Asking for a trigger warning on materials that contain violence, slurs, depictions of abuse or mental illness, is not asking for that material to go unread. When you go to the movies, you are aware that that movie has been rated, right? If you’re going with a 12 year old cousin, you might look at the rating to see if it’s appropriate for them. An R rating will list the reasoning for that rating: “adult themes, sexual violence, drug use.” If you’re not going with a 12 year old, you might not pay attention to that rating at all. The rating is there for you if you need it, and its existence generally does not impact your enjoyment of that film.
A trigger warning on a text containing graphic descriptions of rape is a heads up to the reader. Someone recovering from PTSD related to sexual violence has a right to know what they’re about to get themselves into. “Life doesn’t come with a trigger warning,” huh? There is no one who knows that better than a survivor of sexual violence. What you are suggesting when you say that is that we need to constantly be prepared to be retraumatized, over and over, and told to deal with it. Which believe me, we already do. We deal with it every day. Having three words at the top of a reading for class would be one place, out of hundreds, where our experience of survival and recovery is respected. And you know what, if you don’t have any trauma recovery to deal with? You don’t have to read those three words. Just like you don’t have to pay attention to a movie rating.
The “God forbid you read something upsetting” argument indicates just how detached people are from the lived experiences of survivors of trauma or mental illness. I promise you that there are more of us than you think. Trigger Warnings are, like a movie rating, an alert to those who might need it. And “upsetting?” Upsetting is when Old Yeller died. “Triggering” is when something causes you to relive a traumatic event, or a series of traumas. It doesn’t feel like a sad story, it feels like a crushing weight on your chest that no one else can see, like you are suddenly incredibly unsafe and you can’t tell anyone why. This isn’t some wishy-washy desire to stay in our comfort zones, it’s trying to navigate the complex recovery from PTSD.
Another argument I’ve heard a lot is the “slippery slope.” “I got a really bad splinter when I was little, it got infected and I missed my kindergarten recital. Do I get a trigger warning on all stories that involve splinters?” Really? You wanna be the slippery slope guy? Listen, it’s true, we’re not going to be able to account for all possible triggers. Trauma can come from any number of events, and triggers are sometimes not even related to the original trauma. Potential triggers aren’t even always known to the survivor until they experience them. Does that mean that we shouldn’t put in the most basic amount of effort to account for the most common triggers? We’re going to miss some sometimes, but at least we’ll not be denying the validity of PTSD when we do. At least we’ll have some understanding of what’s going on, some respect for the experience of trauma survivors, and some shared language to talk about how we move forward.
Trigger warnings are an invitation to talk more openly about the real lived experiences of people around us. They could, if done right, actually lead to a deeper engagement with important texts and films. So before you get all up in arms about the suggestion that 3-5 words be added to some materials, ask yourself “Who would that actually harm? Who would it potentially help?” And don’t be an asshole.
The “God forbid you read something upsetting” argument indicates just how detached people are from the lived experiences of survivors of trauma or mental illness. I promise you that there are more of us than you think. Trigger Warnings are, like a movie rating, an alert to those who might need it. And “upsetting?” Upsetting is when Old Yeller died. “Triggering” is when something causes you to relive a traumatic event, or a series of traumas. It doesn’t feel like a sad story, it feels like a crushing weight on your chest that no one else can see, like you are suddenly incredibly unsafe and you can’t tell anyone why. This isn’t some wishy-washy desire to stay in our comfort zones, it’s trying to navigate the complex recovery from PTSD.
Things I Don't Like 