“North Gulch Mystery” is a role playing mystery game for exactly eight players. It should take 1 or 2 hours. All you need is some envelopes and scissors and the printout of the game sheets.
It’s election season in 2016. Of course we are all aware that Trump is a dangerous narcissist, but remember that Clinton is also imperfect. It sometimes is hard to tell which of two candidates is better when neither is ideal. So I made this diagram to explain how Trump could be the choice of so many Americans.
The diagram shows how I imagine America rates men and women from absolute virtue at the top to absolute evil on the bottom. It clearly shows Trump at a slightly more venerable position than Clinton. What other evidence do you need?
Kidding aside, I think that even if there was a scale of virtue like this, the lowest women category exists in the minds of some men only – there is no one actually in that box. This is a depiction of the worst slice of our slut-shaming misogynist culture.
If women didn’t have the vote, Trump would win in a landslide; but even scarier is that millions of women are voting for him – a majority in many states. The only way I can understand that is that millions of women see the world the way the diagram is shown, with women having greater innate sin. If anyone thinks we don’t need feminism any more, consider the internalized misogyny of those millions, and all the forces that are keeping up this social-values map alive in the national consciousness.
Drawing the diagram and writing “slutty” was hard for me to do, and I feel dirty, and exposed to fire from all sides. I’m pushing past that and posting it anyway because I think it is part of the value system in America and it does help explain why the election is going as it is. In fact I think it’s an essential ingredient to understanding what is going on.
I’ve never seen weirder and more massive mental programming than what is going on now. Maybe the scale of the calamity shocks us into mindless compliance somehow. I can’t even find words to express the sadness of the loss of heart, the loss of dialog, sanity, and reason. I feel there is a gigantic shift in perspective happening that is so great that we are no longer even standing on the ground. But that’s just a tiny bit of what I’m feeling about it; I have no way to say more. I pray that others can find words to say the thing more fully, and that the people hurting from the shaming will find ease and vision somehow, to pull ourselves back to grounded reality.
When does life begin? At conception, or nine weeks thereafter? When the baby is born? Or maybe after it gets its first master’s degree? Or never? Personally I think it’s never. Life reorganizes; it does not begin.
I saw a nun praying outside Planned Parenthood the other day. My urge was to pray with her, not against her. Instead of wondering what her thoughts were, or what she was for or against, I felt the power of her upholding that life which does not begin. It felt like there were not two opposing sides at that moment; her energy felt unifying.
I grew up with the semantically twisted stance that killing babies before birth was not really “killing”. But when my heart softened about “abortion” (a sanitized word), I admitted it was killing, and I couldn’t be “pro-death”. Instead I wanted to uphold mother and child, to protect and strengthen all of us. When we sit to feel and consider abortion in the abstract, we need to honor the strengths and mourn the losses of the mothers. We should not be stuffing down the feelings of loss simply because we hold a political view of choice. Politics has a way of making abstract ethics central and extreme, and suppressing mercy for each individual circumstance. We should use the word “killing” because that is honest, but using that word doesn’t make it a blanket wrong. Read the rest of this entry »
Olivia Lipkin appreciates pie the way a fish appreciates water. The enigmatic explorer does not usually meet with journalists, but something I said on the morning of the interview must have given her an opening, or maybe it was the August breeze that stills the heart with its reassurance that the most oppressive part of summer is over, and that the day will be long enough for all things. We sat on the shaded veranda of town’s only cafe, her berry-stained white blouse fluttering as she revealed, always close to tears, her story.
Star: So, tell me about your last pie.
Olivia: Oh I can still taste it now! I hardly know how to describe it except to say it was magic. It brought me face to face with the essence, as if time stopped and I melted with the first bite into a dream. You know when you’re full of doubt and then you taste pie and everything settles? You go to this special place, your whole world self-organizes, then you come out in peace. That was that pie.
S: Wow, what kind of pie was it?
