How Not to Feel Triggered in Relationships

I married an older man—nearly 18 years older, in fact. And most of the time, I completely forget about our age difference, except when it’s David’s birthday, which it will be later this month.

While the rest of the year we are laughing, holding hands, and kissing (for at least 6 seconds every time), the week before his birthday I am traditionally quiet. Reserved. Pensive.

After all the work I did to heal my old trauma, I am super skilled at spotting my triggers, and David’s birthday is a huge one for me and my old stories of abandonment.

You see, I spent the first 30 years of my life feeling abandoned. Because of my emotionally absent parents, I falsely believed that I was unworthy of love and that no one would ever really love me. And if I was lucky enough to find someone who did, they’d leave me.

And every year as David gets older (and presumably closer to death) my old fear of abandonment creeps back in. I face the real possibility that I could spend the rest of my life without him.

Granted, there are no guarantees on life, health, or who will go first, but my wounded inner child doesn’t register logic. She only knows how she feels.

And how she feels is scared.

Scared that she’ll lose the only person who’s ever loved her unconditionally.

And boy has David done that.

When I met David I knew I was going to marry him. (I didn’t tell him that, of course, at the risk of sounding crazy.)

When I shook his hand for the first time, the space between us was warm and comfortable but charged with an electricity so intense that I braced myself against a chair.

Our chemistry was so palpable that strangers would approach us and tell us how perfect we were together. And when a mutual friend heard that we got married, she wrote us a note that read, “If anyone should be married it is the two of you. May your love always steam up the car windows.”

Those steamy car windows got us through years of dating tribulations, such as fending off the naysayers who balked at our age difference. United against the world, our passion fueled us beyond everyday negativity.

As time went on, and dating turned into marriage, we faced life’s challenges as we dealt with a downturned economy, family issues, and personal changes.

We found a deeper, more profound bond called compassion. It was there that we threw in the anchor and waited patiently for each other to feel whole, warm, and happy again.

In loving David, I’ve learned that there are times for passion: fueling your fire and moving forward.

And then there are times for compassion: throwing in the anchor and holding steady. For in this yin and yang dynamic of true love, there cannot be one without the other.

This man has shown up for me while I went through years of therapy.

He encouraged me when I was afraid to finally follow my dream and write a book.

He schlepped all over the country with me while I hugged people like you and talked about my book.

David gives without resentment or guilt. It’s never tit for tat with him.

He kisses my hands and my forehead as much as he kisses my lips.

There are no gender specific chores in our home. David is the go-to stain master and expert bed maker.

He loves with all of his being and plays with abandon.

And his loving gaze instantly soothes my oft fast-beating heart.

He’s taught me that love is real and reminds me every day that we’re worth fighting for—that I’m worth fighting for.

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And in this emotional cocoon he’s created for us, I’ve felt safe to journey inward and do the hard work of healing my wounded heart.

One practice I’ve found particularly effective in my healing is compassion meditation. I visualize a person I want to forgive and imagine talking to them and shining a warm light from my heart.

I’ve also found this practice helpful in reassuring my inner child that the past is over and we’re now in an emotionally safe place.

Healing really is a journey—it’s never a one and done. It requires patience and keen self-awareness to spot the triggers that might set us back.

So this year as David’s birthday approaches, and despite my old triggers, I’ve decided to hug my inner child and tell her that we’re safe and loved.

I also decided not to feel so glum about the idea of David getting older, but instead to celebrate how extraordinary he is and how incredibly blessed I am to call him my own.