Nine years ago, my close friend, Emma, visited me for a weekend getaway. We had been looking forward to this time together, as she lives over five hours away. Our agenda included visiting a psychic and gathering supplies at Walmart for a crafting marathon.
As we strolled through the store, I noticed two teenage boys darting around, weaving in and out of the candy displays. Curiosity got the better of me, and I was about to voice my bewilderment when a Walmart employee suddenly shouted for everyone to flee to the nearest exit. Without thinking, Emma and I bolted. We were just steps from the doors, yet it felt like an eternity. A man’s voice echoed in my ear, threatening that he had a gun and intended to shoot.
Once outside, shock enveloped us. We lost track of our car amidst the chaos, as alarms blared and frantic shoppers pressed their panic buttons in desperation. Thankfully, everyone escaped unscathed. The man did possess a gun, but it was unloaded. He later told authorities he was merely seeking excitement that night. (Truly despicable behavior.)
To this day, the thought of stepping into a Walmart fills me with anxiety. Crowded places can trigger feelings of panic, especially when I’m alone with my kids. My heart races, and I often find it hard to breathe. These past experiences have shaped my perception of trigger warnings—something I never appreciated until after that fateful night.
Last weekend, as my family and I attended a performance of Les Misérables, I noticed a warning sign at the entrance about simulated gunfire. I was grateful for that heads-up; it allowed me to brace myself and prepare for an exit if necessary. Others around me shared similar sentiments, and those who needed to step out during that scene could do so without shame.
Before my own experience, I never grasped the true significance of trigger warnings. I didn’t understand the paralyzing fear that can spring from a traumatic past. I wasn’t aware that seemingly innocuous scenes—a film, a conversation, or even a scent—could plunge someone into overwhelming panic. Being “triggered” is no laughing matter; these emotions are profoundly real, regardless of how trivial they may appear to an outsider.
Trigger warnings serve as vital resources, helping individuals prepare emotionally and mentally for situations that may provoke distress. Mocking these warnings undermines their importance for those who rely on them for mental well-being. They are not merely suggestions but essential tools for coping with trauma.
When someone shares their triggers, it’s critical to approach the conversation with empathy and respect. If a person needs to step away from a discussion or a movie, it’s an act of self-care—not a cry for attention. Their right to manage their emotional health should never be ridiculed.
Triggers can arise from a variety of experiences, including loss, abuse, or anxiety. As trigger warnings and safe spaces become more commonplace, we should recognize their necessity. They help trauma survivors navigate the world safely, enabling educators to present challenging material with sensitivity.
While not everyone requires these warnings, many do—including myself. By fostering an understanding environment, we contribute to a culture of compassion and care. So, the next time you feel inclined to joke about being “triggered,” pause and consider the genuine struggles some individuals face.
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In summary, trigger warnings are not only necessary but also serve as crucial support for those with trauma. They allow individuals to navigate their experiences with dignity, and it’s essential that we approach this topic with respect and understanding.