I've been thinking a lot about trigger warnings lately. I'm not sure exactly when trigger warnings became such a part of our lives but recently these helpful "heads up" about uncomfortable topics seem to be everywhere. They aren't only in books and other entertainment like TV programs, movies and plays but it's becoming a part of our everyday conversation. Recently an acquaintance issued a trigger warning before commencing to tell me about her minor car accident.
OK.
So what's the purpose of trigger warnings attached to books? I suppose the idea is to give people a warning if they have experienced a trauma or have a mental health issue so they can avoid things that make them anxious. The problems is, the things that can cause anxiety are infinite. Sure, we can all agree on some broad terms of uncomfortable topics: sexual assault, violence, suicide, animal cruelty, eating disorders, self harm. But what about snakes, hurricanes, birds, semis, dogs, needles, choking...the list of phobias goes on and on.
When we label a book with a vague trigger warning, we may being unknowingly be placing it "off limits" to someone who could handle, and even enjoy, it. Because we all draw the line at a different place. Perhaps one reader is not bothered by murders but a fist fight, a relatively minor episode of violence, is what truly bothers them because they experienced it. Maybe one reader can endure three pages of violence to be immersed in the other 350 pages of the story. How can we know how much is too much for the thousands of readers of the words we write?
Anxiety is not always logical. We try to scoop millions of experiences under one umbrella like sexual assault. It seems obvious what that covers. But what if something innocuous is woven into the memories of a sexual assault. A dark alley. A margarita. A college dorm room. A rose. How can authors know what things that seem innocent to us could trigger a sexual assault victim?
Perhaps you're thinking that we have to at least try, after all we want our readers to have a good experience. But multiple studies have found that trigger warnings aren't that helpful. First, trauma survivors were found to become distressed just by reading trigger warnings. For someone dealing with PTSD, even a warning "This book contains X" can bring up all the negative memories they have attached to X.
Another study showed that some trauma survivors feel that trigger warnings make them feel like victims, as if the world thinks they are too vulnerable to even read about certain things. Studies on PTSD also show that avoidance (which can be helped by the use of trigger warnings) can actually increase the effect something has on a person. If a person returns from combat and is jumpy at loud noises because it reminds them of gunfire, a therapist doesn't recommend that they find the quietest place on the planet. Actually, they're encouraged to seek out noises so they can help re-train their brain that not every loud noise is life threatening and to practice calming themself. Perhaps reading about something is a safe way to expose yourself to things that trigger anxiety in you and allow you to tell yourself that it can't harm you. And feel the power of closing the book if you don't want to read anymore.
It's true. Reading about some topics can be uncomfortable. My definition of uncomfortable is probably very different than your definition. But can't we gain something from being uncomfortable? Will we find new ways of looking at things, empathy, strength from facing what bothers us in the safety of a book?
How do you feel about trigger warnings? Should we embrace them or let our readers rely on an old-fashioned book synopsis to filter reading choices?
Jodi M. Webb writes from her home in the Pennsylvania mountains. She's also a blog tour manager for WOW-Women on Writing. Follow her writing and reading life at Words by Webb.
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