Trigger words

Do you have any trigger words? Words or expressions that offend you anytime you hear them used? There are the obvious ones, like racial slurs, but there are also less obvious terms that oftentimes people don’t even realize have problematic connotations.

We’re currently living in a time of increasing political correctness, of increased sensitivity to others’ triggers, but of course, there’s also a backlash, with those decrying this new sensitivity as being overly PC, because it’s getting to the point where everything is offensive. Or at least every term with a negative slant is offensive, because duh. Obviously, no one will be offended if you say, “that lecture was great!” But if you say, “that lecture was fucking stupid,” yeah, of course, the person giving the lecture is going to be annoyed, you just insulted them. The problem arises when you insult not just the person you were trying to insult, but when you inadvertently insult an entire group of people who have nothing to do with the situation.

For instance, if you say “that lecture was retarded,” you’re not just insulting the lecturer, you’re insulting people with mental disabilities, and if that’s not your intention then you come across as at best, ignorant, and at worst, bigoted. I once had a lengthy discussion with someone who was defending her use of the R-word, and she said she “doesn’t mean it that way”. But it doesn’t really matter how she means it, it matters how she’s coming across. No matter what you’re saying, you need to know what message you’re delivering, what message others are picking up on, not just the message you intended to send.

This same person was trying to defend her use of the N-word. Yes, a middle-class white woman in her 30s. Her reasoning was that her step-kids use it all the time, supposedly in an ironic way, as though there is a way for a white kid to use a racial slur ironically. And clearly, we should all take our social cues from teenagers. This woman claims to not be racist but if she’s using that word then she obviously is or at least feels comfortable being perceived as such. I remember every single time in my life I’ve heard a white person use the N-word, and it definitely influenced the way I perceived them. We all need to be aware of how we’re coming across.

But where do we draw the line? What about when words are used in the proper, dictionary definition, way, but can be perceived incorrectly? I’m thinking of someone I know who uses the word “retard” or “retarding” in the proper English language sense, as in, “this situation is retarding our progress,” meaning their progress is being slowed. And that is absolutely a valid use of that word. Unfortunately, this guy doesn’t hang out with English Lit majors, rather he hangs out largely with douche-bros whose first language isn’t even English. They think he’s saying the situation is retarded, and they’ll pipe up with, “yeah man, it’s totally retarded!” So now he’s set off a chain reaction of douchery. (I do defend my use of the word “douche” because both in the literal and colloquial sense it refers to something that touts itself as being good for a vagina, but is actually harmful.) My point is that even when words are being used correctly they can be perceived in hurtful ways, and we need to be aware of that.

I will now bring up a highly personal example. I tend to bristle anytime someone uses the word “anemic” to mean weak, as in “that was an anemic effort,” meaning “a poor effort”. That is indeed the proper use of that word, according to the dictionary. But as someone who has anemia, I can’t help but cringe whenever I hear the word used in that way, because the implication is that to be what I am is a bad thing. And yeah, no one would choose to be “pallid,” or “sickly,” or “ashen,” but I am those things, and it’s never enjoyable to be reminded of how supposedly undesirable that is. Which I suppose is what inspired me to “reclaim” the word by calling this blog superanemic.

super-anemic

Yet I’m not asking you to stop using the word anemic to mean weak. I realize that this is my personal issue. But I do sympathize with those who advocate for eliminating all ableist language. I recently read a post on everydayfeminism about this topic, and found it very interesting because it brought up how even words that are now considered mundane, such as stupid, moron, and idiot, have a problematic history.

I have definitely used such words before without considering their impact. And while I take offense most strongly to sexist terms, like pussy being used to mean weak, it would be disingenuous of me to advocate for the elimination of such terms while ignoring terms that are bothersome to others. After reading that article I asked myself what words remain. What words can we use when we want to say something negative? And then that question brought up another one: why am I, why are all of us, so intent on using negative language in the first place? Why is it so important for us to find ways to insult others? Maybe, instead of finding more creative ways to insult people or situations, I should avoid the insult altogether and try to find positive ways to engage in conversations. Rather than complaining that a new project at work is fucking stupid, perhaps I should suggest alternatives to that project. And if I truly must express my dissatisfaction, perhaps the word dissatisfaction should be enough.

But it’s not enough, is it? There have been studies that examine the power of profanity, and they’ve shown that swear words do actually make people feel better in a way that ordinary words don’t. But for obvious reasons, swear words are often inflammatory. Terms like “fucked up” and “suck it” carry sexual connotations, implying that sex is necessarily negative and threatening, and maintaining those connotations make our society a more hostile place, by contributing to rape culture. But choosing words that won’t offend anyone completely misses the point of profanity. It really isn’t enough to say fiddlesticks when you stub your toe. If I’m pissed off, a good “motherfucker” makes me feel a lot better than pretty much anything else, even though I guess the term implies that mothers shouldn’t be sexual, and anyone fucking a mother is necessarily deviant?

the-curse

I know I’ll be accused of reading too much into words, but it would be foolhardy to underestimate the power of language. Sticks and stones may break my bones but seriously, insults hurt just as much.

