Emotional Triggers

“You triggered her.”

Two people said this to me today about someone I barely know. I was making small talk at a gathering when she started shouting at me in front of twenty people. I stepped away because I recognised it instantly. She wasn’t reacting to me – she was reacting to something in herself.

She never apologised. Not then, not now. And people who witnessed it treated it as if I caused the explosion.

I didn’t.

Because her triggers are her responsibility.

We don’t “trigger” people. People get triggered.

And unless someone is deliberately weaponising your known wounds, your emotional reaction is yours to own.

The wound was already there

A trigger isn’t something another person does to you. It’s something inside you getting activated — an old bruise, an unmet need, a memory that still stings.

The reaction belongs to the person who feels it, not the person who accidentally bumped into their history.

The wound existed before you arrived.

It’ll exist long after you leave.

A trigger is your body’s internal alarm system saying, “This is still unresolved.” It’s information about your inner world, not evidence of someone else’s wrongdoing.

What makes this complicated is that most people don’t recognise when they’re triggered. They just feel an emotional spike – anger, shame, fear – and immediately look outward for a culprit.

That’s not emotional intelligence. That’s emotional autopilot.

When you don’t know what your alarm system is pointing to, everything feels like a threat and everyone else feels responsible for your discomfort.

Getting triggered doesn’t excuse bad behaviour

Feeling triggered explains a reaction.

It doesn’t justify it.

You don’t get to scream at someone making harmless conversation and then decide the explosion was their fault. You don’t get to make your dysregulation someone else’s emergency. And you definitely don’t get to skip the repair.

The wound is yours.

The reaction is yours.

The apology is yours.

Anything else is entitlement dressed up as “emotional honesty.”

The enablers make it worse

Another layer to this is the people who immediately say, “You triggered them,” as if that ends the discussion.

When you frame the triggered person as the victim and the other person as the perpetrator, you teach emotional immaturity. You teach that discomfort is an accusation. You teach that everyone else must shrink to accommodate someone’s unresolved pain.

That’s not compassion.

It’s confusion disguised as empathy.

When triggers become a lifestyle

Some people turn their triggers into a social strategy. Every uncomfortable moment becomes someone else’s fault. Every poor reaction becomes justifiable. And everyone around them is expected to tiptoe, adjust, and pre-emptively protect them from their own history.

And you can’t have a real relationship with someone who refuses to own their internal world. You’ll spend all your energy managing their reactions and none building anything real.

Take emotional responsibility

Triggers aren’t moral verdicts. They’re invitations to look inward, to notice what still hurts, places still tender, still unintegrated, still yours to work through

Your triggers are your responsibility.

Mine are mine.

And responsibility includes:

• Recognising when you’re triggered.
• Managing your reaction.
• Repairing when you handle it poorly.
• Not expecting strangers to navigate wounds they know nothing about.
• Working on healing the underlying wound (or seeking help if needed)

If someone consistently blames you for their triggers, they’re showing you they have no intention of doing their own work. They’re telling you they’d rather control your behaviour than face their own pain.

Believe them.

They’re not safe to have around.

There’s freedom in owning your triggers. And there’s power in refusing to carry anyone else’s.