Tri(G g)ers
Imagine me about 50 pounds lighter, a lot longer hair. A lot more innocent. Not as many scars. I was 17, almost 18.
It’s 2014; go back in time with me.
It’s early in the morning; I wake up to get ready for school. I used to be better at getting up in the morning. I didn’t like missing school; I didn’t like missing the action/missing being included in a way. I loved being apart of something. I didn’t brush my hair really other than when I washed it or if I needed to. It was so long and so healthy, but hard to take care of; it was about to my waist! My skin was just my skin (no tats). I had four ear piercings total (first and second lobes). I was different. But still me. Still had spunk. Still had spice. But didn’t have much experience and didn’t have as many scars as I do now, but’s okay.
I chose what color shirt I wanted to wear and which skirt. Shoes. Jewelry (one of the jewelry items had a cross involved). I put a wipe of brown or black on my eyelids as well as mascara. I wore foundation if I knew there was something coming where I wanted it on or if I was potentially going to be embarrassed.
Side note: it can weird writing about one’s past self, but also cool to look back. It’s sentimental. To see what you were like. And what’s changed since then. Special. Be thankful for self reflection and growth or even non-growth; it all counts. Anyways, back to the “story.”
With the typical blue toe nail polish and red nails I sported, along with my turquoise cross earrings, I had my uniform on and was ready for school. I grab my lunchbox that has my mini pancakes inside with my daily medicines, grab my keys/purse and backpack, tell mom bye, and I’m ready to go. I get in my dark teal car named Finn and I hit the road listening to whatever I want whenever I want.
I had no idea what I was getting my self into, what scars I would obtain. This story has to do with my first love’s father.
I was innocent. I loved God. I was a “goody 2 shoes” or however you spell that. It wasn’t like I was all tatted up while dating a Pentecostal man. All joking aside - I love everyone.
His dad hadn’t met me yet and already didn’t like me.
He met me. But I wasn’t God’s will for their son’s life. I was unequally yoked.
It’s kinda not a surprise that someone not being all about something I’m in would upset (trigger) me, right?
So. What is a trigger?
Google says:
noun
a small device that releases a spring or catch and so sets off a mechanism, especially in order to fire a gun.
verb
cause (an event or situation) to happen or exist.
A little bit of my definition is this (inspired by Google):
something that reminds you of something else (and the thing that triggered probably has nothing to do with where the trigger originates from); a reaction because of/from something else (usually there’s something to blame).
We often times like to blame other people.
How we let things affect us is on us. Amirite?
The things people say or do/the things that hurt us - that’s terrible that it happened. But we are we gonna do about it?
Remember who you are; remember Whose you are. Adjust your crown. Pick yourself up from being knocked down and stand taller in spite of what has happened to you (it doesn’t change what happened; it changes how it affects you).*
*I feel like my therapist would tell me to take my own advice here…………
Anyways.
I was triggered yesterday and it the original reason I was triggered happened days ago, but didn’t affect me until yesterday when the person came up in conversation. You can’t control when triggers happen (unfortunately). What I went through as that woman written about up above, caused the reaction as the woman I am right now. Someone kinda was already prejudice about something that had to do with me and it rubbed me the wrong way (days later). In 2014, similar thing happened. Except this person didn’t like me and they didn’t even meet me. Not the same situation, but it was enough to bring that up for me. It matters. In turn, I didn’t want to put myself through that again. So I didn’t.
I will get more into what happened exactly in future writing. Stay tuned!
The reason for the capital G and the lowercase g are in the title of this blog is because of this:
God is capital G (obviously) and lowercase means less than. God is almighty. God is GREATER THAN. These people hurt you are not. They do not have the final say. You do! God does. God is inside my heart, that’s all that matters. Not what I eat. Or what I drink. Or what I support.
What matters is my heart; it’s God’s! <3
Christian = Christ-like.
Child of God = Saved.
Just because you are a child of God does not make you Christ-like.
Please do not get it twisted ~ these hypocrites in the church (myself included as are you (we ALL are hypocrites)) that wear long skirts for the wrong reasons, (now, I don’t care if I hurt people’s feelings here), don’t eat pork, frown upon tattoos (but they have their ears pierced) - Jesus would be sitting with the whores, homosexuals, heterosexuals who have premarital sex, murders, all that. People are too worried about their Sunday outfit than they are really being like Jesus.
We are all EQUAL. No one is above anyone else.
You’ll be reading more about this girl written about above soon and also my long a** testimony. (Take me with a grain of salt, please). :-)
Also -
Your past matters. Your triggers matter. Your trauma matters. Your feelings/emotions matter. Now whether they’re rational… I don’t know ;) just kidding.
Xoxo -
Anna