Category: denial

By: Your Sista Ritza | Redemption & Recovery

Let me just say this up front—I don’t always get it right.

As much as I want to reflect God’s love in my words and actions, I’m still a work in progress. Some days, I feel strong and full of peace. Other days… all it takes is one moment, one comment, one raised voice—and suddenly I feel myself slipping. That’s what a trigger is for me. It’s anything that shifts my energy and makes me come out of character.

I know who I want to be: kind, calm, grace-filled.
But sometimes who I actually am in the heat of the moment? Whew… it’s a whole different story.

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Let’s Be Honest: I Have Triggers

One of my biggest triggers is when someone raises their voice at me. Maybe it’s from my childhood, maybe it’s just how I’m wired, but when I feel like someone’s yelling at me instead of talking to me—I feel my body go tense. My jaw clenches. My heart races. And if I’m already tired, hungry, or stressed… the chances of me staying calm drops fast.

Now, on a good day, I’ve learned to pause and take a deep breath. That one breath helps me remember who I am and whose I am. I remind myself, You belong to Jesus. You don’t have to react like the old you.

But on a bad day?
When I’m not spiritually centered?
Let me tell you… that breath feels real short and the flesh rises up fast.

I’ve even caught myself warning people—”Watch your tone,” or “You’re crossing a line.” And in those moments, I’m not trying to be holy. I’m just trying to stop myself from snapping.

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Respect Is a Big Deal to Me

I value respect deeply. When I feel disrespected—especially by someone close to me—I go straight into defense mode. And if I’m being real, that defense mode is usually powered by fear.

• Fear of not being heard.
• Fear of being dismissed.
• Fear of being abandoned.

Those fears… they don’t just sit quietly. They scream. And they show up loud in my anger.

That’s why Celebrate Recovery has been such a blessing. It’s where I first admitted that my anger wasn’t just a reaction—it was a reflection of something deeper.

Step 1: We admitted we were powerless over our addictions and compulsive behaviors, that our lives had become unmanageable.

My anger didn’t always look wild from the outside. But on the inside, I was fighting for control… and losing.

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A Moment I’m Not Proud Of

Last year, I had a huge argument with my husband. Now, we’re not perfect—we’re two strong people doing life together, and disagreements happen. But this one? It spiraled fast.

He raised his voice.
Bing! Triggered.
He threatened to walk out.
Bing! Triggered again.

And then… I watched his back turn toward the door, and in an instant, something in me snapped.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t thought through. It was like every fear I’d ever buried came rushing to the surface all at once—abandonment, rejection, insecurity, not being enough. All of it boiling in my chest like a volcano ready to blow.

Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed his shirt.
Not to hurt him—God knows I wasn’t trying to be violent—but I needed him to stop. To stay. To hear me.
I just couldn’t let him walk away.

It was like I was trying to hold the whole thing—our argument, our marriage, my heart—together with my clenched fist. And for a split second, I thought maybe if I could just keep him from leaving, I could control the damage.

But the second my hands touched that fabric, I felt it in my gut—
This is not who I want to be.

The grip of my fingers around his shirt wasn’t strength. It was desperation.
And that moment? It shook me.

He left anyway.
The door shut with a heaviness that echoed through the house—and through my heart.

I stood there frozen. My chest was heaving. My hands were still curled, as if holding onto air would somehow bring him back. But he was gone.

And just like that, the silence came rushing in.
No more yelling. No more footsteps. Just me… standing alone in a space that now felt unfamiliar. Hollow. Like the peace had been ripped right out of it.

I screamed.
Not at him.
At the air.
At the pain.
At the weight of all the things I didn’t know how to fix.

Tears poured hot down my face as I paced the living room like a caged animal—trapped not by walls, but by my own emotions.
I was angry. Embarrassed. Ashamed.
Ashamed that I had let my anger drive me to that place. Ashamed that after everything I’ve learned and everything I believe, I still lost it.

And that’s when I remembered…
God.

Not the distant, far-away version of Him.
The real, right-here, ever-present Father who doesn’t walk out when things get ugly.
The One who sees me—mess and all—and doesn’t flinch.

I cried out, “God, please… help me. Save me from myself. I don’t want to be like this.”
It wasn’t a polished prayer. It wasn’t pretty.
It was raw and broken—but it was real.

In that moment, I wasn’t trying to be a good Christian. I wasn’t trying to look like I had it all together. I was just a daughter, desperate for her Father to hold her and make her whole again. In that sacred, broken space, something shifted.

The anger didn’t disappear. The guilt didn’t vanish.
But God met me in the middle of it.
Not with lightning bolts or punishment—but with a whisper:
“I’m here.”

That whisper wrapped around my shame like a warm blanket, not excusing what I had done, but inviting me to bring it into the light.

Eventually, I wiped my face. And I knew what I needed to do next.

I confessed my failure. I asked God for forgiveness and I made amends to my husband.

We talked. We listened. We took a breath.
We didn’t solve everything in one conversation, but we took a step toward each other again… not just as husband and wife, but as two imperfect people trying to follow Jesus together.

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Through that moment, we began learning something new about each other—and about ourselves.

We learned to honor each other’s space.
We learned that our triggers may be different, but they’re both rooted in pain.
And we learned that healing happens faster when we stop trying to win and start trying to understand.

Now, we both recognize when we’re nearing our edge.
We’ve learned to press pause, to walk away when needed, and to circle back with grace.

We’re not perfect.
We still mess up.
But now, we invite God into the messy middle instead of waiting for everything to be fixed.

Because this isn’t just about anger or arguments.
It’s about surrender.
It’s about growth.
It’s about trusting that Jesus isn’t just working in me—He’s working in us.

Step 6 (Celebrate Recovery): We were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

Step 7: We humbly asked Him to remove all our shortcomings.

💭 Let’s Reflect Together

If you’ve ever lost your cool, felt ashamed after a fight, or struggled to show up as the person you want to be—take heart. You are not alone, and there is no wound too deep for God to heal.

Let’s slow down and sit with a few questions that might help you open your heart to what God is doing underneath the surface:

• What situations or tones tend to trigger you the most? Can you connect them to something deeper—like fear, rejection, or past pain?
• When was the last time you reacted in a way you weren’t proud of? How did you respond afterward—to yourself, to the person, to God?
• Are you trying to control or contain something right now that God is asking you to surrender?
• What would it look like to pause in the heat of the moment—and invite God in instead of powering through it alone?
• Is there someone you need to make amends with—not to fix everything perfectly, but to own your part and walk in humility?
• Are you willing to let God work on your character, even if the process is slow, messy, and sometimes painful?

Sweet friend, healing isn’t about pretending you’re okay.
It’s about letting God into the parts of you that aren’t—and trusting that He’s not going anywhere.

Let’s keep walking this journey—together.

With love,
Your Sista Ritza
Redemption & Recovery