O: It was the kind that holds all of summer, and speaks quietly but reveals adventures if you listen carefully. It was not a simple pie, quite complex actually.
S: But I mean what was in it?
O: There was a certain panic or maybe heartbreak from the experience making it, but love of course, full of love. Sorry I think I’m going to cry thinking about it. I can’t even believe it’s gone. I ate it all!
S: You certainly loved that pie. But, was it a cherry pie or what?
O: No, blackberries! There’s a patch I had known about and last month I couldn’t wait any longer and I just needed to go pick them.
S: Tell me about how you made the pie.
O: Well, I got all my gear together and made the trip. There I was, facing these thorns all alone – millions of thorns. I started around the edges, tentative at first. All that was going just fine, but I felt this intense calling.
S: Not to go inside?
O: Yes, I had to.
S: What equipment did you use?
O: I had brought my bowl, but I didn’t think to bring food and water, can you imagine? Luckily as a girl I used to devour survival literature, so I remembered to bring rice.
O: Yes, I put the grains of rice in a line so I could find my way out. I had picked almost the whole bowl full, and was getting deeper and deeper in. There were thorns everywhere and I just remember things started swirling and I couldn’t distinguish berry juice from blood. I was actually inside the beast! – the beast that intoxicated me, and I couldn’t find my way out.
S: Oh no! What about the trail of rice?
O: I guess Gretel’s technique was not actually so effective now that I think of it. No one heard my cries of pain, and I thought I was going to die there. But on the third day I had a startling epiphany that would ultimately save my life: I could eat the blackberries themselves in order to survive.
S: Good thinking!
O: That definitely gave me strength. What probably kept me going the most though was the love of that future pie that was already being conceived through this harrowing experience. And I never gave up hope that there would be uncharted waterways that would make rescue by boat possible.
S: Did you get rescued in the end?
O: No I just kept going, being stabbed endlessly from all directions, wishing I had remembered to bring shoes, and finally when I was close to giving up, I saw light.
S: A testament to perseverance. How long was the journey?
O: It’s anyone’s guess – but I’ll always insist it was at least 18 feet.
S: And now that you have recovered, do you have more adventures planned?
O: Not til the pie calls me. I’m just the servant.
(This paper concerns crisis lines, such as suicide hotlines, rape crisis lines and so on. I’m volunteering for such a line now.)
Autistic people are not woven into the fabric of families and social groups like other people are; our way is to be independent instead of enmeshed – and this point is close to the very definition of autism. Unfortunately for us, that extreme independence can make supportive relationships out of reach, and even push us out of society to the point of being friendless or homeless. Thus, while autism accounts for only about 1% of the whole population, among callers to crisis lines the rate may be a lot higher. Crisis line staff can benefit from identifying autistic traits and some helpful ways to communicate.
Perhaps the easiest way to detect autistic tendencies in a call is when they seem unusually literal. If you ask “are you sad?” they may just say “yes” – only the literal answer to the question without accepting the implied invitation to say more. If you ask “May I ask you a couple questions?” and proceed to ask one question, then later in the call, they may still expect you to ask the second question (because they interpreted that you had exactly two questions). If you ask “How did you sleep?” they may interpret the question to be about the technique rather than about the quality of sleep, and they might answer literally: “I just got into bed and waited.” Or they might say they don’t understand the question, because they interpret the question to be literal and precise, when it might have actually been just a general way to keep the conversation going.
Autistic people have the same range of feelings and the same needs for love and connection and safety as everyone else, but our communication is different. Communication is interpreted more according to strict dictionary definitions of words, and the adage that 80% of communication is nonverbal may not be true for that kind of caller.
One way to be effective is to realize that your tone of voice may not communicate much, and their apparent tone can be misleading. If they are calmly stating “I am angry”, believe the words and not the misleading tone. An autistic caller may always use the same tone and not modulate it for different feelings as other people do. Try to find specific words to convey meaning and don’t assume they get much from your tone.