And what about when problematic words are used in a positive way? What about saying “crazy” to mean cool? The kids today love saying “savage” to mean fiercely outrageous. I’m sure they’re not aware that this word carries derogatory connotations towards so-called primitive cultures. But even if they are aware, is it ok if they’re using it in a supposedly good way?

Honestly, I don’t know. What do you think?

If it’s worth doing, it’s worth tracking

I put a lot of thought into everything I do. Ok, well, maybe not everything. I don’t agonize over which body wash to use when I hop into the shower or give much consideration to which pajamas I will wear to lounge around the house each evening, but generally speaking, most of my actions are well thought out. Even though I didn’t agonize over that body wash, I did think about it. I bought the store brand because it was cheap and has the exact same ingredient list as the fancy one. And the reason it didn’t take me ages to choose my pajamas is because I have a formula for which ones I wear. It’s an algorithm based on cleanliness and coziness.

I love devising these algorithms for my life, setting up plans and routines, and then tracking their success. I even track everything I do. I downloaded an app called ATracker which I use to keep track of all my activities, from work to sleeping and everything in between. I first got the tracker to help motivate me to spend more time on my personal projects, and less time in front of the TV, but now I mostly use the tracker because it’s fun. I like being able to review my day/week/month/year and find out how much time I spend doing various things. One of the activities I track is picking outfits. Because I don’t just hop out of bed each morning and throw on whatever’s convenient, oh no, I put careful consideration into everything I wear.

I organize my outfits primarily based on weather – which is one of the reasons I also obsessively keep track of the forecast – but also on colour, style, mood, and what I’ve recently worn. Every morning, after I get dressed, I take a selfie to document my outfit and then put these pics into an album on my iPad, so I can quickly access every outfit I’ve worn that year. This way I avoid duplicating an outfit too often. These albums also serve as outfit inspiration, as there exist so many possible combinations of my clothing items that I often forget ideas, and even forget what I own. When I bought my most recent condo, I insisted on having a dressing room which serves as an immense walk-in closet, where I can see all my clothes, organized by colour, which helps in visualizing outfits. Some might ask why I put so much time and effort (and money?) into such a thing, noting that it seems frivolous at best, and an utter waste of time at worst. But again, for me, it’s fun. And I’ve reached a point where not doing it seems weird.

Other things I diligently track are my exercise and diet. I use an app called MyFitnessPal for that. I started using it about three years ago when I wanted to get a bit more fit, and I figured it would help motivate me to work out and eat healthier. It has worked fantastically in this regard, but like my time tracker, I mostly use it at this point because I’m compelled to. I just can’t not. A while back I got bored with all the food logging and thought about taking a break, but I couldn’t stand the idea of not having a ledger of this information. Being able to look back at these stats on my life is very interesting to me.

time-well-spent

I guess what it comes down to is that I really love statistics. I’ve never been overly fond of math, so when I needed to take a stats course at University I was worried. Fortunately, I was pleasantly surprised to find stats fascinating! I still track a lot of stats at my paid job, even though I don’t work in the data department anymore, simply because it’s interesting to me. So much so that I find it a bit weird when others aren’t similarly fascinated.

Most people, when they find out about this obsessive tracking, are shocked, and perhaps even appalled. They can’t imagine spending so much time doing such a thing. And it does, indeed, take time. My significant other jokes that it’s all well and good for me to track what I do, but he’d be curious to know how much time I spend just tracking. So I added planning to my list of tracked activities, which includes any time I spend inputting or analyzing data, as well as the time I spend mapping it out, such as on the hard-copy agenda I also log information into, because sometimes it’s nice to have a tangible visual of things. So I can tell you with certainty that I’ve spent roughly twelve hours this past year just tracking all this stuff. But that number is likely much higher since I don’t track multi-tasking, and if I’m moving while planning, then that counts as working out.

When I tell my S.O. tells people about my life stats they admit that they too would love to have such data about their own lives, but they don’t want to do the work of gathering such information. I always agree that they are correct in believing it would be too much work. So far I’ve never met anyone that I think would enjoy this tracking the way I do. I’m sure such people exist though. I mean, the app wasn’t invented specifically for me. So what do you think? Are you a kindred spirit? Do you want to track your time so obsessively? Or am I wasting my time?

I’m not a caregiver

When we were ten years old, my best friend’s father died, and I did the worst thing anyone can do in that situation: I made it about me.

