Before You Speak: Returning to Yourself in a Triggered Moment

A simple practice for finding your voice without losing yourself — or the other person

This blog post is a part of my What to Do When You’re Triggered series. Sign up for future reflections in your inbox and get free access to Beyond Blame — a workshop on transforming conflict into connection. 

I’ve been thinking about what  influences how we choose to communicate in conflict.

The moment before I bring words to my experience. Before I attempt to set a boundary, share vulnerably, repair, explain, defend, reach out, pull away, or try to connect with the other person.

What can support me to choose connection over disconnection in that moment before I speak or act?

What is the base place I want to return to so that I have some choice about how I respond when I’m triggered?

Because that moment feels so important. If I don’t stop and first become aware of myself;  if I don’t become present with what is happening in me and get curious about it: then I’m much more likely to respond with automatic reactivity.

And usually, automatic means defensive.

Not because I’m bad at communication. Not because I don’t care. Not because I don’t know better. But because my system has been shaped through past experiences. It has learned how to protect me. It has learned how to react quickly when something feels familiar, threatening, painful, or unsafe.

So to do something different takes intention.

It takes a moment.

It takes a pause before the words.

When I look back at moments in conflict where I have been able to do this; where I have managed to slow down, become aware of my inner experience, stay present with myself and get curious about what is happening; the connection that comes afterwards can be so beautiful, so profound and even more connecting than if we had never had that conflict in the first place.

It’s certainly not always easy. Not always perfect. Not always immediately resolved. But there is a different quality to the conflict.

I am not just reacting from the wound. I am not just throwing my hurt across the room and hoping the other person can catch the truth inside it.

I am more here.

And when I am more here, I have more choices.

The hardest people to practise with

The thing is, this can be really hard to do with the people closest to us.

Especially parents, siblings and partners.

Ram Dass once said "If you think you're enlightened, go spend a week with your family."

These are often the relationships where all the past history rises right up to the surface. In fact, not even rises. It bursts through the door and takes charge of the situation before I’ve had a chance to slow down.

A tone of voice is not just a tone of voice. A look is not just a look. A moment of not being heard is not just this moment of not being heard.

It is all the other moments wrapped up and projected on to this one.

That a hell of a lot to be with if we are not aware of the stories, expectations, disappointments and longings that get activated before we even realise we have stepped into them.

And suddenly, the idea of awareness, presence and curiosity can feel very far away.

Instead, my body is already saying:

Defend. Explain. Prove your point. Shut down. Leave. Say the sharp thing. Make them understand. Protect yourself...

This is where the practise lives.

Not in the abstract. Not in the conversations where it is easy for me to be spacious and thoughtful. But in the moments where my system wants to take over before I have even had a chance to breathe.

The simplest practice I know

The practice I keep coming back to is almost embarrassingly simple.

I was first struck by its power when my main inspiration / teacher Yoram Mosenzon said in the middle of a particularly tense moment in a mediation between a group of men and women who were starting to get very sharp with one another:

"and now I am breathing".

I was so impressed that he did not jump to react, save, stop them.

And his taking a breath invertedly invited all of us to breath and take stock of what was happening within us.

Take a breath.

That’s it.

A breath.

It sounds so obvious. So basic. Maybe even too basic to write about. And yet, I find it so transformative in conflict because it is the thing I / we humans can most often forget to respect and come back to.

When my body is signalling:

I want to shout. I want to run away. I want to say the thing that will cut through. I want to defend myself. I want to collapse. I’m frozen. I can’t speak. I need them to understand right now.

The invitation is:

Take a breath/s.

It might be five seconds. It might be thirty seconds or 30 minutes of breathing. It might be one inhale and one exhale. It might be counting to five or ten in my head. It might be putting a hand somewhere on my body and letting myself feel the breath move through me.

It does not have to look impressive. It does not have to fix the situation. It does not have to make me calm.

It just gives me a moment to interrupt the chain of automatic reactions.

And sometimes a moment is enough to remember that I have choices.

