There’s a word you hear a lot now — trigger.

You’ll hear it in rooms, in training, in conversations:

“You might hear something that triggers you, so feel free to step away.”

I understand where that comes from. It’s about care, about not overwhelming people, about recognising that people carry real experiences. And over time, that shapes more than we realise.

But I’ve been wondering what happens when that becomes the only thing we say.

Because if a space is meant to be a place of learning, then it can’t just prepare people for what might unsettle them. It should also help them understand what to do when that feeling comes.

Not everything that unsettles us is dangerous.

Sometimes it’s simply uncomfortable. Sometimes it’s something we recognise, something we’ve never quite dealt with, or something we’ve quietly learned to avoid. That doesn’t make it bad — it just means it’s there.

And this is where I think we’ve maybe leaned too far in one direction.

A lot of what we now call “triggering”, older language would have described as something being stirred. And being stirred isn’t always something to run from.

In fact, much of modern psychology says something similar. Researchers like Steven Hayes, working in Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, have shown that avoiding difficult thoughts and emotions often strengthens them. What we push away doesn’t disappear — it tends to return, sometimes louder and more persistent.

The same is true in anxiety research. Studies going back to Borkovec and others have shown that avoidance can actually reinforce anxious patterns rather than resolve them. When we step away every time something feels uncomfortable, the discomfort doesn’t fade — it often becomes more sensitive, more reactive, more easily triggered the next time.

So if the only move we ever make is to step away, we might feel better in the moment, but we don’t actually grow in how we handle what we’re feeling.

Now, to be clear, there are times when stepping away is right. Sometimes it’s wise, sometimes it’s necessary. Trauma-informed care rightly emphasises safety. But even within that field, the goal is not just protection — it is empowerment, helping people develop the capacity to respond rather than simply retreat.

Because if all we offer is “step away,” we are protecting people without equipping them. And over time you begin to see the effect of that.

Life doesn’t come with exit doors everywhere. At some point, we all have to learn how to sit in something we don’t like the feel of — not all at once, and not without support, but gradually. Learning that we can feel something and not be undone by it. Learning that we can stay present even when something is stirred.

Some psychologists describe this as increasing our “window of tolerance” — the range within which we can remain steady enough to reflect and respond well. Not becoming hardened, but becoming more able.

That’s growth. That’s formation.

Scripture has never really pointed us toward avoidance.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you…” (Isaiah 43:2)

Not if — when.
And the promise isn’t escape. It’s presence.

James writes that the testing of faith produces patience (James 1:3). Paul says that perseverance produces character (Romans 5:4). In both cases, something is being formed over time — not by avoiding everything difficult, but by learning how to walk through it.

Even Jesus doesn’t remove every moment of discomfort. He asks questions that unsettle, speaks truth that exposes, and brings things into the light that people would rather leave hidden. But He doesn’t leave people there — He leads them forward.

“You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” (John 8:32)

Truth doesn’t always feel freeing at first. Sometimes it feels uncomfortable, like something has been touched that we would rather leave alone. But it leads somewhere.

As C.S. Lewis once wrote, God’s work in us is not always comfortable, but it is always purposeful. The aim is not simply to make us feel better in the moment, but to make us more whole over time.

That’s the difference.

So maybe the question isn’t always, “Do I need to get away from this?”

Sometimes it’s, “What is this showing me? What’s underneath this? What have I not quite faced yet?”

Those are slower questions, but they lead somewhere.

And that’s the goal – not to avoid every uncomfortable moment, but to grow in how we carry them — so that over time, we are less easily shaken. Not because life has become easier, but because we have become steadier.

If this feels familiar, it may simply be a reminder:

Not every trigger is a threat.

Sometimes it’s something being stirred — and sometimes, gently and over time, that’s where the work begins.

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A quiet note

Professional support, therapy, and wise counsel can be deeply life-giving. Trauma is real, and there are moments when stepping away is both wise and necessary.

Nothing here is meant to dismiss that. These reflections sit alongside it — recognising the need for safety, while also making room for growth over time.

Part of that growth is learning, gently and with support, how to remain present with what we feel, rather than always needing to avoid it.

If this has stirred something difficult and you need to speak to someone, you don’t have to carry that alone. In the UK, Samaritans are available 24 hours a day on 116 123, or at www.samaritans.org.

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If something here connects with you, you may want to read…

Not Every Struggle Is a Relapse
Why We Go Back
When Your Brain Won’t Switch Off
More Than the Wound

All available on the blog.

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My Story

Many of these reflections sit within the wider Window Seat journey — learning, slowly, how life is rebuilt in practice, not just in theory.

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