Grief doesn’t follow the rules. It doesn’t show up on a schedule, doesn’t respect your plans, doesn’t care if you’ve “moved on.” It’s an ambush artist—a sniper in the shadows. One minute you’re fine, the next you’re leveled by a song, a scent, a familiar shape moving in the periphery. A sucker punch straight from the past.
I know this game too well. Recently, my little sister passed away, and the whole world cracked open. I didn’t expect it to. I didn’t really expect her death either. She had been in pallative care for awhile, and I knew something was coming, but it was always something happening in the future. I received word that she had sent me something, and that day I fought through a snowstorm to get to the post office. I got home and opened the package- inside was a beautiful silver pen with my name DC Potts engraved upon it. I was told there’s magic in that pen. A mysterious text out of nowhere told me to watch the stars. That night, under a sky so wide it swallowed me whole, I felt her in the silence. Not gone—just different. A phone call in the morning confirmed what I had felt. A presence, a whisper, an unspoken dare: Turn this pain into something
That’s how Heirloom Narratives was born—a way to take grief and bend it into light. A way to hold onto people when the world tells you to let go. A way to make memory solid, something you can touch. But the thing about grief? It doesn’t just sit quietly in the past. It finds you. That’s what we’re talking about today—grief triggers. What they are, how they work, and how to stop them from owning you.
What the Hell Are Grief Triggers?
A grief trigger is anything that slams you back into loss. Could be a song, a scent, a place. Could be stupidly specific—the sound of a bus engine, because that’s what I heard the night I raced through a snowstorm to retrieve that damn pen. The brain is funny like that.
Psychologists say 80% of grieving people get hit with these in the first year, but let’s be honest—grief doesn’t do expiration dates. One day, bam, there it is again. Years later, you hear a laugh that sounds like theirs, and suddenly you’re right back in that hospital room, that phone call, that last goodbye.
Triggers are proof that love doesn’t just die. It imprints.
The Brain Science Behind This Mess
Blame the limbic system—where emotions and memory hold hands like old lovers who can’t quit each other. When a trigger hits, the amygdala (the brain’s panic button) lights up, and suddenly you’re drowning in the past. That’s why a single note of a song can wreck you, even decades later.
But here’s the twist—exposure weakens the impact. Studies show that when you engage with your triggers deliberately, you take the sting out of them. Not erase them (because that’s not how this works), but transform them. Learn to sit with them. Rewrite their meaning.
Which is exactly what I did.
At first, my grief triggers felt like landmines. The dreams were the worst—my sister, sitting there, writing something I couldn’t read. A cosmic joke, since writing was supposed to be my escape. But then I stopped fighting it. Started leaning in. And that’s when something changed. Instead of ghosts, I saw stories. Instead of pain, I found purpose. That’s when Heirloom Narratives became more than just my therapy—it became a mission.
How to Prepare for the Inevitable
You can’t dodge grief triggers forever. But you can get ready for them. Here’s how:
1. Map Out the Landmines
Grab a notebook—maybe even one with some magic in it—and start tracking. What sets you off? A song? A smell? The way autumn light hits a certain street? Pinpointing these gives you power over them.
2. Build a Safe Zone
You need a place to process—somewhere grief is allowed to exist. Mine is my balcony at night, watching the stars, pen in hand. Yours might be a quiet room, a park bench, a candle-lit corner.
3. Get Your People Involved
Grief isn’t meant to be carried alone. Share your triggers with a friend, a support group, or even an online community. Tell them, Hey, this time of year is hard for me. Just letting you know. It’s not weakness—it’s strategy.
4. Own the Dates That Hurt
Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays—they’re gonna hit different. So plan for it. Make a ritual out of it. Every year, on my sister’s death anniversary, I stare at the stars and write. It hurts—but it’s ours.
5. Turn It Into Something Tangible
This is where Heirloom Narratives comes in. When a trigger hits, don’t just suffer through it—capture it. Write it down. Turn it into a story, a tribute. Something real.
What to Do When a Trigger Hits You Like a Freight Train
Even with all the prep in the world, grief has a way of sneaking up. When it does:
1. Breathe Like Your Life Depends on It
Because it kind of does. Inhale for four seconds. Hold for four. Exhale for four. Repeat until the ground stops tilting.
2. Say It Out Loud
“This hurts because I loved them.” Sounds small, but it works. Naming the pain makes it real, and when it’s real, you can handle it.
3. Write It Down
Grab a pen (preferably one with magic) and spill it. It doesn’t have to be pretty—just get it out. Writing turns chaos into something solid, and solid things are easier to carry.
4. Find One Good Memory
Not the last one. A good one. For me it’s my kindergarten teacher pulling me aside and telling me that my mom had just delivered my baby sister.
5. Don’t Do It Alone
If you feel like you’re drowning, reach out. A friend, a counselor, a stranger on a hotline. Hell, message me. This is heavy, but you don’t have to carry it solo.
From Grief Triggers to Legacy
Here’s the truth: grief triggers aren’t going anywhere. They’re part of the deal. But they don’t have to be just pain—they can be fuel. After my sister died, my triggers led me here. To writing, to storytelling, to helping others hold onto the people they love. Every Heirloom Narrative I create is proof that memories don’t have to fade. They can be captured. Shared. Kept alive.
So here’s my challenge to you:
• Write down a grief trigger that hit you recently.
• Turn it into a tribute.
• And if you need help, let’s make it something lasting. Start your own Heirloom Story here.
Grief is a story that never really ends. But you get to decide how it’s told.
