Why We Are Triggered

Have you ever had an argument with someone and walked away not proud of how you reacted?

Then, for the next several hours, you justified your reaction because of how they showed up first?

We all do it.

Someone gets upset with us in traffic. They obnoxiously honk their horn or wave at us with their favorite finger, and we respond with an equally enthusiastic version of ourselves.

Then we carry it with us.

An hour later, we can still feel the frustration in our body. We get to work and tell someone the story about the jerk in traffic and what they did to us.

And every time we retell the story, we reinforce the same thing:

Look what they did. Of course I responded the way I did.

We remember their behavior, but somehow our own behavior becomes justified.

I learned a painful lesson about this years ago.

I was taking a nap on my couch when someone aggressively rang my doorbell and knocked on the door, waking me up.

I don't remember if I had been working long hours or if I hadn't slept well the night before. I could probably come up with a really good reason for why I was tired.

But it doesn't matter.

Because before I even got off the couch, I had already decided I was annoyed.

And whoever was on the other side of that door was about to know it.

I swung the door open angrily.

There was a woman standing there.

I must have had quite the look on my face because she immediately took a step backward.

She held out a piece of paper, her hand shaking, and explained that she was with the census. I hadn't filled out my form yet, and she was there to encourage me to get it done.

For whatever reason, I had been avoiding that stupid census form.

They had called me. They had left messages. They had sent notices in the mail.

I felt nagged.

And now they had sent someone to my house.

In my mind, this woman standing on my porch was one more invasion of my freedom.

Never mind that filling out the census is something we're supposed to do.

I was annoyed, and in that moment, my annoyance felt like justification for my behavior.

I growled at this poor woman, grabbed the paper and shut the door—probably a little harder than necessary.

I grabbed a pen and quickly filled out the three or four questions.

It took almost no time.

Hardly the enormous burden I had made it out to be.

Then I opened the door to hand it back to her.

She was crying.

That moment has stayed with me.

There I stood with all my internal righteousness about why I had every right to be annoyed, and suddenly I had to look at the effect my behavior had on another human being.

My ego disappeared pretty quickly.

I apologized.

She told me she was just trying to make some extra money and that people had been angry with her all day for simply doing her job.

I felt terrible.

Was being woken up from a nap worth making another person cry?

Was I really so inconvenienced that it warranted treating someone that way?

Of course not.

I hugged her. I stood there in my doorway trying to undo what I had just done.

I felt like a jerk.

And I was.

I don't always get to see how my behavior affects other people.

That day, I did.

And as uncomfortable as it was, that was a gift.

I was "triggered" because someone woke me up.

But here's the part I had to own:

Being triggered explained how I felt. It did not excuse how I behaved.

She woke me up.

I chose how I treated her.

There is a huge difference.

People are going to do things we don't like.

They will be rude. Thoughtless. Selfish. They will misunderstand us. They will say things that hurt us. Sometimes they will know exactly what they're doing, and sometimes they won't have a clue.

But we do not get to control them.

We have influence over other people. We have control over ourselves.

That's where our power is.

I get to decide how I show up regardless of how someone else does.

If someone flips me off in traffic, I can smile and wave and go on with my day.

If someone is harsh with me, I don't have to become harsh.

If someone makes me feel small or stupid, I don't have to make them feel small or stupid in return.

And if someone consistently treats me badly, I can leave.

Because I control my feet too.

Years ago, I heard John Maxwell share a story that illustrated this beautifully.

A man would walk down every day to buy a newspaper from the same vendor. Every day, the man would cheerfully greet him.

And every day, the vendor would mostly ignore him. Occasionally he might look up or grunt in acknowledgment.

But the man continued to greet him cheerfully.

Someone finally asked him why he continued being so kind when the vendor clearly wasn't returning the kindness.

His answer was essentially this:

I don't let someone else's behavior decide how I behave.

I love that idea.

Because the moment I allow your behavior to determine mine, I have handed you control of me.

If you're rude, I'm rude.

If you're angry, I'm angry.

If you disrespect me, I disrespect you.

If you raise your voice, I raise mine.

Now who's actually in control of my behavior?

You are.

I don't want to live that way.

I want to be who I have decided to be, regardless of who is standing in front of me.

If I want to be kind, I can be kind.

If I want to be patient, I can be patient.

If I want to be someone who treats people with dignity, I don't have to wait until they earn it.

And here's the second part:

Other people get to be who they are too.

I don't control them.

Once you really understand that, life gets a whole lot more peaceful.

Does that mean I become a doormat and allow people to walk all over me?

Absolutely not.

Remember—my feet work.

I can walk away.

I can set a boundary.

I can end a conversation.

I can decide that a relationship or situation is no longer healthy for me.

Having control over myself doesn't mean tolerating everything.

It means I choose my response instead of letting someone else choose it for me.

Sometimes my response is to leave.

Sometimes my response is to speak up.

Sometimes my response is to say nothing.

Sometimes my response is to love someone exactly where they are.

But my response belongs to me.

And their response belongs to them.

Isn't that the same grace we want from other people?

We want people to understand that sometimes we are tired. Sometimes we are stressed. Sometimes we say something wrong or make a face we didn't even realize we made. We want them to assume the best instead of immediately assuming the worst.

We want grace.

So maybe we should give some too.

Being triggered is human.

What we do next is our responsibility.

And the more we learn to own that, the less control other people's behavior has over our lives.