On Safeguarding Ourselves from Emotional Hijacks
A few days ago, during an otherwise calm morning, I found myself snapping at someone over a seemingly harmless comment. The moment passed, but a faint restlessness lingered. Not guilt, exactly—more like confusion. Why had that moment pierced deeper than it should have?
It took me a while to admit: I wasn’t reacting to the person in front of me. I was reacting to a memory that lived beneath the surface, still raw, still unresolved. That’s what emotional triggers do—they hijack the present by sneaking in remnants of the past.
Triggers are curious things. They can be as subtle as a tone of voice, a glance, a delay in response. They touch nerves we thought we’d numbed, pulling us into emotional whirlpools before we’ve had the chance to name what we’re feeling. Often, we call them overreactions. But they are more accurately understood reactions—responses that belong to a wound, not the situation at hand.
I used to believe that managing triggers meant becoming unbothered, untouchable. But that isn’t healing—it’s armoring. Real healing is learning to recognize the early flicker of heat before it becomes a fire. It’s asking ourselves, “What is this really about?” before we lash out or shut down.
The goal is not to become a perfectly composed being who never flinches. It is to become aware of our emotional blind spots and learn how to pause when the old narratives start whispering again. That pause is not weakness—it’s a practice of sovereignty.
Each trigger is an invitation to meet a part of ourselves that still feels unsafe. A part that may have been ignored, invalidated, or dismissed in the past. When we start responding with curiosity rather than criticism, those parts begin to soften. They begin to trust that we are listening now.
We don’t safeguard ourselves from emotional hijacks by avoiding life. We do it by building a steady bridge between stimulus and response—a bridge made of self-awareness, compassion, and emotional agility.
So the next time you feel an unexpected surge—a tightness in the chest, a rush of anger, or a sudden withdrawal—pause. Breathe. Ask gently: “What part of me is asking to be seen?”
Your triggers are not your enemy. They are messages—coded in discomfort, but sent with the intention of liberation.
Whisper back, if the letter spoke to you.