We’ll call this friend Genevieve, as that’s how I refer to her in my “this day in” posts. I’d actually always been a little bit afraid of her father, so when he died I had mixed feelings. I felt horrible for Genevieve of course, but I felt some degree of relief for myself, though thankfully I never admitted this to her. At my twelfth birthday party, a few of my guests let me know that Genevieve was huddled in a corner, crying. I went over to her and found out that some of the other kids had been talking about their fathers, and it had made her sad. She told me she felt stuck because she couldn’t talk to her mother about this great loss they’d suffered, as every time she tried, her mother would burst into tears. Obviously, I should have offered to be Genevieve’s sounding board. I should have told her that whenever she felt sad, or whenever she wanted to talk, she should come to me. But I didn’t do this. I didn’t do anything helpful. I sat dumbfounded and tried to think of something to say. The best I could come up with was something along the lines of how when her father died it made me think maybe my father could die, and that made me sad.  I mean… ????? As soon as I said it, I knew it was wrong. I was taking her grief and making it about me. And the worst part is I didn’t even truly feel that way. I simply didn’t know what to say, because I’m just not good at consoling people, or taking care of them. I’m not a caregiver.

I actually think I’m a pretty good listener, and I’m good at giving advice, but equally good at noticing when people don’t actually want advice, but just want a sounding board, or just want someone to agree with them. (Not that I always accommodate this wish since I’m honest to a fault). But I am absolutely horrible at taking care of people. This comes to light whenever the boyfriend gets sick. When I’m ill he’s amazing and becomes a sort of super-caregiver. He gets me buckets so I can vomit from the comfort of our bed, and he washes up any puke that might have missed the mark. I can’t even count all the bodily fluids he’s washed off of me and various surfaces in our condo. But when he gets sick, I’m useless. I want to help, but I just don’t know what to do. When people really need me, I freeze.

when-im-sick

Boyfriend suggests this is a result of the way we were raised. When he was about six years old, his mother fell ill. So ill that she became bed-ridden. He and his sister grew up taking care of her, nay, being forced to take care of her, and their house. I’ve read enough articles about caregiver burnout to know that growing up in this way must have taken quite a toll and in some ways, Boyfriend is still traumatised by his childhood. For instance, he’s a great cook but refuses to do so because he associates cooking with his mother berating him for incompetently prepared meals. Yet he is also a product of his programming and can’t help but jump to action when someone he cares about needs him.

I, on the other hand, was never expected to care for anyone when I was young. Quite the contrary, as a kid I was often the one in need of help. I was a somewhat sickly kid, getting constant nosebleeds and frequent colds. I remember one time staying home from school and vomiting all over the couch. Then I did what any child would do in that situation: nothing. I walked away from the sofa and waited for my mother to get home and clean it up. Yes, I was left home alone as a sick child. It was the ’80s and that was fine back then, but also speaks to a certain level of neglect that was normal in my household. My siblings and I were never abused or neglected in any physical way – we always had food on the table and a roof over our heads – but we were never coddled, or offered much in the way of emotional support. I never thought it was weird because it’s all I’d ever known, but a few people over the years have commented on how oddly cold and distant my family is. An ex once complained that my father and brother were emotionally stunted (he actually used a much more vulgar term that I’ll spare you) and I’ve often been accused of being a bitch big ol’ meany pants. Perhaps this is why I was so useless towards Genevieve when she needed me most. I just don’t understand how to help other people, either physically or emotionally.

As I’ve gotten older, and my self-awareness has increased, I’ve gotten better. I’m a much more competent listening board for Genevieve now that we’re adults, but I’m still not the person who offers hugs and hand-holds. I still struggle with what to do when people are in distress, mostly out of a sense of awkwardness. My social anxiety contributes to this inability to help, but I think I’ve also, just naturally, got a relatively low level of empathy. I’m no sociopath but I’m rarely moved by the troubles of others. Based on the definitions provided here, I’d say I’m capable of sympathy, but not much empathy.

Boyfriend actually admires my lack of empathy. He offers the following analogy of evidence of the folly of empathy: If someone is drowning in a raging river, jumping into that river is empathy, resulting in two people drowning, whereas compassion is throwing that person a life preserver while remaining dry on the riverbank. We can only help others if we maintain a certain emotional distance from their woes. So fine, I’ve got the emotional distance thing covered. But what of compassion? Am I doing a good enough job of helping others in need? Or should I work harder to strengthen my ability to help others? I guess if I’ve written this blog post I feel a certain inadequacy in this regard. But I also must admit that for the sake of making my point, I’ve exaggerated how bad I am, and how good Boyfriend is when it comes to taking care of each other. He’s been known to kick me out of bed for coughing too much, and I’ve been known to make him soup. But still, perhaps I need to try harder the next time someone needs me. But on the other hand… eww, sick people are gross.