I was always vehemently opposed to trigger warnings. I believed they stifled the democratic exchange of ideas and academic freedom on campus. I thought that if “safe spaces” were created so that no one felt discomfort, no real learning would ever happen. My recent sexual assault gave me the right to believe and defend these things.

On the second day of my uncool but fascinating Cookie, “Reading Marathon,” we watched a documentary about Shakespeare performance in a Kentucky prison. One man, I believe the man cast to play Ferdinand, detailed what landed him in the maximum security prison–assaulting seven women. The majority of my friends were in the room with me, knowing my history with sexual assault. I ran out of the room twice. I’d been, for all intents and purposes, triggered.

The first time, I went and sat on the bathroom floor with my head in my hands. The second time I actually left school, unable to function as a human being for the rest of the day.

But that doesn’t mean I would have wanted a warning before shown the movie. My being granted a trigger warning beforehand would have been counterproductive to my recovery. In my daily academic and professional life, especially as I get older, I’m going to have to deal with ideas that cause me discomfort. Slowly but surely I will get better.  I will be able to hear the words “Romeo and Juliet” without shutting down.

I need to learn how to do this. I need to be able to function in daily life to effectively recover. I need to be exposed to the things that scare me. In a study published in “The Journal of Traumatic Stress,” clinical psychologist Barbara Rothbaum found that slightly over half of rape survivors recover naturally from PTSD within three months.

The only thing that will help me stop getting triggered, though it may seem counterintuitive, is getting triggered–confronting these triggers, exposing myself to them directly. I can’t control my environment and make it so every space is a safe space, and I’ll never be able to.  My triggers aren’t always going to be as black and white as they were during Cookies. It might be the smell of a certain cologne or just a random phrase that brings me back to my assault. I’m never going to be able to avoid these, so why stifle intellectual discussion by avoiding others?

Of course I can’t speak for all survivors.  Maybe my triggered isn’t as severe as someone else’s. The choice between banning certain material and causing psychological distress is not easy, but the choice should be the latter. Trigger warnings also feed the stigma associated with the mental repercussions to my assault. I’m not going to miss out on experiences because of what someone else did to me. That would be letting him win.

So when I go to college, which is seeming closer than ever, if my professor gives a trigger warning for a lesson, you’ll find me in my usual seat, eyes forward and ready to listen.