Part 2 – Triggered by Tradition:
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How Holiday Memories Reopen Old Wounds
Holidays have a way of reaching into the deepest corners of our hearts.
Sometimes they pull out joy…
And sometimes they pull out things we thought we buried.
For many people, holiday “traditions” don’t bring peace—they bring emotional flashbacks.
Not the dramatic kind you see in movies, but the quiet ones:
A scent.
A song.
A certain dish.
A certain person.
A certain silence.
Suddenly you’re not the adult “holding it together” anymore.
You’re the child who remembers exactly how the room felt.
And that’s where today’s conversation begins.
Why Holiday Triggers Hit So Hard
You’re not imagining it.
Holiday triggers are real, and they’re powerful.
1. The holidays activate your “emotional memory.”
Your brain stores emotional experiences differently than logic or language.
So even if decades have passed, your body still remembers:
- tension
- tone of voice
- fear
- chaos
- disappointment
Holiday triggers aren’t random.
They’re echoes.
2. Traditions hold both joy and trauma.
What “should be” a sweet family moment often resurrects:
- childhood unmet needs
- unresolved hurt
- feelings of not being safe or valued
- memories of unpredictability
Tradition becomes a trigger when the past was unstable.
3. The pressure to ‘act normal’ intensifies everything.
A lot of people grew up knowing:
“You better act like everything is fine today.
We don’t ruin holidays.”
So even as adults, many feel forced into emotional roles that never fit them.
4. Holiday gatherings magnify old family patterns.
Every family has a rhythm.
Some are healthy.
Some are dysfunctional.
But holidays almost always bring those patterns to the surface.
That’s why someone who feels stable all year can suddenly feel overwhelmed in December.
My Story: When Holidays Came With a Warning Label
Growing up in a big family, the holidays should’ve felt magical.
And in the beginning, they did.
My siblings and I would decorate, plan meals, and get excited the way kids do—full of hope and imagination. We had a big family, lots of love between us kids, and so many reasons for the holidays to be beautiful.
But the truth was this:
The day of the holiday was unpredictable.
And we knew it.
My mom would often shift into someone completely different.
A storm would roll in—sometimes quietly, sometimes explosively.
And everything could change within minutes.
She would (My Mom):
- start arguments with our dad
- lash out verbally or physically
- become passive-aggressive
- sabotage the day
- redirect her anger toward us
It would happen on non-holidays, but holidays?
They were almost a guarantee.
But only when it was just us.
If friends came over…
If extended family arrived…
If the “outside world” was watching…
She could keep it together.
She could smile.
She could be warm.
She could be “normal.”
That kind of emotional duality does something to a child.
It teaches you:
- to walk on eggshells
- to monitor every tone and expression
- to anticipate the shift
- to brace yourself even while smiling
- to wonder why everyone else got the “good version” of the person who scared you
Being the oldest of 10 only amplified the weight.
I wasn’t just trying to manage my own fear—I was trying to protect my siblings.
And during those years, one quiet question stayed with me:
“Why does she ruin the holidays?”
I wanted to understand.
I wanted to break the pattern.
I wanted something different for my own children.
And eventually, I did.
As we older siblings grew up, started our own families, and learned our own voices, we finally reached a point of saying:
“If you cannot show love to your children and grandchildren,
we kindly ask that you do not participate.”
It wasn’t about punishment.
It was about protection.
It was about breaking generational cycles.
It was about giving our kids memories that wouldn’t feel like emotional landmines.
It was healing.
Not easy…
But necessary.
**Why Did She Act That Way?
Here’s the truth no one explained to us back then: **
People who sabotage holidays often aren’t trying to be cruel.
They are trying—poorly—to manage emotional pain they don’t understand.
For some, holidays stir up:
- old trauma
- grief
- shame
- unmet childhood needs
- loneliness
- comparison
- financial fear
- unspoken resentment
- the pressure to be “perfect”
And when someone doesn't know how to process those feelings, they often explode them onto the people closest to them.
Again—this doesn’t excuse the pain.
But it finally gave me an answer to the question I carried for years:
Hurt people often hurt people the most during the seasons they wanted so badly to enjoy…
but never felt equipped to handle.
How Holiday Triggers Follow Us into Adulthood
Even long after we leave a household like that, the emotional imprint follows us.
This is why so many adults struggle during holidays, even in happy marriages or safe homes:
- your body remembers what your mind tries to forget
- joy feels suspicious
- anticipation turns into anxiety
- you wait for the “shift,” even if it never comes
- you feel guilty for not feeling festive
- you try to recreate a childhood you never had
- you overcompensate to make holidays “perfect” for others
If you’ve ever felt that…
you’re not alone.
And you’re not broken.
You’re human.
And you’re healing.
Where God Meets Us When Tradition Triggers Us
“The Lord heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
— Psalm 147:3
God doesn’t force joy on us.
He gently restores it.
He doesn’t demand we perform happiness.
He invites us into peace.
He doesn’t shame us for our triggers.
He helps us understand them.
And sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do during the holidays is to simply acknowledge:
“This is hard for me.”
And let God sit with you in that space.
Healing isn’t linear.
But it is possible.
And it begins with understanding—not shame.
If this chapter of the series resonated with you,
or if you know someone who struggles during the holidays,
please share this with them.
You never know whose heart it might comfort.
Sometimes all a person needs is to see their story reflected in someone else’s words to finally feel seen, understood, and less alone.