I am not good at identifying triggers. I have problems with memory, and also I do not pay much attention to myself, so they seem to come out of nowhere. My beta blocker medication gives me time to pull my punches (I mean delay my reactions), but it is unpleasant to feel like I am triggered and I have no idea why.
Today it could be from pulling kites out of trees three times when I was trying to cook dinner.
It could be from the food I cooked, a first time for them on an American party food, and they did not like it. No one likes to see their cooking in the trash.
It could be because my father is visiting tomorrow. The father that told me my children should not play in the living room and although I have to ¨do something¨ about my children, they certainly should not be taken to doctors, therapists, or psychologists. The father that said every child must be autistic if my oldest is, because although he has told me since that child was walking that something ¨must be done¨ about him, he certainly could not be special needs. From this I gather that in his opinion, my parenting has caused my children to have behavioural issues, not their physiology.
It could be that I spent time with new people today. It could be that I need some time to myself.
Maybe I am triggered by all the screaming and whining from my children acting out Minecraft in the living room. Who would have thought that those block people would scream and whine so often, or be so dramatic when they look so bland.
Maybe it is from finding the refrigerator nearly empty.
I am guessing it is from having my father visit. I haven’t got time tonight to clean up the house the way I want to. Perhaps tomorrow before the soccer game, I can get it done the way I like it. I need to stop worrying. I am not in some House Beautiful magazine.
I called the children into the kitchen as soon as I figured out that I was triggered and took my evening hypertension meds. I asked the boys to stop screaming in their play, and they did, mostly. That helped, a lot. I made them some strawberry shortcake, the kind with real shortcake and real strawberries that I crushed with a potato masher, instead of some sweet sort of cake. Then I knew they had got enough food in them for the night.
I went to help them get a movie on, and my son was excitedly screaming in my face while talking to his brother. Which was really difficult. But he stopped.
I have to get him his medicine now. My oldest son’s anxiety is far, far worse. He wants me with him at all times. If I think I feel bad, it must be nightmarish for him.