You can ask open-ended questions, but to communicate that your question is open ended, be literal and don’t rely on softening phrases or anything vague. If asking “What about your relationship?” elicits confusion, try saying “Describe the good and bad aspects of your relationship”. An autistic caller might understand “What are all of your feelings about that?” better than “How is that for you?” If asking “Were you ok after the fight?” results in a one-word answer, try requesting that they tell the whole story of recovering from the fight.
Autistic problems can be specific. If a caller says “I didn’t get to finish a Minecraft construction project before class”, you might wonder if Minecraft is a misplaced target or a symbol for some hidden, deeper problem. But there may be less focus on relationships and the seemingly trivial issue of Minecraft could be the literal problem. The person might be using a tool like that to help structure their thinking and memory, and someone prevented them from using it. Although the problems are diverse, one common thread in the problems reported by autistic people is the lack of agency (control over our time and environment). Our drive is to be independent, but when other people control our money, our belongings, or time, that can be the crisis.
Things that make collaboration hard
Collaboration is hard. In all my efforts to work in volunteer groups in the past, so-called “collaboration” has felt like slowly wading through mud with people who don’t seem to be proposing anything specific, but they also don’t like or understand my ideas, and we’re doing something that isn’t really aligned with what I want to do, while everyone seems to overreact to very minor issues, and my patience wears thin.
In most of my attempts in the general (nondisabled) world, one or more of the following happens:
- Someone decides “there is conflict” and we need “healing” before we can do anything. I never have any idea what they mean and I sense it is usually a delay tactic. I feel like we all always need healing, but it can never be complete.
- We get people who want to study the situation forever and others who want it to be done immediately, with not much flexibility between the two groups. In one youth coalition I was in, the young people were really good at springboarding off each other’s inspiration and they wanted to decide things in rapid fire, while the older people seemed to miss that level of communication completely and they wouldn’t agree to anything. The young people had a sense of now, and not of the distant future, while the older people were only concerned with the distant future and could not do anything now. (Since at any moment, it’s always now, I guess they never did anything.)
- Half the people who show up have the main objective of just using the meeting time to socialize or get attention, or they have no intention to do anything. Therefore, the longer it drags out, the better. Others want the meetings to be a short as possible.
- Certain people who are used to having more than their share of social power intentionally try to foil democracy, so they’ll agree to democratizing procedures reluctantly, but then skirt them. Others try to make things equalizing and transparent, and that difference in interests tends to make discussions about internal procedures rather than about what the group is doing.
- Someone will declare that before we can do one thing, we must do another thing. For example, before we can decide what to write in a letter, we need to decide what are objectives are. Or, before we can determine our objectives, we have to write the letter. There is no way to satisfy everyone’s sense of the proper sequence of events.
Parts of collaboration
I think there has to be room for three kinds of activity in “collaboration”:
1. contemplation – brainstorming, venting, listening, and anything unstructured – This takes the most time.
2. business – structured processes for deciding on actions
3. taking action
Any attempt at collaboration probably needs all three of these in some balance.
I think it could take more patience to herd autistics than other people, or even to decide to collaborate. Some day maybe I’ll write an ethnography of our subculture, but for now, here are some unstructured points that maybe it could help to be aware of:
- Autistic people tend to get triggered; most of us have some level of PTSD, and have extreme responses to situations that seem innocuous to others. So in a group, it’s reasonable to assume that at all times, someone may be getting triggered by something.
- We’ve often been excluded, so we can get bitter and bring associated baggage to groups.
- When the topic of collaboration is autism or disability, the fight for power over the conversation often becomes fiercely directed against autistic people. Groups that deal with other topics (transportation, environment, etc) might be more accessible, whereas groups that deal with disability could be more likely to turn us into tokens or “others”.
- We may not have as much experience with collaborating effectively as others. If being in a group as an equal is very new to me, I might not know how to stay on topic, for example. I might not be aware of what is meant by the various words used to organize, like agendas, minutes, and petitions.
