I’m terrified of snakes. So, you might think I would appreciate a heads-up of one being sighted on the path of my daily river walk. But actually, this “trigger warning” – now ubiquitous to television, podcasts and social media posts – does little to quell my anxiety. Instead, it detracts from my enjoyment by raising worry about something that may never happen – snakes move quickly and the one I’ve been alerted to has invariably disappeared by the time I reach its last known position.

Warning someone of potential distress is a benevolent notion, but the research is clear: trigger warnings do not actually reduce distress. And, in a cruel kind of irony, they can actually cause it.

For the unfamiliar, trigger warnings provide notice about content that may elicit negative reactions or traumatic memories. In theory, this forewarning system allows individuals the opportunity to make an informed decision about what they’re about to consume, and avoid or prepare themselves for what lies ahead. But in practice, they can produce anticipatory anxiety and propel someone into “fight or flight” mode.

While incredibly useful in times of actual danger – allowing a lightning speed response to either defend against or flee from danger – a constant stream of fight or flight false alarms and over-alertness, a little like the Boy Who Cried Wolf, can, over time, result in misinterpretation of actual threats and reduce our capacity to respond appropriately.

Trigger warnings seem to have sprung from a well-intentioned notion. But concept creep – where the definition of a term has been extended beyond its intended meaning – has well and truly taken hold, and we are now seeing negative reactions, such as irritation or annoyance, increasingly being mislabelled as “triggering”, and erroneously categorised with trauma.

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A desire to avoid something because it is a source of a negative reaction – say, seeing a photo of you with an ex-partner, or being reminded of an argument you once had with your sibling – should not be confused with genuine psychological distress experienced by people who have endured trauma.

Our understanding of trauma and its psychological aftermath is quickly evolving. Though the “get back on the horse” approach of forced exposure is still espoused by some (and may be helpful in certain situations for some people), we now have a more nuanced understanding of the subjective nature of trauma – and how different people respond to it. One thing we know for sure is that treatment for trauma is best tailored to the individual. Some people wish to confront perpetrators, compose victim-impact statements, or return to a scene or location, while others are at pains to avoid any reminder of the traumatic incident.

As a psychologist, I hear the intricacies of patients’ traumatic experiences daily. Over time, most people can steel themselves to cope with exposure to broad terms often cited in trigger warnings (suicide or self-harm, sexual abuse or assault, racism, etc). But more often, it is specific yet subtle details that prompt a trauma survivor to become distressed, panicked, anxious or dissociative.