Recently I have been seeing a trend where people make fun of others for being triggered. You know what I am talking about. People claim others are triggered by politics. People say that others are triggered by the truth. People consider being triggered is a sign of weakness, but there is so much more to the concept.

Nothing is funny about being triggered. You do not understand the underlying principle behind the connection between something you consider to be nonchalant, tying to a deeply subconscious struggle. You cannot comprehend that someone else is trudging through tunnels of pain because you think your joke is funny. You think someone is oversensitive. You think someone is overreacting. You think some just needs to get over it.

No, they cannot just get over it.

I have triggers. I actually made a list of them when I was in the psychiatric unit. Some are specific. Some are general. Some are everyday encounters. Some I pray to never come across in my life again. I could list all of the triggers, but you would have to slip through pages of a novel. But I wanted to mention a few, especially because they are unexpected for so many people.

Trigger: the sight of an Ursinus baseball tee.

You think it is silly, but I think of a reminder of the man who raped me. I see him in the shirt. I smell the scent from his clothing. I imagine him taking off his shirt and forcing me down. I feel his hands violate me again.

Trigger: a daughter talking back to her mom.

You think is is a normal fight, but I think of my mom’s ashes. I see her in the casket. I imagine her lying in her hospital bed. I reminisce on our last conversation. I wish I could trade the world for just one more interaction with her.

Trigger: the guy at the bar making fun of someone homeless.

You laugh at the joke, but I think of the houses I have switched from. I think of driving by my first home, seeing no trees, bright yellow paint, and a pool. I think of memories gone. I think of wandering from place to place. I think of places to live, but no home.

Trigger: the chip aisle at the grocery store.

You casually stroll down the section, but I think of the bags that I ate completely. I think of the laughs and jeers of being called “Quarter Pounder.” I think of the stairs I ran up and down until I would lose that one pound. I think of the rolls I grab when I look in the mirror. I think of the body that I struggle to accept.

Trigger: the shaving razor bought from Target.

You toss this into the cart as one of your typical necessities, but I remember the harm I would cause with this. I instantly remember sitting on the floor, shaking with the razor in hand. I remember the blood dripping from the cuts down my side. I remember my fingers tracing the scars over and over again from the self harm.

These triggers are not caused by you, but that will never mean that my feelings towards them are not valid. Deep pain is connected to each and every one of those triggers, and even though you may not be that reason, try to be more conscious when someone reacts unexpectedly.

No one should feel like his or her emotions are unwelcomed. No one should feel like his or her reaction is unwarranted. No one should feel like his or her pain is there for no reason.

Some of us experience triggers more than others, and I will always be envious of the people who walk the earth without them. As for me, I just ask that you think before you speak. That you are slow to anger and pause before saying something unkind. That you can put yourself in someone else’s shows for a couple moments, because you truly never know what they have experienced.

After you see that the world is not black and white, that people come from diverse backgrounds, and that pain is relative, then maybe you will stop joking about triggers.