- We tend to build up our own mental universe of “obvious” truths, which is not as shared with others as we think, and then we’re amazed that other people are so “dumb” because they don’t know what we know, or didn’t read our 10 page essay on the subject.
- We tend towards “if this is not exactly 100% in line with what I’m trying to do, then I’m outa here”.
- We sometimes assume that others are acting as a bloc when they are not, or that they are all followers of a certain leader. So if I put forth an idea and the leader is opposed to it, I might assume that everyone is acting as a bloc and they are all opposed to it. That’s discouraging.
- Most of the people trying to organize autistic people are not themselves autistic at all, or they are a socially effective subtype that is not very representative of the rest of us. So even in groups that are supposedly for us and by us, we might still be excluded.
- We have issues pretty often with energy level and commitments. I might offer to do some of the needed work, but then life could take a turn and I might not be able to do what I said.
I don’t have any answers, but I’m pretty sure effective autistic (or inclusive) collaboration would look different from effective allistic (or exclusive) collaboration.
Here is a little therapeutic trick you can do with a piece of paper, whenever you think badly of yourself. First you name your “bad” trait and write it in square #1 of a figure like the one pictured here.The four steps going around counterclockwise are:
- Write the “bad” trait in square 1
- Write the opposite of that bad trait in square 2. This should be a good trait.
- Write the negative restatement of that in square 3. This should be the same trait as in square 2, only the extreme or negative form of it.
- Write the opposite of that negative in square 4.
You should end up with a positive restatement of what you wrote in square 1.
Here’s a simple example:
To walk through this one, my negative trait might be “lazy”. So I think of the opposite – what would the person most unlike me be? So I write “energetic”. But that trait could also be seen in a negative light, if one is too energetic, so I write “hyper/manic”. Then I think of what the opposite of that bad trait is, and I write “relaxed”. That reveals that I could choose to see myself as relaxed rather than lazy.
You can also get more descriptive about your issues. Here’s one about me that shows some of my associations:
In this case I used “she” as my fictitious opposite, and I think if I were my oopposite, I’d be in danger of being proud or manipulative. Your associations might be different so your opposite might be something else. Ultimately the restatement of my “bad” trait does not deny it (I might still be ugly), but it shows things that I might also be because I’m not the opposite – humble or genuine.
Seeing “humble” come up like this doesn’t feel quite right so I might go do another one using “pride” as the starting bad trait.
Some people practice direct contradiction as a therapeutic technique. For example if I believed or feared I might be ugly, I would say (out loud) “I’m beautiful”. That’s a powerful technique, but it can be so contradictory that some people cannot say the contradiction out loud. The trait square is different. It does not contractict or deny the original negative thought; it only reframes it. It widens the trait you are looking at to include a more balanced view of positive and negative aspects of that trait.
This piece is simply letters to people I visited on my recent driving trip as far as Maine, with a letter to me at the end.
I don’t know what to do. Most adults either eventually make peace with their mothers or cut them out entirely. Making that choice frees a person to go forward in her own life. But with me, I’m walking a complex line of trying to keep going between those two poles, not knowing why, and it is so sad and tiresome after all these decades of cold war. I know how to communicate in at least two ways: the polite verbal way I use for strangers, and the quieter emotional way with friends. But within this family I’ve only been able to communicate as with strangers. Everything I’ve ever done is wrong. I can’t imagine the ice melting, not ever; even when you are dying, years from now, I can only imagine you will use your last breath to remind me how wrong I am.
On this short visit, your judgments went to a new level and became an embarassing self-parody. When a six year old asked you (referring to me) “why do you call her a ‘him’?” your answer placed the shame on me instead of admitting to a mistake. Invalidating your own child’s life at every turn is the norm, but this time you made it a project of yours to convince an impressionable young person that my experience of my life is invalid, and only your judgment matters. It should not be a mystery why the visit was so short.
