fuck. I know what this is. Pause. Not forever. Not because your instincts don't matter. Just long enough to ask, what do I actually know? What am I assuming? What did my past fill in for me? Because sometimes your nervous system gets the feeling exactly right and the story completely wrong. Sometimes something really is happening. It just isn't the thing you were afraid of. So don't make somebody guilty of a crime your past committed. Let the person in front of you show you who they actually are. Pay attention. Keep your standards. Trust patterns more than isolated moments. Ask questions when you need to. And give yourself enough space between the trigger and the reaction to find out which story you're actually living. Because your trigger is information. It is not a fortune teller. And it is definitely not an instruction. Stay rooted in who you are. Keep rising into who you're becoming. And if you happen to be dipping your toe back into the dating pool, remember, the little moon next to somebody's name is not admissible evidence in court. Take care.