Triggered
My armor is full of cracks.
Some are large, some small.
Some from blows I dealt myself, some from the blows of others.
Some just from the blows of life.
I often find myself scooping up pieces of my armor that have fallen, to glue them back in place. It seems the pieces tend to loosen up over time and need some attention. There are some pieces that are more prone to loosening and falling out than others. I'm always on the lookout for those.
Sometimes, people come knocking - on the parts of my armor that shield my heart, my mind, my soul, my body. Requests are made of me all the time, especially as a parent.
Sometimes, these requests come from many directions, all at once. My fragile armor trembles. Pieces fall. I scramble to pick up the pieces while the knocking continues. My heart races as I contemplate the futility of trying to distract people from seeing the weak parts of my Soul as I glue my armor back together, all while they still knock.
Most knocks are gentle. Some are less gentle. Some are so persistent that I get soul aches from the constant booming that permeates the armor and finds its way to the cracks in the living part of my Soul.
There are a few people who have seen what lies under my armor because I have allowed them to look: I took off a piece of armor to show them the sensitive parts of my Soul. My heart and mind tremble when I choose to do this. "Not safe," they whisper, "Please be careful." Because they also know that those people who have seen the deeper breaks also have the power to hurt me more when they come knocking.
It's unsettling, sometimes painful, when my outer armor is damaged. Occasionally, a piece of my armor falls off and someone happens to knock right in that vulnerable place. Other times, it's the people I chose to let in who hit me where I'm sensitive. It's unbearable when the wounds in my tender Soul receive a blow. Sometimes those knocks are maliciously meant, but often they are gentle taps, in just the wrong place - enough to send a shock wave of pain through all the cracks in my Soul and armor. That shock wave is what I'm referring to when I say I've been "triggered."
In those moments, my exposed Soul collapses, breathing heavily, heart racing and eyes wide, as her fragile armor falls away. She eyes the threat, the person who happened to strike me in the wrong place, however kindly they may have meant it. Fear and anger course through her. "Why did I ever let you get close to me? How did you find that spot? That deadly crevice I never even properly understood?"
Sometimes I push the person away. Sometimes I yell. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I hide. There have only been a handful people who have managed to knock at the places that cause me to shatter. And after I have shattered, I have generally been so focused on keeping that person away until I can rebuild enough to function that I fail to look at the pieces of my armor, at the deeper wounds, at the raw vulnerability of my Soul. Sometimes, though, I ask them to put me back together.
In either case, I close my eyes while my armor is pieced back together so I don't have to see the deeper brokenness, feel the awful coldness that touches my heart when I witness my own injuries. I choose to live in denial because it's easier to deal with persistent low-level pain and constant fragility than it is to explore the depths of my brokenness. I don't know just how broken I am, and I'm afraid that if I open everything up, I'll do it wrong and paralyze myself forever. Gluing the outer pieces of my armor back in place has worked well enough in the past. Maybe I'll just keep doing that.
But something whispers to me that I am limiting myself by refusing to look at the brokenness of that living piece of my Soul. I will always be crippled if I leave those deep pieces broken the way they are. Choosing to keep my eyes open when I shatter will be painful. I will feel the coldness in my heart, the fear, the agony, as I observe my wounds. But then I will know how to bind those wounds, how to properly fit them together, to sew them up and how to apply the ointment of the Atonement that will help them finally heal.
I'm not sure I'm ready to do all that. My feeling is that I'll have to do it just a little at a time. Every time the brokenness of my Soul is exposed - whether by choice or by force - I will have an opportunity to study the wounds. Each wound that I've already glanced at seems overwhelming just by itself. But I know I can do this, with the help of trusted friends and especially God.
I can do this.
Some are large, some small.
Some from blows I dealt myself, some from the blows of others.
Some just from the blows of life.
I often find myself scooping up pieces of my armor that have fallen, to glue them back in place. It seems the pieces tend to loosen up over time and need some attention. There are some pieces that are more prone to loosening and falling out than others. I'm always on the lookout for those.
Sometimes, people come knocking - on the parts of my armor that shield my heart, my mind, my soul, my body. Requests are made of me all the time, especially as a parent.
Sometimes, these requests come from many directions, all at once. My fragile armor trembles. Pieces fall. I scramble to pick up the pieces while the knocking continues. My heart races as I contemplate the futility of trying to distract people from seeing the weak parts of my Soul as I glue my armor back together, all while they still knock.
Most knocks are gentle. Some are less gentle. Some are so persistent that I get soul aches from the constant booming that permeates the armor and finds its way to the cracks in the living part of my Soul.
There are a few people who have seen what lies under my armor because I have allowed them to look: I took off a piece of armor to show them the sensitive parts of my Soul. My heart and mind tremble when I choose to do this. "Not safe," they whisper, "Please be careful." Because they also know that those people who have seen the deeper breaks also have the power to hurt me more when they come knocking.
It's unsettling, sometimes painful, when my outer armor is damaged. Occasionally, a piece of my armor falls off and someone happens to knock right in that vulnerable place. Other times, it's the people I chose to let in who hit me where I'm sensitive. It's unbearable when the wounds in my tender Soul receive a blow. Sometimes those knocks are maliciously meant, but often they are gentle taps, in just the wrong place - enough to send a shock wave of pain through all the cracks in my Soul and armor. That shock wave is what I'm referring to when I say I've been "triggered."
In those moments, my exposed Soul collapses, breathing heavily, heart racing and eyes wide, as her fragile armor falls away. She eyes the threat, the person who happened to strike me in the wrong place, however kindly they may have meant it. Fear and anger course through her. "Why did I ever let you get close to me? How did you find that spot? That deadly crevice I never even properly understood?"
Sometimes I push the person away. Sometimes I yell. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I hide. There have only been a handful people who have managed to knock at the places that cause me to shatter. And after I have shattered, I have generally been so focused on keeping that person away until I can rebuild enough to function that I fail to look at the pieces of my armor, at the deeper wounds, at the raw vulnerability of my Soul. Sometimes, though, I ask them to put me back together.
In either case, I close my eyes while my armor is pieced back together so I don't have to see the deeper brokenness, feel the awful coldness that touches my heart when I witness my own injuries. I choose to live in denial because it's easier to deal with persistent low-level pain and constant fragility than it is to explore the depths of my brokenness. I don't know just how broken I am, and I'm afraid that if I open everything up, I'll do it wrong and paralyze myself forever. Gluing the outer pieces of my armor back in place has worked well enough in the past. Maybe I'll just keep doing that.
But something whispers to me that I am limiting myself by refusing to look at the brokenness of that living piece of my Soul. I will always be crippled if I leave those deep pieces broken the way they are. Choosing to keep my eyes open when I shatter will be painful. I will feel the coldness in my heart, the fear, the agony, as I observe my wounds. But then I will know how to bind those wounds, how to properly fit them together, to sew them up and how to apply the ointment of the Atonement that will help them finally heal.
I'm not sure I'm ready to do all that. My feeling is that I'll have to do it just a little at a time. Every time the brokenness of my Soul is exposed - whether by choice or by force - I will have an opportunity to study the wounds. Each wound that I've already glanced at seems overwhelming just by itself. But I know I can do this, with the help of trusted friends and especially God.
I can do this.
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