On this trip I saw many people moving forward, even while working out their childhood trauma. They all have their issues, but none seem to be as unable as I am to make the mother inside let go. None have lived so long as I have without picking one way or the other. You actually matter – way too much.
Humans are omnivores mainly by culture, not in the same innate way that other species are omnivores or carnivores. If you consider the innate desires of puppies and other meat eaters, you see that they get excited about eating their prey, they pounce on it, and tear it apart and eat it raw. Humans don’t have the hunting skills or desire to do any of that. The only way most of us can eat animals is by having them killed by someone else, cut up, and cooked so that the disgust that we would otherwise feel at seeing dead carcasses is as far removed from the dinner table as possible. If we were innate animal eaters, we would not feel disgust – we would feel happy and excited about tearing into living creatures. Yet a lot of people really want to believe that we’re innately omnivores. I believed it for a long time, until I learned otherwise.
The fact that I had always accepted that we were innate omnivores only proves I’m human, the only creature that can be so deluded about what we are by manufacturing beliefs and replicating them on a massive scale. When I think for myself, I find it is more gratifying than just adopting the beliefs transmitted by culture. There is a certain grace in the cessation of stupidity that I occasionally experience: things become so simple; I see them as they are without the imposed lens of culture. But I feel very silly for allowing myself to be deluded by the culture around me for so long on the question of eating animals. What kept me in the dark?
Generally speaking people replicate the beliefs of the people around them, except maybe the autistic, who, to various degrees, do not. I’ve experienced both extremes: thinking like everyone else, and being unable to think like anyone else. Another example is using toothpaste, which I’ve heard is unnecessary, but it never really seemed important enough to find out or even form an opinion one way or the other, so I just found it easier to go along with the toothpaste-using culture that I’m in. So I’ve gone through many tubes of toothpaste and eaten lots of animals because … most people do. On other other hand I’ve reinvented things, and it wasn’t because I was too obstinate to do it the normal way. It was because I couldn’t detect the normal way, or the normal way had so much apparent inconsistency or waste that it didn’t feel adoptable to me. I suppose people who acculturate even less than I do would copy fewer beliefs, and they would end up reinventing more things independently, or just failing to do a bunch of normal things.
The highly inefficient system of converting solar energy to nutrition circuitously via other animals is just one of many industries that thrives on waste and socially constructed needs. A lot of the media, pharmaceuticals, makeup, sports, cars, and sugar are in that same category. These are products that people have no true need for, and therefore do not even want innately. People want these things based on convention, but not innately. We have to learn to want them. Because of our inherited culture, we spend a great deal of our lives in highly wasteful pursuits that don’t actually make us happy or fulfill any true need.
Something has to work to keep us in the dark, and keep the waste going. If there was no force sustaining the waste, it would dwindle over time and we would adopt more efficient ways to meet our needs. We would harness the sun to heat buildings rather than drilling for oil and all the complications that go with that. I mean we would do this out of sheer laziness, not for any ethical reason. If the reason for doing the complicated and inefficient thing were to go away, that habit would extinguish. This is similar to a fundamental point in genetics: If the advantage of a trait goes away, then the trait will gradually extinguish. Nothing sticks around indefinitely for no reason.
My proposition then is that all these inefficiencies are sustained in large part through money and advertising, which are the socially constructed means to keep power imbalanced, and falsehoods alive, respectively.
I’ve wondered a lot about advertising because it doesn’t seem to work on me, and so I’m surprised that it works at all. But when I found out about autism, it started to make sense, because non-autistic people believe things simply because they are repeated so many times. And to some degree I do to (like the idea of being omnivorous) but noticeably less.
Advertising pairs something that people innately want with something that costs money, creating an association. For example, it pairs a field of wildflowers on a spring day (an innate attraction) with an oil company. Or, it pairs sex with a car. The main things appearing in ads are either (1) something you already want, or (2) something they want you to want.
