As I sit down to write this, my heart feels heavy, my hands trembling slightly on the keyboard. My thoughts are going 1,000 miles per minute but my body still feels like it’s lagging. How is that even possible?

For those who haven’t experienced it, a trigger might seem like a simple word or image that causes annoyance, but for survivors like me, it’s like a teleport in our mind that brings us back to the darkest moments of our lives. For some survivors, the ‘trigger’ can be something a person without trauma wouldn’t think twice about.

I thought about leaving out my actual triggers in this post. I thought about listing things that aren’t real triggers to me or listing things that used to be but I have since overcome… but in the end, I decided to be real about the things that cause me to be triggered in hopes of truly explaining what triggers feel like to survivors.

Trigger warning: This post discusses sensitive topics related to sexual abuse and trauma.

My biggest trigger is those paper bracelets that they give you at events, parties, or festivals. They’re brightly colored, Tyvek material, and water resistant. They have adhesive or snap closures on them that lock in place- serving the practical purpose of being non-transferable. Water parks, fairs, or concerts are common venues where these bracelets are used. A prima facie observation isn’t going to lead anyone to believe these things are threatening. But for me, it’s none of the qualities that I’ve described above that make these bracelets harmful or scary. Triggers don’t have to be loud, intimidating, or obnoxious, though they can be one or all of those things. It could be the smell of a certain cologne, the sound of a particular song, or even the touch of a hand in a crowded room that can be a ‘trigger’ for a survivor of sexual violence.

I won’t go into too much detail about what happened to me that causes these to be a trigger- instead, I will describe how it feels when I wear one of these. I can feel the paper bracelet against my skin. The texture is often abrasive and irritating, especially if the paper is of low quality or rough in texture. It might chafe against my skin, leaving behind tiny paper fibers or even causing minor scratches or abrasions. When I am focused on other things, all of a sudden, it surprises me and pulls my attention to it each time it moves on my wrist. It feels light… like the fingertips of someone touching my wrist. Stop… don’t…

I remember what it used to feel like when I was triggered – it felt like I was being pulled back into the abyss, drowning in memories I had fought so hard to bury. The panic, the fear, the overwhelming sense of helplessness – it was all-consuming. It reminds me now of what it feels like now if I were to put on a virtual reality headset: all of me was there in the memory except my physical body. I felt like I was losing control, like I was back in that moment of vulnerability, unable to escape.

The triggers don’t do what they once did to me, but they’re still there. 11 years of therapy, a safe home, and loving family and friends have all, over time, helped lessen the impact of these triggers. For me, paper bracelets have been, and continue to be my biggest trigger. What it looks like for each person to be triggered may be different and for me, it even changed over time. I used to have to physically sit down because it was difficult for me to navigate my real-world experience when I felt like I was wearing that virtual reality headset. Now, I tend to get quiet, I may look down, or be lost in my own thoughts- at least that’s what you’d see if I was triggered by something.

Over time, I’ve learned to recognize my triggers for what they are – remnants of a past that no longer defines me. Therapy has been instrumental in helping me unpack the trauma, to understand why certain things set off alarm bells in my mind. It’s not an easy process- neither working through the triggers nor attending therapy for that matter. If I am being completely honest, there are still days when the pain feels too much to bear, and I am passionate about not letting my past dictate my present. I can attend events that have these paper bracelets- though not comfortably, I recognize how far I’ve come. I’ve found hope in the little changes– in my strength to ask if I can put on the bracelet myself; in my ability to know that the tighter I make this bracelet and the less it moves, the less upset I will be; in my willingness to not avoid any and all events that may have these bracelets.

Healing is not linear, and there are setbacks along the way, but I’m learning to be kinder to myself, to give myself the grace to feel, to heal, and to grow. To my fellow survivors, I want you to know that you are not alone. Your pain is valid, your struggles are real, but so is your strength. Reach out for help when you need it, lean on your support system, and never underestimate the power of your own resilience. You are a survivor, a warrior, a beacon of hope in a world that often feels too dark to bear.

And to those who have never walked in our shoes, I urge you to listen, to learn, to empathize. Your words and actions matter more than you know, and by creating a safe space for survivors to speak their truth, you are helping to break the silence that shrouds this epidemic. Together, we can shine a light into the shadows, dispelling the darkness one trigger at a time. And though the road ahead may be long and fraught with obstacles, I have faith that we will emerge stronger, more resilient, and more compassionate than ever before.

You got this- it gets easier, and I’m sorry it’s so hard right now. I’m here if and when you need me. Love, Tay.