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Parenting Insights
By: Sophia Anderson
Updated: July 30, 2021
Originally Published: July 30, 2021
Image Source: MICROGEN IMAGES/SCIENCE PHOTO LIBRARY/Getty
We often throw around the term “triggered” without fully grasping its weight. In its strictest sense, it refers to a response induced by a specific action or situation. However, for those with a history of trauma, it transcends mere reaction; it manifests as a trauma response. A seemingly innocuous reminder of past trauma can plunge an individual back into that painful experience. This phenomenon of being triggered is profoundly difficult.
My Struggle with CPTSD
I live with CPTSD—complex post-traumatic stress disorder—largely stemming from childhood experiences with narcissistic parents. As a child, I was often the scapegoat; my mother imposed her ambitions onto me while simultaneously punishing me harshly. I was denied the opportunity to forge my own identity. To cope, I conditioned myself to believe my mother was always right and I was always wrong, internalizing feelings of inadequacy. Compliments felt like fabrications; I believed I was fundamentally flawed.
No achievement ever satisfied her expectations. Despite my academic accomplishments—being Phi Beta Kappa and holding advanced degrees—I was never intelligent enough in her eyes. I was never attractive enough, nor was I diligent enough in my role as a homeschooling mother. My children, despite their intelligence, were always perceived as lagging behind—a reflection of my supposed failures. The only aspect I received praise for was my weight, which ultimately contributed to my struggle with an eating disorder. When my mother moved nearby, it stirred up those old, subconscious triggers.
As a child, I absorbed harsh criticisms: “You have no common sense,” and “Isn’t it your fault you lack friends?” during times of bullying. I was made to feel inferior to others, and my mental health issues went untreated because my mother believed it would reflect poorly on her.
The desire to please my mother was so ingrained that I longed for long blonde hair—a realization that emerged during therapy, where I discovered my mother had always preferred my brother’s hair while harshly controlling mine. At forty, I was still making choices in hopes of gaining her affection, chasing a love I would never receive.
Navigating Trauma Therapy
I am currently in trauma therapy, focusing on reclaiming my life and making my own choices—like opting for my short dark hair. This journey is incredibly challenging. I expected therapy to address the glaring issues, such as bullying experiences or being labeled as ungrateful for a horse-related incident. However, it’s not about those obvious moments; it’s about unraveling the deep-seated dysfunction.
Trauma therapy is about reshaping the narrative of my life and coming to terms with how deeply flawed my experiences were. Often, realizations hit me unexpectedly, revealing the abnormality of my past. One moment, I’m reflecting, and the next, I’m overwhelmed by the weight of it all—leading to tears while listening to “Under Pressure” by David Bowie.
The Reality of Constant Triggers
There are times when I mistakenly feel compassion for my mother, thinking she may not fully comprehend the impact of her actions. Sharing this with my partner led to an emotional outburst; he expressed deep regret for not grasping the extent of my suffering sooner, which triggered a flood of tears and sleeplessness.
During therapy, I discussed this moment, and while it seemed routine, it triggered memories. The following morning, I read an essay detailing narcissistic family dynamics that struck a chord. As I absorbed the content, I felt myself spiraling—realizing the profound implications of what I had endured. I needed to scream in my car to release the pent-up emotions. That day culminated in a therapy session filled with tears and a decision to seek comfort in a night out with friends.
The next day, my partner expressed anger, which triggered me due to past experiences with a yelling father. I found myself frozen, retreating into silence and tears, unable to cope with his frustration.
Days later, while immersed in Anne Rice’s “The Witching Hour,” I encountered themes that resonated too closely with my own experiences, ultimately leading me to discard the book. Despite not crying, the contemplation left me drained.
As of now, I find myself trigger-free for the first time in days, feeling a sense of relief. However, triggers often come in waves, and my therapist reassures me that this intensity will subside with time. For now, I must navigate this exhausting process, and if you don’t hear from me, I’m probably hiding out with David Bowie.