Why We Should Put Content Warnings on Everything
If you get triggered by trigger warnings, don’t click on this post
If you’ve been reading my posts recently, you have probably noticed that most of my new work contains a content warning at the top. This is an intentional practice that I have incorporated into my blogging.
Over the past several years, culture critics have heavily debated the concept of “trigger warnings” and labeling media according to potentially upsetting topics.
Pros for content warnings include preventing emotional upheaval and allowing readers more control over content consumption. Additionally, these warnings create a sense of safety in writers and readers alike.
Cons for content warnings include the potential for weaponization and coddling our audience. Also, some argue that slapping warning labels on taboo subjects is the first step towards censorship. Although I find all of these points a tad extreme.
I have zero power over triggering garbage you hear on the streets, but I can make sure that the discussions in my digital space reflect my values.
As a survivor, I empathize with readers who are triggered by certain topics.
For writers who don’t have trauma, it’s impossible to understand how it feels when a line on a page takes you back to a painful memory. For me, I have first-hand experience of skimming through an article and suddenly feeling the walls closing in.
I don’t enjoy feeling that way and I’m sure my traumatized readers don’t relish that process, either. Therefore, I make every effort to avoid having that effect as a courtesy to my readers.
Writing is a service and those who read my writing seem to appreciate the warnings. If I were writing for a 2Tough4U crowd who thinks content warnings are for chumps, then I might reconsider their appropriateness.
As it stands, my audience would rightfully feel upset and ignored if I posted a piece that contains potentially triggering topics without giving them a heads up.
So I give the people what they seem to want. If that changed, I would adjust my formatting accordingly.
If we view content warnings in the same light as ingredient lists or TV ratings, they simply make sense.
When someone has a peanut allergy, we don’t consider them a “special snowflake” for wanting warnings on the packaging that something may contain nuts or traces of nuts.
When parents are looking for an age-appropriate movie for their kids, we don’t tell them to randomly select a flick from the R-rated section because the “real world” has nudity, drugs, and violence.
In the same vein, content warnings are not designed to protect consumers or change the substance of the world. Rather, they exist to allow consumers to consider how a piece of content might make them feel or whether they want to share a piece of content with certain folks in their social circle.
For some of us, carefully curating the topics we read is about more than avoiding unpleasant feelings. As someone who has PTSD, coming across a deep trigger unexpectedly can set a panicky, drained tone for my whole day.
Consider yourself fortunate if you don’t know what it’s like to have your mental health compromised for a day because of a social media post.
Before you say that sounds like a sensitivity problem, let me own the fact that I AM more sensitive to certain topics than others because of my history.
Those who have experienced trauma or mental health conditions that warrant trigger warnings are probably more sensitive than those who can read about anything without contemplating the impact it may have on their mental health. That’s a natural consequence of trauma/mental health struggles.
We don’t build endurance by stumbling upon upsetting information. We foster greater tolerance by slowly, gradually exposing ourselves to our triggers with coping skills at the ready until we no longer need to look at the trigger warnings.
These labels are imperfect and open to misuse like most things. However, their usefulness outweighs the potential risks that they involve, in my humble opinion.
If you think content warnings are stupid or unnecessary, just scroll past them
I’m not writing for people who either wish to trigger themselves or don’t experience triggers. So I don’t care how they feel about content warnings. That might sound harsh, but it’s the reality of writing for one’s “tribe.”
The best way to avoid content warnings — which seem to be a trigger in and of themselves for some groups — is to simply shut your eyes, blindly thumb your way further down the article, and continue reading beyond that point.
Or, if you really can’t bear the thought of content warnings, avoid all content that contains them. It’s as easy as that.
Ultimately, content warnings are a tool that writers can choose to use or disregard at their discretion
You’re in the captain’s seat — well, the content creator’s seat — so you get to decide how you want to format your posts.
While I believe that content warnings are a sign of mutual respect from the writer to the reader, I acknowledge that I am a little biased.
I’ll contend that content warnings allow for informed consent by readers. They also help prevent comments like “this harmed me and I had no idea it would be upsetting because of XYZ.” They protect the reader, the writer, and the reader-writer relationship.
Still, I will respect writers of all philosophies in their right to choose to label or not label their content.
I don’t get upset if someone doesn’t include a content warning. I get a burst of happiness, though, when they do. It’s a little nod, an appreciation of my desires; it feels nice.
And as a writer, who doesn’t want to make their reader feel nice? It keeps the readers reading in a manner that satisfies them, which is the name of the game.
Even I don’t *always* use content warnings
Sometimes I don’t include content warnings because the title is self-evident.
Sometimes I include them anyway to give the reader pause to gather what they need to cope and consider if they want to.
For the most part, I try to indicate — whether implicitly or explicitly — a post’s themes. That’s not “snowflaking,” in my book; that’s the basics of blogging.
