So I’ve thought about it and here’s what I’ve decided about trigger warnings:
Anything heavily involving eating disorders or fat-shaming is going to get a little heads up in either the headline or the first sentence.
It’s relatively little skin off my well-exfoliated nose and I think it’s fair and reasonable to presume a sizable minority here is more than usually sensitive to that sort of stuff.
I’m not going to put up any sort of Snowflake Alert because that smacks of cheap sensationalism, and we all know I like my sensationalism to be as expensive as possible.
For everything else, there’s the little X in your upper right hand corner.
There are thousands and thousands of you.
I am but one woman and I’ve got the attention span of one of those sad little PCP monkeys we all saw in middle school the week we learned about pubic hair and drugs from a grown man in tube socks who would one day teach us to parallel park.
The odds of me being able to complete a coherent thought, much less catalog and cross-reference readers’ sensitivities aren’t high even in the best of cases.
Which isn’t to say I’m not sensitive to my readers who are still wading through the sticky parts of Getting On With It.
I left the nineties with a case of bad highlights and even worse PTSD.
My grandmother –who only threatened to murder me once in the entire 31 years she knew me which is a pretty good record– could be standing right next to me, make a sudden move and I’d be clinging to the ceiling like a terrified cartoon cat. The sound of garage door openers and almost any mention of teeth can virtually guarantee nightmares for up to a week. So, you know, I’ve been there.
That being said, this is a humor/lifestyle blog, not a social justice or recovery blog. Even if you do need your hand held on the internet, I’m not the one to do it. You wouldn’t let the girl who does your lowlights also remove your appendix, and I don’t even do hair.
So there you have it.
Agree or disagree? Put it (respectfully) in the comments.