Trigger warning

I was listening to a radio interview recently in which the speaker, just before describing a traumatic life experience, announced ‘trigger warning’. My initial reaction was to wonder whether this was meant somewhat ironically, given that only a split second separated the warning from the account itself. On reflection, however, it seemed genuinely intended – as a caution for listeners who might find what followed emotionally activating.

While the growing awareness of trauma and its biophysiological and psychological impacts is unquestionably a positive development, I also notice a personal scepticism about how quickly terms such as ‘triggered’ have entered everyday language, particularly among younger generations. At times, it can seem that distress is readily attributed to disagreement or discomfort, or that the possibility of offence has become a reason to pre-emptively soften or avoid certain topics altogether.

Although I am careful with language – particularly when engaging with sensitive material, and always with the intention of avoiding unnecessary harm – I also feel uneasy about the extent to which caution can slip into avoidance. There is a risk that an overemphasis on emotional safety can inhibit difficult but necessary conversations or inadvertently reinforce a stance of fragility that limits psychological growth.

Someone I know has a phrase he uses in moments when he notices himself – or others -moving into what he calls ‘victim mode’: ‘Rub a little tough on it.’ It is not always easy to hear, particularly in moments of vulnerability when what is wanted is reassurance and comfort. And yet, I recognise its value. In both personal relationships and therapeutic work, there is a need to balance responsiveness to emotional pain with an ability to gently challenge it. To remain with someone in their distress, while also supporting movement beyond it when the time is right.

In Jungian terms, this might be understood as the interplay between ‘cup’ and ‘sword’.¹ The cup represents containment, holding and emotional attunement. The sword represents differentiation, clarity and the capacity to separate and challenge. If we lean too heavily into cup, there is a risk of colluding with stagnation, where suffering becomes entrenched rather than transformed. If we lean too heavily into sword, we risk rupture, harm, or a loss of trust that may be irreparable.

Finding a dynamic balance between the two is less a fixed position than an ongoing clinical and relational task. It is likely that each of us has a natural tendency towards one pole or the other, shaped by personality, training, and history. Our developmental edge, then, may lie in strengthening the aspect that comes less naturally, so that we can move more fluidly between holding and challenging as the situation requires.

At a collective level, we can observe similar tensions playing out in public discourse and political life. There is, in some quarters, a marked emphasis on the ‘sword’ – assertion, authority, and the uncompromising use of power – often with a corresponding absence of the ‘cup’. One interpretation of this is that it may represent a reaction against perceived overcorrection in the opposite direction: a backlash against efforts to address systemic inequality, inclusion, and historical injustice.

This tension is particularly visible in current debates around free speech. On one side, there is concern that initiatives associated with equality, diversity and inclusion (EDI) have gone too far in restricting expression or policing language. On the other, there is evidence of how ‘free speech’ can be invoked to legitimise harm, intolerance, or the reinforcement of existing power structures. The result is often not dialogue, but polarisation.

In this context, I believe there is an ethical responsibility within therapeutic work to hold a more complex position. Psychoanalysis refers to this as ‘evenly suspended attention,’² a stance in which the therapist does not rush to closure or certainty, but instead remains open to multiple, sometimes contradictory truths. It is a disciplined form of curiosity, one that resists premature judgment while remaining alert to meaning, power, and context.

If we can cultivate this capacity – both individually and collectively – we may be better able to tolerate the tension of opposites that inevitably arises in human experience, rather than collapsing too quickly into one side or the other.

References

1.     Jung CG. The archetypes of the collective unconscious. The collected works of CG Jung, volume 9, part 1. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press; 1981.

2.     Freud S. The standard edition of the complete psychological works of Sigmund Freud, volume 12: the case of Schreber. London: Vintage; 2001.

This is an edited extract from an editorial first published in Private Practice, March 2025, published by BACP©