The Most Wonderful Thing About Triggers...

 

Just in case the ‘joke’ in the title was a bit too obscure…

“You can try and prepare for anything you think will be triggering, but ultimately, it’s the random and unexpected thing that’ll floor you.” - Me

In the first few months after Julie’s death, I vividly remember stressing and worrying over my fear that everything would be triggering to me in some form or another. I could see friends and family skirting round certain issues or conversation topics because it was ‘too soon’ or ‘too real’ for me.

I actively avoided any media that involved hospital scenes because I knew I’d get flashbacks to Jules’ time comatose in the ICU. When driving west in the city, I would chose a route that didn’t take me past the hospital. I stopped cooking certain dinners because they were her favourite or something we enjoyed making together. I took active steps to restrict my potential exposure to any obvious triggers.

Each of these were steps I took to try and avoid having a breakdown and becoming paralyzed in the moment. To stop that feeling of the world falling out from under me and everything becoming muffled. Kinda like that dolly zoom in Jaws but, instead of a killer shark, it’s trauma.

Like this, but sad

But, and you can probably see where this is going, no matter how hard I tried to circumvent things or avoid them, time and time again, it was (and continues to be) something totally innocuous or unexpected that has been triggering.

For example, during my first week returning to work after Julie’s death. Obviously there was a lot there that I could foresee: leaving in the morning without anyone (other than the dog) to say good bye to, knowing I’d have to chat with my students about why I’ve been away for the first two months of school etc. etc.

However, what I found out was that I had absolutely no difficulties telling a bunch of 9 year olds that the woman I love had died suddenly and I that I had needed some time to go home and be with my family. I could do that without even a crack in my voice or taking a moment to wipe away tears. Nope, what got me was when I was on recess duty. A kid came up to me and said “Excuse me, do you think someone could ride a penguin like a horse?”. I had never met this kid before, I don't think they even knew me, but as soon as they asked their fantastic question, my hand habitually went to my pocket to grab my phone so I could share it with Jules. Bang. Trigger.

I think a small 9 year old could. I definitely could not.

This floored me. I don’t like throwing around the term ‘panic or anxiety attack’ as there are people out there who are grappling with serious, diagnosed panic/anxiety disorders but I probably was dipping my toes in at the shallow end. I don’t remember the rest of the duty, but I do remember constantly opening my phone and going to messages just in the hopes that something would have changed. For the life of me, I could not shake this fixation on how I couldn’t text her anymore out of my head. It became invasive. The whole day I spiralled around this new awareness, all because of penguins.

And it feels weird. I have very matter-of-factly, with total nonchalance, told the mobile provider that I needed to cancel her account. “Why?” the lady on the other end asked so innocently, “Oh, because she’s dead and I don’t want to keep paying the bill.” I replied casually. But finding a particularly great deal on a new frying pan I'd been keen to buy, I’m a blubbering mess. Do I know why? Of course not. There’s no line to be drawn between a good bargain and our relationship (though perhaps a wittier observer could make a fun joke here…). There doesn’t need to be. What would that help with? Would I have to avoid any and all sales for the rest of my life? My mum would disown me!

And when I say anything can be a trigger, I really mean it. Here is a small handful of such things:

  • Having to put the bed sheet on by myself

  • A math problem in a worksheet that uses the letters of her initials

  • Running out of toilet paper while on the toilet

  • Finding a tear in a piece of clothing

  • Birthday cards

  • Toothache

  • Getting my haircut

  • A funny looking dog I saw on a walk

Each one of these have, at one time or another, completely derailed my day and brought a whole torrent of upsetting thoughts and feelings bubbling to the surface.

