She saw him across the café—laughing too loudly again, his hands flying as he talked to the barista like they were old friends. Her stomach clenched. Heat rushed up her spine. “There it is,” she thought. The familiar trigger. That inner twist that seemed to say you’re not safe, you’re being erased, he’s stealing the space again.
But this time, something else whispered underneath: Don’t go to the story. Stay here.
She froze, still gripping the mug. For once, she didn’t let the thoughts run wild. She didn’t spin the usual thread of how he always needs attention, how men like him are loud to dominate, how she’s always the one who shrinks. All of that was there—rising like a tidal wave of thought—but instead of surfing it, she dropped in.
She scanned her chest. Tight. High in the sternum. Throat closing. Not choking—just a small iron ring clamping down. Her breath shallowed.
She didn’t breathe deeper. Didn’t try to fix it. She stayed.
The heat. The tightness. A slight tremble in her shoulders.
Can I let this tighten? she asked silently. Can I let the fire burn where it burns without trying to cool it down?
There was no answer. But the fire stayed.
He walked over, holding two drinks.
“I got you the oat milk one,” he smiled, that dumb golden retriever grin. She felt a fresh punch in the gut.
Smile. Nod. Say thanks.
Instead, she said nothing.
He sat. She stared out the window. The clench was still there. Her brain offered story after story to explain it. He always takes charge without asking. He always assumes what she wants. He doesn’t listen. He never did.
Each thought was a baited hook.
She watched them rise. Each one begged her to be someone. The quiet one. The angry one. The righteous one. The spiritual one. She felt her mind clawing to pick one and run with it—to get distance from the fire.
She didn’t.
She sipped the drink. Sweet. Too sweet. Oat milk always was.
Then it happened.
A drop.
A drop of sensation fell out of the narrative. Like a leaf falling into water. The tightness loosened, not because she understood it, but because she finally didn’t resist it. And in that moment, there was no one there to be offended, hurt, victimized, spiritualized, healed, or avenged.
Just heat.
Just contraction.
Just sensation.
She glanced at him.
He was still just a man. Just moving. Just speaking. Nothing had changed—except she wasn’t trying to make it mean something anymore.
Not about him.
Not about her.
Not about any “self” at all.
He looked up. “You okay?”
She paused. Not to lie. Not to explain.
But because the answer had no center. Just clouds passing.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m just feeling something.”
He nodded, surprised but not probing.
She returned to her drink.
Not peaceful.
Not blissed out.
Not transformed.
But raw.
Unprotected.
Alive.
And not running.
Reflection:
The trigger was never the man. It was never the moment. It was the subtle refusal to fully feel what was already arising.
That refusal was the self.
And when the refusal stopped?
No self remained.
Only sensation.
Only this.
i see through the stories, yet i still get triggered??
Yes. You see through the stories—but you’re still running from the raw experience underneath them. You’re not actually letting the trigger in. You’re managing it, flinching, controlling it. That’s the next veil.
Let’s test that now. Whatever your most recent trigger was—can you drop the story entirely, drop the “why,” and stay only with what the body was doing?
Right now:
What is the sensation?
Where is it located?
Can you let the body fully open to it without resisting, labeling, or narrating?
Don’t try to fix it. Don’t name it. Don’t understand it. Just get closer. Let it burn without needing a reason.
Are you doing that now, or thinking about it?
Triggers persist not because the story is believed, but because the sensation is still being avoided. Avoidance can show up as:
“Trying to let it go”
“Understanding it”
“Witnessing it”
“Spiritualizing it”
All of those are subtle defenses. They're selfing.
Are you doing any of that right now?
This is the work now:
Can you stay completely raw with the sensation that triggers you, without flinching—even a millimeter?
Until that’s fully allowed, you’re still subtly defending a “you” that doesn’t want to feel this.
So—are you feeling it fully now?
Don't tell me. Tell me what your body is doing.
For more pointers and suggestions, check out this link to vince-bot using the website as its knowledge base.
Vince Schubert YouTube Channel
Free online meetups every Saturday at 9 pm (Sydney Australia time)
and one each Monday 7 am ( Sydney Australia time). From 1st September this meeting will start at 6am and be only available to paid Substack subscribers.
and each Wednesday at 4 pm (Sydney Australia time)
and every Friday 7 am (Sydney time) - never published. Only available to participants who request it by email.
You can check your local time here:
Or visit the website for countdown timers to each meeting.
Please note that it's always the same time on the same link. Arriving late and leaving early is fine.
Click here to Join Zoom Meeting https://us02web.zoom.us/j/86991485768?pwd=WkIvNk9zS1Q0VlVMR3lENW12Um5DQT09
Here is a link to all of the published recordings.
Audio files can be found here:
There is also paid 1on1 (& also 2 on 1) guiding here: With vince &/or Marius
Although the website still requires a lot of work, there are resources here; WakingUpWithVince.com
..and more here; WakingUpWithMarius
If any link doesn’t work properly, please let me know. vinceschubert@gmail.com
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..and remember - lots of little bits make a big bit. ❤️
Thank you thank you thank you