The additional end result of Val's latter observation is that when truly unavoidable horrible stuff does happen to your child-- a lot of judgment ensues. That's right-- in the bonus round, your family will accept SHAME for not preventing it from happening.
Never mind that "stranger danger" doesn't teach kids a darned thing about that nice teenaged babysitter they've known since birth... that lawnmower parenting your way through Mommy-and-Me gym classes don't prevent your child from developing a life-threatening medical problem, etc.
The real stuff still happens. The big stuff, I mean. It's just that now, there is a genuine expectation that it doesn't happen to the RIGHT kinds of parents. Er. I mean, their kids. Sure I do.
Speaking as a parent who has pretty much heard it all over the years about how we (apparently) didn't love our child enough to not cause her to have a life-threatening chronic medical condition (because we vaccinated/didn't feed her right/kept her too clean/let her play with animals/sent her to daycare/didn't have five siblings/take-your-pick)... um, yeah. You'll have to pardon my family if we snort in the general direction of trigger warnings and all that comes with them.
WORDS and ideas aren't what makes spaces safe or not, in general. And yeah, I get that I'm saying some of that from my privileged position of majority... but still.
This is pretty small stuff, when you consider what it means to live without your basic needs met as a human being. Real trauma is pretty problematic in that it unfortunately doesn't follow the rules about what is triggering in the first place-- which means that all of this is just a tempest in someone's teacup to begin with. I kind of want to grab a bullhorn and tell the people sitting in and swearing that they could do some good in the world with all of that energy. They could start by volunteering to help families with children who are critically ill or disabled. Maybe volunteer at the local women's shelter or food bank or something. Then they could appreciate what privilege really looks like.
But that's me, being middle-aged and cranky, I am sure.