Ads also exist for things that people truly need, like food, shelter, and exercise – and are just claiming that one supplier is better than another. To some extent advertising is just part of the information exchange needed in a market system. But consider a tomato. The tomato gets a starring role in so many food ads, yet it is hardly ever the product being advertised. That’s because it is something we already innately want – so there is no need to push it. Instead it is used as the innate need that pairs with the hamburger or other food being advertised. You see the tomato (an innate attraction) and a hamburger (a culturally constructed, highly inefficient means to meet your needs), and the brain makes an association between them, so with enough repetition, you want the hamburger. When you were very little, you probably didn’t like hamburgers – little kids are often not attracted to meat. If you like them now, it is because your tastes were molded by cultural learning, and importantly, the tomato continues to play a lead role in reinforcing that association. Without a force sustaining the cultural, non-innate, and inefficient habits, they might gradually extinguish.
Here are the top advertisers in the US, starting with the highest spender: Procter & Gamble, General Motors, AT&T, Verizon, Johnson & Johnson, Time Warner, Toyota, General Electric, Ford, and Pepsico. Procter and Gamble makes a lot of things, like toothpaste, makeup, razors, detergent, and diapers. The other companies sell cars, communications, pharmaceuticals, media, appliances, and sugar. Other top ad categories are for meat/diary, cleaning products, and alcohol and other drugs. In general the things that are advertised the most are actually needed the least.
I wonder what would happen if those vast concentrations of power could somehow be evaporated. The forces maintaining cultural beliefs in the necessity of all these products would be weakened, and the desire might gradually extinguish. Is it possible that by simply not telling everyone day in and day out to consume sugar, that our taste for it would gradually be forgotten? Would movies fail to entertain us if we weren’t told over and over to watch them?
I’m working out how to talk about trauma when it is continuous in a person’s life. The vocabulary we have is misleading: the typical definition of trauma states that it is the emotional response to an “event”, and so we have this image that we’re going along in life, and something bad happens, like an accident, rape, combat, or a natural disaster, and then for some time afterwards we have flashbacks and other stresses caused by the original event. But what if it was a continuous condition rather than an event, or it didn’t appear to be horrific – at least as seen from the outside? What if the things that trigger (awaken) the original trauma are not just specific things (like a gunshot for example) but are composed of the whole environment, the culture, the way we are treated all the time, or the wind blowing?
I feel like a lot of people have “continuous trauma” like this – the trauma that a person’s life is made of, rather than a trauma that is an interruption of life. Some of us (like me) can’t really clearly identify what the “original” trauma is. We supposedly had a nice childhood with no dark secrets or anything that we know of, but yet we’re living in a state of high stress all the time, defending against attacks that we can’t see, or being ineffective at moving on in life from the emotional blocks.
I’m guessing the consciousness of continuous trauma is expanding, as I see more writing that brushes on it or acknowledges it, more trigger warnings in writing, and feminist circles making it more central. So much is being painted by its language, but still the language is incomplete, if you think there had to be a identified causative “event” for a person to be in “real” trauma.
Continuous trauma appears to often be connected to:
- Disability: Disabled people are sometimes co-labeled with PTSD, and it could be misleading to suggest that the PTSD is something separate from the disability. Being disabled is being powerless and that is what is continuously traumatic.
- Minority status: Being or a member of a minority is possibly in itself a reason why we live in continuous trauma, although maybe not all minorities do. It could come from being consistently devalued or marginalized, hiding, thinking of ourselves as not normal.
- Objectification: Growing up thinking about ourselves too much as objects (how we appear and whether we fulfill the needs of others) rather than subjects (what we want for ourselves) can lead us to be so out of balance that it becomes a powerless state, and is continuous trauma. (“Who am I if he doesn’t love me?”)
Most people are minorities in some way, and most of us are not represented by the tiny slice of highly privileged people who control public discourse. So perhaps most people have this condition, the same people who are relatively powerless, and those people are not getting their needs met very well for safety and healing. It’s hard to imagine someone not having a significant continuous trauma if they are in all three of those categories.