Without the breath, I react. With the breath, I might still react; but I have a better chance of noticing myself before I do.

And that noticing can change everything.

What I do inside the breath

Once I have taken that breath, I can begin to follow three simple steps.

This is a lot easier to access if I give myself space / a few moments in the bathroom or step outside before I come back into connection.

Not as a big process. Just as a tiny inner return.

Awareness: What is happening in me?

Maybe I notice I am breathing. There is tension in my chest. There is heat in my belly. My jaw is tight. My hands are clenched.

Maybe I notice the thoughts: “How dare they?” “I hate this.” “They never listen.” “I need to get out.” “I need to make them understand.”

Awareness is not about changing any of this. It is just the moment of seeing:

This is what is happening in me.

Presence: Can I stay with this for a moment?

Not rushing to fix it. Not pushing it away. Not immediately speaking from it. Not judging myself for having the reaction.

Just staying.

This is anger. This is hurt. This is fear. This is contraction. This is my body trying to protect me. This is what it is like to be me right now.

Even a few seconds of this can matter. Because when I can stay with myself, I am less likely to abandon myself by collapsing, and less likely to abandon the other person by attacking.

I am here.

Not perfectly. Not calmly. But a little more here.

Curiosity: What matters here?

This is not forced curiosity. Not the kind where I try to be wise and generous before I am ready. Just a real question:

What is happening here? What does this mean to me? Why has this touched me so strongly? What am I needing? What am I afraid of? What feels important to express? What would I like to say that comes from honesty with myself?

This is where the communication starts to become clearer. Because instead of only saying the first reactive thing, I might begin to find the truer thing / what I am longing for underneath it all.

Maybe underneath “You never listen to me” is:

“I’m feeling alone and I really want to know that what I’m saying matters. Are you up for listening to my side of this for 5 mins?”

Maybe underneath “I can’t do this anymore” is:

“I’m overwhelmed and I need something to change here…can I take a moment to think what that might be?”

Maybe underneath “How dare you?” is:

“I feel hurt, and I need to know that you care for how I feel about this, can you tell me how you imagine it feels for me?.”

Curiosity helps me find the message beneath the reaction.

And that is often the message that has a better chance of being heard by the other person.

*The above practice mostly follows the 4 steps of Nonviolent Communication: Observation / Feelings / Needs / Requests. To explore more deeply you can download my FREE introductory course “Beyond Blame” which will take you through this steps and how to use them in conflict. 

A meditative practice to try

Bring to mind a recent moment of conflict or tension.

Not the most overwhelming one. Choose something you can stay with.

Let yourself remember the moment where you got triggered.

What did the other person say or do? What happened in your body? What did you want to do next?

Now pause.

Take a breath.

Maybe count to five or ten.

Feel your body sitting or standing here, now.

Notice yourself.

What sensations are here? What thoughts are here? What emotions are here?

Stay for a few seconds.

Then ask:

What matters to me here? What am I needing? What would I want to express if I was speaking from a place that was honest, connected and true?

You might write from here. You might speak it out loud to yourself. You might simply notice.

And then, next time you are with someone you trust enough to practise with, see what happens if you take one breath (or more if possible) before the words.

Not to get it right. Not to become perfectly regulated. Not to stop yourself from having any reactions.

But to create a tiny bit of space between the trigger and the response.

A tiny bit of space where choice can enter.

I’d love to hear from you

And if this feels hard, I’d especially love to hear from you.

Because those are the moments I’m most interested in.

The moments where we know how we want to show up, but something in us takes over before we can get there.

The moments where connection matters, but our protection is louder.

The moments where the practice is not beautiful or graceful or easy but it is humanly raw and real.

This is where the work lives.

In the breath before the words.

If this piece touches something tender, stuck, or familiar in you, and you’d like support untangling the story, the hurt, and the boundary underneath it, I’m currently offering Clarity in Sticky Places — a short series of sessions for individuals and couples who want help finding their way through relational fog, conflict, or repeated pain patterns with more honesty, care, and clarity.

You can read more about it here: