How did I get these trigger points?
Childhood trauma isn’t always rooted in obvious abuse. Sometimes it hides beneath the patterns we’ve normalized, tucked quietly into the small moments that shaped who we became.
How did I get these trigger points?
You might notice this when you catch yourself saying, “It’s not a big deal,” even when something inside aches. Growing up, you may have been told you were “too sensitive” or “overreacting,” so now you silence your emotions before they even speak. Over time, this becomes a quiet habit of pushing down your feelings to keep the peace, yet inside, the hurt lingers, unseen. This is the result of having your feelings dismissed or invalidated.
If you often feel responsible for fixing situations, smoothing tension, or apologizing even when it clearly isn’t yours to carry, this might trace back to childhood. Maybe you were blamed for your siblings' outbursts, your parents' stress, or household problems beyond your control. Now, self-blame feels familiar, even comforting, masking the unfairness you endured. This is what happens when you were blamed for things that weren’t your fault.
You may hear that critical voice echo in your head, the one that says you will never be enough. Even when others compliment you, it’s hard to believe. As a child, constant correction or harsh words may have chipped away at your confidence, leaving you bracing for criticism in every room, every relationship, without even realizing you have normalized that expectation. This is the lasting impact of constant criticism that made you feel small.
If you often shrink in groups or hesitate to share your needs, it may stem from years of being overlooked. You might tell yourself your presence doesn’t matter, that blending in keeps you safe. But underneath, there is a longing to be acknowledged, to be truly seen, that has been quietly buried beneath practiced invisibility. This is the wound of feeling unseen, unheard, and unimportant.
Perhaps you learned to be the responsible one, the helper, the caretaker, long before you were ready. You might pride yourself on your independence, but beneath that competence is exhaustion, resentment, or grief for the childhood you didn’t get to fully live. You tell yourself you “turned out fine,” yet the pressure to hold everything together still weighs on you. This is the result of being forced to grow up too fast, where you became the parent and didn’t receive the time to develop as a child, a teenager, or an adolescent.
If you find yourself in constant self-comparison, never quite measuring up, this may come from early experiences of being stacked against a sibling, a classmate, or impossible standards. You may have absorbed the belief that love is conditional, awarded only when you outperform, leaving little room to rest in your inherent worth. This is the quiet scar left by always being compared to others.
You may brush it off, saying they were busy or doing their best, yet part of you remembers the sting of waiting for attention that never came. When caregivers prioritized their careers, addictions, or their own needs, you might have learned to suppress yours, telling yourself you shouldn't need so much, yet the ache for belonging remains. This is the imprint left when you watched your parents choose work or themselves over you.
If your worth feels tied to achievement or flawless behavior, this belief likely took root early. You might hustle for approval, striving to be “good enough,” yet still feel unlovable beneath the surface. Over time, perfectionism becomes armor, hiding the quiet fear that love is always just out of reach unless you perform. This is how you learned to earn love by being perfect.
You may have adapted by becoming hyper-vigilant, reading moods, avoiding mistakes. Maybe you normalized chaos, telling yourself this is just how families are. Yet your nervous system remembers, the tension, the instability, the longing for calm that never came. Even now, peace might feel unfamiliar, while stress feels like home. This is what happens when you lived in a home filled with addiction, conflict, or emotional neglect.
If deep down you expect people to leave, or emotionally check out, this may echo back to early moments when you were left to navigate your feelings alone. Perhaps a parent was physically absent, or emotionally unreachable, leaving you to self-soothe long before you knew how. You might now dismiss your need for connection, but loneliness still weaves through. This is the ache of feeling abandoned, emotionally or physically.
You may minimize this by saying your sibling needed more, but part of you remembers feeling invisible. When praise, attention, or affection always went elsewhere, it quietly shaped your belief that you had to settle for less. Over time, you learned to fade into the background, yet the desire to be chosen never left. This is how you learned to survive by being overlooked in favor of a sibling.
Perhaps when you tried to speak your pain, you were told it wasn’t that bad, or you are making it up. Over time, this silencing teaches you to question your instincts, to swallow your stories. You may now downplay your struggles, yet beneath that habit lives an unspoken ache, the longing to have your truth honored. This is the deep wound left by being denied your truth or experience.
Many of these patterns begin with words that feel ordinary, even familiar. But hidden beneath those words are messages that live in the body long after childhood ends.
Common phrases that carry quiet wounds:
“What’s wrong with you?”
Implies there is something broken in your being.
Conscious Reframe: "I see you’re struggling. Want to tell me what’s going on inside?"
“What did you do now?”
Trains you to expect blame, even when innocent.
Conscious Reframe: "Hey, I see something happened. Let’s talk through it together."
“Now what do you want?”
Signals that your needs are an annoyance.
Conscious Reframe: "You have my attention. How can I help or just listen?"
“You screw everything up for me!”
Burdening you with responsibility for someone else’s pain.
Conscious Reframe: "This is hard for me, but I know it’s not your fault. We’ll figure it out."
“You wouldn’t say shit if you had a mouth full of it.”
Shaming your quietness, even though silence was self-protection.
Conscious Reframe: "You’re quiet right now, and that’s okay. When you feel ready, I’ll be here to listen."
“You think you’re above the rules, don’t you?”
Punishing curiosity or independence.
Conscious Reframe: "I hear you have your own perspective. Let’s understand each other better."
“You have no idea what I had to do to get this for you.”
Tying love or provision to guilt.
Conscious Reframe: "I wanted to do this for you. You deserve to enjoy it without carrying my stress."
“I don’t have time for you right now.”
Teaching you that your needs don’t matter.
Conscious Reframe: "I need a moment to finish this, but you are important to me. I’ll be with you soon."
“Your behavior represents your parents. Make sure you behave yourself.”
Making love conditional on your public image.
Conscious Reframe: "You get to be yourself. I love you, even when we’re figuring things out."
“Go to your room. I’ll deal with you later.”
Creating fear without explanation.
Conscious Reframe: "We’re both upset. Let’s take space, then we’ll talk about this calmly."
“You are too stupid to understand what’s going on here.”
Undermining your self-trust and curiosity.
Conscious Reframe: "This is complicated, but I’ll explain it in a way we can both understand."
“The least you can do is make dinner.”
Forcing adult responsibilities onto a child.
Conscious Reframe: "Let’s do this together so you can learn, but you still get to be a kid."
“When you live in my house, you live by my rules.”
Implying that love and belonging must be earned through obedience.
Conscious Reframe: "This is our home, and I want to hear your voice as we work through things together."
Healing begins when you notice the small ways you learned to survive, and gently reclaim what was buried beneath.
When old patterns rise up, pause. Notice the familiar urge to retreat, apologize, strive for perfection, or dismiss your feelings. Call out the pattern with compassion. Thank it for how it tried to protect you. Let it know its work is done, and it can rest now.
Once you feel the pattern quiet, like it is in neutral, place a hand on your heart or your belly. Ask your body, your heart, your gut, what new choice wants to emerge. It might be expressing a need, setting a boundary, staying present with your emotions, or honoring a truth that has waited to be seen.
This is how you rewire your nervous system. One moment, one breath, one new choice at a time. It is not about blaming the past, but about reclaiming the future — rooted in your worth, your voice, and your right to live whole.
For over thirty years, I've help people through frustration, unresolved emotion, and overwhelm. If you are ready for the next phase of your creative, joyous and available life, let me know.