Now, this isn’t to say that the things I can anticipate being triggering, won’t be triggering. A lot of the time they are. I continue to struggle with hospitals (ambulances in particular are quite something!) and certain places still bring back memories of happier times (so then subsequently result in sadness). What I am trying to say is that no matter how much you try and avoid triggering situations, they are truly unavoidable. I can’t hide from everything forever as I will inevitably interact with something that seems innocuous but ends up knocking me off my feet. There’s always going to be that thing that you didn’t think of, or the other thing that you had no reason to think of, but somehow managed to generate a response nonetheless.

Essentially, avoiding things only sets me up for failure. Obviously, I’m not being reckless, but if triggers are unavoidable and unpredictable, I can’t let my fear of them dictate my life. I will go to friends’ weddings, I will watch movies/TV shows involving death, I will go to our favourite restaurants and I will do so on my terms with me in control.

While this post focused on my personal journey and connections to triggers, I do want to write a post in the near future: ‘Triggers + Others: The Admirable (if Futile) Intentions of Those Close to You’ that will explore the weird societal conditioning we have had to feel compelled to protect the bereaved. That, however, is for a later date.

Accepting that everything has the potential to be a trigger has given me an aspect of agency and ownership over all this. I can’t avoid them so I may as well go out there and face them head on.

What's this all about?

On August 18th, 2021, my fiancée, partner and best friend, Julie-Rae King died suddenly at age 30 from complications from a pulmonary embolism.

To put it mildly, this threw every facet of my life into complete and utter chaos.

Happier times with our dog, Daisy

The past year and a half has been filled with an unimaginable barrage of challenges, unexpected hurdles, exceptionally dark humour, and the long and arduous journey of trying to process everything. A journey that is made even more challenging because it is impossible to prepare for. It’s unplanned and unpredictable. There’s no guidebook, no rules, no training. It is a rollercoaster that constantly gives you whiplash, is filled with twists and turns, and dips when you least expect it.

No one really talks about it or prepares you for it which, honestly, kind of makes sense. It’s sad, it’s scary, it’s depressing, why would we want to talk about this before we have to? However, a flip side of this is that grief and all the baggage that goes along with it is shrouded in stigma and mystery. People can’t relate (and it’s a good thing they can’t!) but I’ve found that they also struggle to empathise. Not because they lack empathy or are bereft of emotion, but because there isn’t a strong societal understanding of it all. I hope that this space pulls back a bit of the curtain and shines a light on some of the nuances of at least what I’m going through.

I learnt early on that getting my thoughts and feelings down on paper, or said out in the open is an incredibly powerful tool in this processing journey. Putting words to my feelings and taking time to talk it out helped pieces begin to fall into place. Having a sounding board where I can ramble incoherently until I eventually figure out what I am trying to say allowed me to come to my own conclusions and understandings of what I am/was feeling.

I also learned (re-learned maybe?) that you actually only think you know something but, until you actually experience it, you truly have no idea. The things I have learned about grief and the journey that comes after are all things that seem totally obvious in hindsight but completely unforeseeable in the lead-up.

Lastly, I developed a firm belief and understanding that everyone’s experience of grief is unique and personal to them, but that no experience is invalid or ‘wrong’. Hearing from others who had been through similar experiences was some of the greatest medicine I could have asked for. To have the weird insecurities of my experience (“I’ve noticed I’ve started clenching my jaw more”) validated by others, (“Oh me too! I’ve been grinding my teeth in my sleep since he died”) felt like a whole body wave of relief.

That’s what this space will hopefully be. A place to ramble, to share my experiences, and maybe even help others understand their own processes and journeys after a loss. A place that may feel validating for some and informative to others (or maybe both to some!).

I hope to be able to update this site with relative regularity and I want to try and shine a light onto some of the less-talked about parts of grief. I’m not sure how successful I’ll be but creating a space for me to write (and therefore process) about my experiences helps me stay accountable to engaging with my journey and the progress I’m told I seem to be making.

It’ll be ugly, I’ll probably share a lot more than is considered socially acceptable, and I’ll definitely make jokes that my mum will give me into trouble for, but I’ll be honest and frank. Hopefully that’s good enough for everyone :)