The One About Triggers

Last night, in the most disastrous of all disastrous parenting mistakes, I dropped a major curse word right in front of Connor. Like, in front of his very face. And I mean MAJOR, people. The type that would have my grandmother, yes even the one who accidentally dropped the f-bomb in front of all of her grandchildren, rolling in her grave. It just kind of flew out of my mouth without a censoring thought like “abort.abort. this is a terrible word” to stop it or slow it down. It was a parenting moment for the record books.

Let’s set the scene, shall we?

Right now Connor, my lovable, obedient, kind and sweet middle child, is in a rough phase. If I’m being completely honest with you, he’s kind of being a jerk. Anyone that knows him from anywhere other than inside the four walls of this home is probably aghast at this thought. Thinking “Not Connor?” And they’d be justified. He’s always been my ringer, the one kid I can count on to keep it together, do his stuff and never throw a fit. Which, in retrospect, means he’s absolutely due for a freak out phase. Touche, little guy. You’re nailing it.

Anyway, currently he’s frequently frustrated. Like, really frustrated. He’s angry a lot too, and we often don’t know why. And when Connor gets angry it’s zero to 1 million in 2.2 seconds. He does not care who you are. He does not care how much he loves you or whether or not you’re innocent. He is out for blood, LITERAL BLOOD, and he would push a grandmother out of his way to get at his target. It’s near impossible to stop and I’m pretty sure that someday someone is going to get seriously hurt (meaning Dillon, because brothers are stupid). Stopping him, grabbing him and calming him down is a Herculean effort and given that one of his main characteristics is tenacity, he doesn’t give up easily. So it lasts, this temper, for a long time.

Which is where we found ourselves last night. At bedtime. When I’m just about out of the game and ready to collapse. My days are FULL right now so at night, when it’s time for my little satan’s spawn angels to go to bed, I’m OVER it. But last night, Connor, mad at something I can’t even remember, refused. He would not budge. Nothing worked; I pulled out every trick in my parenting arsenal, yet still, my child was laying like a dead weight on the couch, holding on for dear life while looking at me with an impossibly defiant smile that said (without saying a word) “what are you going to do about it?”

It’s at this point that people without children are 100 judging me. I can feel it. They’re saying “Well, my child will never,” or blaming my obviously deficient parenting for this situation in the first place. To these people I say….just shut it. Until you’re face to face with a little miniature terror of your own creation who is putting you in an impossible situation you have zero right to judge. ZERO.

Yet I digress….Last night he had me. He knew it. I knew he knew it. He knew I knew he knew it.

And I felt helpless. Physically, he’s now to big for me to fling over my shoulder and firefighter carry to bed.  At this point any type of rational conversation or bargaining was out the window, I promise you, and rumor has it that CPS frowns on dragging children by their hair. So what ensued was a weird and awkward struggle where I had to bear hug/force walk my near 70-pound child, who hung purposely limp, towards his room. And somewhere in this mess I stubbed my toe. 

Which brought about the cursing because we all know that toe pain is right up there with actual death pain, right?

The moment those dreaded words left my lips they hung there, suspended in the air and almost visible, for what felt like forever. The clock stopped ticking and the world around us came to a dead stop as my son, now slack-jawed with shock, gaped at me. There was complete silence. It felt like two hours passed until anyone spoke.

Aghast, Connor said to me “Mommy, you can’t say that.”

Even more aghast, I said right back “I know…..”

And then we stared some more.

Eventually, once the shock wore off, I apologized. We talked about choices and actions and I did all of the parenting things you’re supposed to do. The experts might even call this a “teachable moment.” (after they were done judging me)

But there was also a teeny tiny part of me, yes even in the very moment, that was all “well that worked.” Because the only thing moving that kid to bed and saving my poor battered feet from more damage was an act so full of shock and awe that it slapped the sanity right back into his head. Turns out that mommy cursing was just what the doctor ordered.

Because he went to bed. Without any further fight. 

And of course, like moms tend to do, I’m now drowning in guilt and stressing about all of the fun new words he’s going to teach his friends on the playground at school today. (sorry, moms) But now that I’ve had a bit to process it, I’m also examining WHY this particular moment brought out such a visceral reaction. And, friends, it all comes down to triggers. 

Triggers are like existential soft spots, leftover pain from previous trauma that when pressed send us straight to a trauma response. They’re our worst fears, our deepest pain, our darkest secrets. Think back on your worst moments, the ones where you acted so far out of normal character and messed up so badly you don’t even recognize yourself or your reaction. I can almost guarantee you’ll find a trigger in there somewhere. Helplessness is my big dark trigger. It will send me into a dark spiral faster than almost anything else. Helplessness triggers me every.single.time. 

This trauma response was instant and loud and unmistakable. It was not subtle and was completely out of character ( I mean, I can potty mouth with the best of them but never in front of my kids; this was a first). So I couldn’t avoid it. It begged to be examined. But what I’ve realized, after looking closely and holding this event up to the light, is that I have been responding to this helpless trigger for ages. This was a little situations that evoked a big response. But I’ve felt helpless for a lot of my adult life, in big situations, and I’ve made some major mistakes in response to it.

In fact, these past few years, though, I’ve been working hard on this very thing. In my big helpless situations I’ve been setting boundaries, quietly building a backbone of steel so words can’t break me . I’ve been diving deeper and deeper into my relationship with God who tells me that I am deeply and profoundly loved despite all of my messes and mistakes (like cursing at my kid) and that He is bigger than any Goliath in my life. And even more so, I am holding on to my faith which tells me that He is working ALL things for my good, even the bad things or the dark things or, yes, the HELPLESS ones. He’s here, right in the fire with me. I am NOT helpless. In fact, no matter how hard this battle might feel on my weary soul, he’s already won the war. So I rest in that. 

I’m working on this trigger. And I’ve come a long way. Though clearly because I dropped a curse bomb in front of my child I’ve still got a ways to go.

In the end, I know Connor and I will be alright. He’s my Boo, for real. And we’ll work it out. And I know, too, that knowledge is power. Knowing that this is a trigger is over half of the battle. Knowing that nothing, yes nothing, is helpless gives me strength for the next time my bonehead kid won’t go to bed on time or someone uses words as a weapon to trap and control. Holding my trauma response up to the light takes some of the sting away; connecting the dots to why helps give me the big picture to my emotional health.

And triggers only work if you pull them. 

Peace, love and potty mouths, 

Meg

Here are some great resources on triggers in case you want to go deeper into your own:

GoodTherapy: The Psychology of Triggers

You Will Bear Witness: How to Identify Your Emotional Triggers Before It’s Too Late

The Grit and Grace Project: Overcoming Anxiety and Panic Attacks

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