For any individual, it is a matter of how your life actually is now, not just what happened to you before. As an example I know someone who, for a long time, could barely confront the shame that one adult, once when she was a teenager, had been sort of creepy and touched her. It was an event that might seem mild from the outside but for her was central and traumatic. Someone else might have brushed it off and not been burdened by it. I wonder if the reason it got so heavy for her is that she was living in a state of continuous trauma from life in general (for other reasons), and that incident assumed extra large proportions because of those other things. Maybe if we accept that there is continuous trauma, we might not feel we have to find an “event” to pin things on.
The basis of continuous trauma might not even be something “bad” or illegal. Maybe someone did something that was even considered normal and nice, and it still contributed to trauma. Or maybe no one did anything at all, and the trauma comes from not getting the attention that you hoped for or some other twisting of the ego. No one can fix it if nothing was really ever done wrong, but I think that is the point too: continuous trauma isn’t about what happened in any specific way. It’s not something that can be prevented by policy.
Despite it being unlinked to a causative event, I still think what I’m talking about is still a kind of trauma because it has triggers. We talk about being “triggered” which means going on high alert or high stress, while also being (possibly) aware that the trigger is not a real threat. Unlike event-trauma which theoretically has specific triggers that interrupt life, continuous trauma can have more continuous triggers. And I don’t think there is a clear line between what’s a trigger (something mentally associated with a threat that isn’t a real threat) and the actual threat. Being triggered puts us in stress, and if we’re constantly in chronic stress, then the triggers are unhealthy for us to be exposed to. In that sense the triggers are a real threat.
So are triggers “bad”? If a person happens to trigger you and they didn’t do anything wrong – like, they happened to be wearing a triggery shirt, or whatever – they are not guilty of anything, and it is not about them, in the same way that it is often not about any original “bad” event. Going after the triggers is missing the point in a way; we can’t make the world safe by being free of triggers for the same reason we can’t prevent trauma that isn’t caused by illegal events.
On the other hand, triggers continue to fuel ongoing trauma when you’re in those categories of disability, marginalization, or objectification. So the triggers are re-traumatizing in a way that triggers for event-trauma might not be. I’m just hypothesizing here but I wonder if you were hurt with a weapon that had blue stripes and blue striped things became triggers (in the classic definition of trauma), then you might be able to gradually expose yourself to blue stripes and neutralize it (exposure therapy). On the other hand if you’re a woman and you’re triggered by men who look at you a certain way, then could you (or would you even want to) expose yourself to it to neutralize it? I think it is different because the trigger reminds you that the condition of being marginalized is still present, and is not just triggering but is also reinforcing that condition, unlike the blue stripes example where you are no longer in any actual danger of a blue-striped weapon.
I feel like traumatized people are everywhere, maybe even most of us, and yet we (society) have too little recognition of it and hardly any answers. Our society is so phenomenally bad at safety, even within groups of people who are ostensibly safe to be with. We have no socially recognized reliable way to actively shelter each other. We seem to know at some level that so many of us need safe spaces – places free of mysogynist or racist remarks, free of the other -isms that are continuously re-triggering, and free from fear of being victimized. There’s so many of us that know that, but even so, we can’t seem to make the safety happen on any scale beyond small groups of friends. It feels like some people can only associate with others who are equally traumatized, because everyone else feels “dangerous” in their inability to sense the needs of others, but for some reason that association can’t be shown in a public way. So when we’re in public, we just have to assume everyone is a danger, even though mentally we know most of them are probably safe. It’s the feeling that “even though probably most of these other people are safe, someone will probably take advantage of me if I’m not vigilant, and no one will stand up for me.”
Can we make places safer for the continuously traumatized? Imagine going places and being confident that there will be people standing up against dergatory and insensitive language, who recognize and protect us. Imagine being allowed to be unguarded, admitting weakness, and not being taken advantage of for it. Imagine an uprising of care.