Our triggers aren’t always emotional or intellectual. Sometimes, they’re physical.

In my last blog, I talked about the power of returning to the body to find where we’re still holding trauma. For me, a spontaneous trigger got me into my body, following the movement of my hands, and led to the release of a big, palpable piece of energy that had been locked inside me since I was six years old. 

That was about a week and a bit ago. Since then, I’ve felt much lighter—but I’ve also been processing. Because that’s what happens when we do release work: it peels off a layer, and sometimes the next one comes up just as quickly.

Last night, something unexpected happened.

I was messaging my sister—uncensored, of course—and ranting about how I keep hitting my head in my bedroom. The ceiling is slanted, there are beams, and it really triggers intense anger in me. I was like, “Ugh, I’m always hitting my head!” Then I added, “Just like being on a boat…”

And that’s when something clicked.

I thought about my sailing years. Constantly hitting my head on a sailboat—because you do. Getting thrown off the loo, bruises everywhere. That memory came rushing in. But I also remembered that this fear wouldn’t logically apply to being on a massive ship. So what was this really about?

I knew I had released a big chunk of fear recently about being six and being in a dark cabin on a ship, but I wasn’t sure what it was about. But now I wondered: what’s the connection here?

I was calm at this point, getting ready to go out dancing, but still letting my thoughts wander. And then it hit me—literally. I had just knocked my head again on the beam in my bedroom, and that physical jolt triggered a memory: being six years old, in that pitch-black cabin on the SS United States, falling out of bed and hitting my head.

I used to sleep wildly as a kid, rolling around and falling out of bed often. And in that moment, I remembered it vividly—falling, hitting my head, and being completely alone in the dark. 

My grandmother was off enjoying the nightlife with my parents, and my sister was probably there and consoled me, but I was terrified. The dark, the pain, the loneliness—all those core emotions flooded back. And it all tied into how I’d felt during that transatlantic sailing trip as an adult: frustrated, angry, alone, unsupported. Even though there was a crew, I didn’t feel held.

This whole fear of getting on the ship with my dad, this lingering dread—it wasn’t just about sailing. It wasn’t even about the darkness. It was about that old, buried feeling of fear and falling and not being comforted, held. For me, not being held is birth trauma imprint! I was in an incubator for two days!

So I stood up and said, “Okay. Let’s go into this. Don’t put off what you can do now.”

I took the same movement from the week before—hands pressing from my stomach down into my pelvis, then up through my core and out through my shoulders—and I repeated it, I don’t know how many times. I brought that memory to mind. The bed, the darkness, the fear, the thud of hitting my head.

And another huge wave came up.  I felt like I was six.

I muscle tested to be sure—yes, this was the moment. Six years old. Falling out of bed. Hitting my head. A fear of falling that’s followed me my whole life—and I never connected it until now. 

That jolt you feel when you’re asleep? The one that wakes you suddenly? That’s your astral body snapping back into your physical body. And I’ve had that feeling so often, too.

It all made sense.

I cried. A lot. The kind of crying that doesn’t just release emotion, it clears space. I wrapped my arms around myself and hugged my little six-year-old self tight. I whispered, “It’s okay. I’m here. I know it was scary to fall out of bed in the dark. But you’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

And after all those tears? I had my usual little laughing fit. That kind of wild, slightly hysterical laugh that comes after a big emotional release. It always balances me out.

I didn’t have time to journal, so I made a quick voice recording to capture the moment. Washed my face, kept getting ready—and then went out dancing. I danced it all out. Moved all that energy right through my body.

This has been building for months, ever since my dad invited me on this ship voyage. And now, finally, I feel like the core of it has cleared. I feel lighter. Different. Not nervous anymore. I really think I got to the roots of it all.

So here’s what I want to share: our triggers aren’t always emotional or intellectual. Sometimes, they’re physical. A bump on the head. A jolt in the body. And that physical trigger can lead to a memory that’s been locked in your cells for decades.

You have to go into it. Let your body show you where it is. Let yourself cry. Or laugh. Or shake. Let yourself feel it.

And keep doing the work.

Because it’s so worth it. If you would like some help connecting the dots so you can understand your triggers and patterns please book a call.