The buzz word is “triggered”.

When used with the ‘ed’, it’s become a slander; a mocking reference to someone’s mental state. “Triggered”.

But triggers (with that emotional ‘s’) are a cruel, impending set of circumstances that leads you back to where you once were, and changes the trajectory of your day, or night. Or weekend.

We’re all a little messed up.

Some of us click our tongues. Or suck our teeth. Or twirl our fingers. Bite our thumbs. Deep breaths. Sharp exhales. Many of us have adopted these quirks as a way to calm ourselves in situations we’re losing control over. Or they’re causing us to feel overwhelmed.

We’re all a little messed up.

The experiences we live through, the hurdles we cross, the obstacles we divert; these all become crosses we bear through the next phase. And sometimes, I feel, we’re given bouts of victory, because the sweet release of being successful helps to balm the wound of failure. Or the worst of times. Or the hardest of times. Or the times that were so bad, you push the skeleton to the very back of the closet where it seems safe from surfacing. Isn’t that messed up?

Listen, friends. I’m messed up. 99.9% of my life, I can saunter through, soldier on, keep on keepin’ on. But my “triggers” stem from real world situations that sometimes come back to threaten who I am, what I’m doing. What my night might look like. How I handle the next wave of tension, or trepidation.

So, if you stumble across this blog today, limping through another Sunday, hoping to get into another workweek; dreading deadlines, dreading change, dreading looking at the alarm clock on another morning – you’re not alone.

“We’re all a little messed up,” she wrote after a long night of accepting that she’s a little messed up.

— c ☆