Trigger Warnings in Primetime: Revisiting TV’s Most Traumatic ‘Teachable Moments’

For anyone raised on a steady diet of after-school specials and WB drama, the phrase “A Very Special Episode” triggers an almost Pavlovian response, because you know someone’s getting hurt or someone’s learning a lesson and most likely someone’s playing a Sarah McLachlan-adjacent piano track under a tearful monologue.

And yeah, sometimes these episodes did what they set out to do. They shone a light. They sparked a conversation. They offered catharsis or clarity or just a moment of representation where there hadn’t been one before. But just as often? They fumbled. Big time. Because there’s a difference between telling a story about trauma and using trauma to get a sweet, sweet mid-season ratings spike.

Welcome to primetime, where the trigger warning is the episode.

Let’s be clear: TV has the power to tackle serious issues. In the right hands, it can unpack grief, addiction, assault, racism, gun violence, suicide. Stories that mirror real lives and maybe, just maybe, help someone feel less alone. But too often, these “issue episodes” are dropped into a season to be narrative hand grenades: shocking, loud, and never mentioned again.

Like when a side character is raped and disappears by the next episode. Or when a school shooting is resolved in 42 minutes and followed up with a beach day montage. Or when a suicide attempt becomes a backdrop for someone else’s romantic drama. The messaging is muddy. The tone is chaotic. And the trauma? It's disposable.

Some shows handled trauma with surprising care and emotional weight. Degrassi did the work; it built up to Rick’s school shooting across multiple seasons, never letting viewers forget the long shadow of trauma. One Tree Hill earned its impact: Jimmy Edwards’ school shooting left lasting scars, and the fallout became the emotional spine of the show. Buffy delivered a grounded, chilling moment in “Earshot,” where Buffy’s new mind-reading powers led to a tender intervention rather than sensationalism. Grey’s Anatomy threw everything at the wall—gunshots, plane crashes, miscarriages—but (usually) let the fallout breathe. Even Boy Meets World, for all its sitcom sheen, had arcs that tried to meet darkness with some level of sincerity.

Then there were the shows that used trauma like a storyline vending machine. 13 Reasons Why turned pain into shock value. Suicide, assault, and school shootings were stylised, aestheticised, and often resolved with disturbing speed. Full House dipped into “Very Special Episode” territory with DJ starving herself and Stephanie befriending a child abuser; both handled with all the subtlety of a laugh track removed. But Glee takes the crown for tonal whiplash: a show that gave us bangers like “Don’t Stop Believin’” but also thought it could fix school shootings, texting-while-driving, and eating disorders with a ballad and a fade-out. And zero follow up. Noble intentions, chaotic execution.

Here’s the crux of it: when trauma is used as a twist, it stops being representation and starts being manipulation. Especially when the trauma only affects a minor or disposable character, there’s no real consequence or long-term impact, it exists only to fuel another character’s growth, it’s aestheticised slow-mo gunshots, glittery self-harm scenes, sexy domestic violence arcs (ugh) or the show moves on like nothing happened. These are not just bad choices; they’re dangerous ones.

The best “very special” episodes don’t preach. They don’t shock just to shock.
They invest in character, in context and, more importantly, consequences. They’re written by people who’ve done the work, consulted the experts, listened to the lived experiences. They sit in the discomfort. They don’t rush the healing. And they let survivors be messy, angry, numb, contradictory. They know that trauma doesn’t end when the credits roll.

Television has changed. Viewers are savvier. The bar is higher. And trauma-as-plot-point is no longer a free pass to a Critics’ Choice nom. So tell the story. By all means, go there. But treat pain like it belongs to someone. Because for every viewer who sees themselves in a moment of representation—there’s another who sees their trauma turned into content. And if your "Very Special Episode" doesn’t leave room for both? It’s not brave. It’s just bad writing.