Making it Through the Mind Field
I made it.
I got through 2024 without a single incident of being triggered. To some, that might sound like successfully tying your own shoes. To me, it feels like wrestling a grizzly bear while wearing bacon-scented cologne—and winning. Let’s break this down.
What is triggering?
Triggering is the psychological equivalent of stepping on a landmine, only to discover it’s wired to your soul. It’s when some random stimulus—a smell, a sound, a memory—grabs you by the throat and drags you kicking and screaming into a past you’d rather leave behind. The reaction isn’t logical. It’s primal, like your brain hit the panic button and forgot to check why.
From a scientific perspective, triggering is tied to the amygdala—the brain’s fire alarm. It senses danger and yanks the chain to release stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. This was handy when humans were running from saber-toothed tigers. It’s less helpful when you’re trying to order a coffee without reliving your childhood trauma. Triggers can create a feedback loop between the amygdala and the prefrontal cortex, shutting down rational thought. In other words, your brain stops asking, “Am I really in danger?” and just assumes the worst.
The term has roots in trauma research, but these days it’s been watered down into something your aunt might say after a bad latte. People toss around “triggered” to describe any moment of mild inconvenience, like when their avocado toast comes without the drizzle of truffle oil. That’s bullshit. When everything is a trigger, nothing is. But let’s not get smug about it. On the flip side, some of your more emotionally damaged folks dismiss the concept altogether, especially from and about men. Those people can kindly fuck right off. Triggering is real, and if you’ve ever experienced it, you know it’s not about being soft; it’s about surviving an emotional ambush.
For me, triggering has been a three-headed beast. Each head bites in its own unique way:
Over-stimulation leading to disorientation, then panic. Imagine standing in the middle of Times Square with every billboard screaming at you in a different language, and suddenly someone dumps a bucket of cold water on your head. That’s my brain on overstimulation. Crowds, loud noises, too much input—it all fries my circuits like a cheap toaster.
Flashbacks disconnecting me from reality, leading to paranoia. Picture this: You’re watching a home movie, and suddenly you’re in the damn thing. That’s what flashbacks feel like. They’re not nostalgic; they’re a hostile takeover. And when they show up, they bring a friend called paranoia, whispering lies about how the present isn’t safe either.
Overwhelm from big emotions causing shutdowns. Sometimes, feelings hit like a freight train. Anger, sadness, fear and even “good” feelings—they all pile up until my brain just hits the “nope” button. It’s like my emotional hard drive gets overloaded and crashes.
These weren’t just bad days; they were total system failures. And here’s the kicker: the same stressors that triggered me before were all still there in 2024. The universe didn’t cut me any slack. I didn’t change the external circumstances. I changed how I dealt with them.
The mindset shift
It started with self-compassion. My friend and client Massimo Backus wrote a book that affirmed in great detail what my psychiatrist and my intuition told me: it all starts with unconditional self-love. Massimo’s take is simple: stop treating yourself like the villain in your own story. When you stop kicking your own ass for struggling, you can actually get to work fixing shit. Revolutionary, right?
Here’s what else helped:
Curiosity. Instead of running from my triggers, I poked at them like a scientist studying a weird bug. What’s this about? What does this reaction want from me? Asking questions reminded me of my power to choose my responses.
Acceptance. I learned to acknowledge that emotions like anger, disappointment, frustration, and grief aren’t problems to be fixed—they’re just part of being human. Instead of resisting these feelings, I accepted them - but only as sources of information.
Healthy detachment. I learned to treat my triggers like the grackles at Central Market here in Austin. They’re noisy and persistent assholes, but they’re just doing what their instincts tell them to do. External inputs are not personal attacks; they’re just part of the environment. I stopped trying to shoo them away or take their racket personally. Instead, I let them exist without letting them steal my peace.
Humor. I learned to laugh at myself in a non-mean way; the way I would with a close friend. I did something clumsy or awkward, instead of spiraling into self-flagellation, I came up with a funny thought prompt: "What if I were Jim Carrey in a movie?" I imagined myself flailing around in exaggerated horror, turning the spill, the awkward moment, the bumped head into a slapstick comedy bit. That mental sketch pulled me back and gave me perspective.
Vulnerability and communication. Telling someone, “Hey, my window of tolerance is pretty narrow right now,” became a game-changer. It wasn’t about asking for pity; it was about letting others see me as I was—messy, overwhelmed, human. Vulnerability isn’t weakness; it’s a damn superpower. When I opened up, I found that people were not only willing to listen but often shared their own struggles. It turned moments of what would have been panic into connections, reminding me that none of us have this life thing completely figured out. Sometimes, just saying the words, “I’m a little off right now” took the edge off and made the impossible feel manageable.
These tools helped me stop turning molehills into mountains. No more over-indexing every little thing. I stopped projecting my fears onto other people or situations, recognizing that most of what I feared was a story my brain was making up. I learned to name my feelings—anger, sadness, fear—without trying to fix them or shove them away. Suppression is just a time-share for emotional chaos; it always comes back to haunt you. Instead, I practiced letting the feelings exist, to as Brene Brown says “feel them all the way through.” It wasn’t about control; it was about coexistence and trust that the storm would pass.
“Resiliency is something you do, more than something you have. . . You become highly resilient by continuously learning your best way of being yourself in your circumstance.” - Al Siebert
Opportunities to fail
2024 didn’t make it easy on me. Fireworks a few minutes before midnight last night were loud enough to wake the dead, and loud noises used to be my kryptonite. But this time? A bit of acceptance and humor. The year also served up a buffet of challenges: the horrific election results, more health problems than I’ve ever dealt with in one year, the relentless stress of running two companies, and the crushing weight of modern life. If the universe was trying to push me to the edge, it gave a damn good effort.
I wasn’t perfect. I stress-ate my way through more honey-roasted pecans than I’d like to admit. My workout routine was more theory than practice. Meditation? Let’s just say it wasn’t a daily occurrence. But here’s the thing: I didn’t spiral. That alone feels like a victory.
Brain chemistry matters
Let’s talk about the chemical side of the equation. I’ve been using small doses of Lexapro and Wellbutrin for anxiety and depression, and Adderall for ADHD. These aren’t magic pills, but they’re like adding power steering to a car. They make it easier to navigate life’s sharp turns. Sometimes, your brain needs a little boost to get out of its own way.
Feeling proud
Here’s the part that feels weird to say: I’m proud of myself. Not in an arrogant “I’m the king of the world” kind of way, but in a quiet, solid way. That doesn’t mean I’m cured. Life will throw more curveballs, and I’ll probably fumble a few. But I feel equipped to handle them. That’s worth celebrating.
Triggering is messy, complex, and deeply personal. It’s not a joke, but it’s also not a free pass to throw a tantrum every time life gets hard. It’s about finding the middle ground: acknowledging the reality of your pain without letting it define you. If 2024 taught me anything, it’s that resilience isn’t about avoiding stressors. It’s about building an inner badass who can handle whatever comes next. And for the first time ever, I feel like I’ve done just that.
If you’ve been wrestling with your own triggers—whether it’s overstimulation, flashbacks, or emotional overwhelm—I’d love to connect. Especially if you’re a Gen X or Boomer guy who feels like this isn’t something men talk about. Let’s prove that wrong. Reach out, and let’s have a real conversation about real shit - and real solutions.