Love and Triggers

hey

Bear with me as i get a little vulnerable and share a part of something that’s become deeply ingrained in me.

Love was an important thing for me growing up. I loved my family, and in their own ways of showing it, they loved me. I learned how to convey my love by watching what was modeled around me. Something I learned a little too late was that sometimes our actions are an emulation of what we watched growing up. As a kid, I always watched and learned from other’s mistakes on top of my own. Unfortunately, I learned too late that my expression of love is a bit different from that I saw around me.

triggers.

now this post is a two-fer, kinda, because I’d like to talk about triggers. Five years ago, I was in a situation where I didn’t really recognize myself. I don’t live a life full of regrets, but what happened about exactly five years ago was absolutely one of them. It’s unfortunate how triggers work. Recently, I moved to a new city, where I found myself genuinely excited and free. I’m happy in a way that felt earned. Suddenly, during what is supposed to be the merriest time of the year, I was given a violent reminder, sending me into a brutal spiral.

For me, triggers don’t only remind me of the past, but they tend to recreate it as well. I found myself in the same emotional state that I was in so long ago. These emotions are absolutely not welcome, but they figure out a way to come back in some shape or form.

It blows my mind what our brains are capable of. One of my favourite YouTubers, Jonathan Morrison said in a recent video, “our brains can be assholes”. This incredible piece of human anatomy is also so wildly good at being our worst critic. Brains are great at distorting time, making old wounds feel fresh, and overlaying an awful lens over things.

I can’t say I have any answers. I’m not equipped for that. This semi-rant is one of the many tools that I have to help me process these things. I go through the cycle of feeling these emotions and trying to put them into words when I can.

rant over

Anyways, I think the best way to explain my thinking is through a conversation I had with one of my closest friends a few years ago. I was at his apartment while he was on the phone with his dad. When the call ended, they just said bye and hung up. I couldn’t help but ask if he says “i love you” to his family, after they say their goodbyes. At the time, they didn’t really do that.

I explained to him that I try to be very cognizant about saying it, every time, because of this quiet and uncomfortable thought that one day I might not get another chance. This fear comes from experience.

I’ve had a conversation with someone recently who also say’s I love you, but for them it feels like a part of a script, like something you say because it is expected at the end of a conversation. That sucks. I mean what I say, fully and intentionally, every time.

my experiences changed the way I move through my relationships. I wished more than anything that I could say I love you one last time. It made it clear to me that if I am lucky enough to have such a connection with someone, if they matter to me, I need them to know it while I still can.