When a Facebook Post Ignites a Wound You Didn’t Know Was There

I was mindlessly scrolling through Facebook—nothing heavy, just the usual mix of updates and vacation photos.

A post from a high school friend caught my attention. She was sharing about her college-aged daughter leaving for a trip to Israel. Curious, I clicked.

It was light and lovely—just a proud mom talking about her daughter’s opportunity to visit the Holy Land. I smiled as I read it.

Until the last line.

She closed the post by saying how confident she was that her daughter would come back “more on fire for Jesus.” 🔥

Immediately, my shoulders tensed. I exhaled sharply, and something inside me clenched.

It caught me completely off guard.

I wasn’t upset with her. I didn’t even think she meant anything by it. But there it was—that old phrase, soaked in memory and expectation. A phrase that once defined my worth in church spaces, used to measure my sincerity, my obedience, my closeness to God.

I hadn’t realized how deeply that language still lingered in my bones.

Let me be clear: there’s nothing inherently wrong with the words “on fire for Jesus.” But for me, and maybe for some of you, it carries a weight it was never meant to. It brings back years of legalism, emotional manipulation, and a spirituality that felt more like a performance than a relationship.

Triggers can hit like that. Sneaky. Sudden. Silent, until they’re not.

And in Breathing Again, I devote an entire chapter to this very experience.

From the Page: Triggers and the Unexpected Terrain of Healing

In Chapter 4, I share a story about being caught off guard by a sermon—a completely normal Sunday, until the message touched a nerve I didn’t know was exposed. I describe the anxiety, the shame, and the swirl of confusion that followed. The tears that didn’t make sense. The frustration at myself for “still being triggered.”

Sound familiar?

Triggers don’t ask permission. They show up unannounced, often in places we thought were safe. A song. A Bible verse. A well-meaning conversation. A social media post with flame emojis.

We can’t always predict them, and we certainly can’t avoid them entirely. But we can learn to name them. To validate what they stir in us. To respond with curiosity instead of shame.

As I write in the book, “Call it by its name so you can begin to take its power… Then choose your response.” That’s the work of healing. Not pretending we’re unaffected—but learning how to walk through the impact.

You’re Not Overreacting. You’re Healing.

Maybe for you it’s not that phrase. Maybe it’s something else—something that others shrug off, but that cuts right through you.

That’s okay.

You don’t need to justify your response. You don’t need to have all the answers. You don’t need to rush your recovery.

You’re doing the holy work of tending to the places in you that were shaped by harmful theology or unmet expectations.

And you are so not alone.

A Gentle Invitation for This Week

Take five minutes today and ask yourself:

What’s one phrase, memory, song, or situation that still stirs something deep in me—and why?

Write it down.

Don’t try to fix it. Don’t shame yourself for it. Just name it.

And if you feel safe enough, I’d love to hear from you. Drop it in the comments or message me privately. Let’s normalize the messiness of spiritual healing. Let’s name what hurts so we can begin to heal it.

If this resonates, revisit Chapter 4 of Breathing Again. Let the words remind you that you don’t have to be “on fire” to belong.

You just have to be breathing.