by Why People Who Name Their Trauma Treat Pain Like a Pet With Paperwork
People Who Name Their Trauma speak like their wounds have LinkedIn profiles. “This is Kevin–he’s my abandonment issue,” says a woman at brunch, cradling a latte like it’s a soft-spoken diagnosis. Her friend nods. Kevin gets blamed for everything from relationship sabotage to poor Wi-Fi. Kevin did not sign a waiver.
These deeply branded healers assign personalities to their inner demons. One man calls his trust issues “Gerald” and insists Gerald doesn’t like group texts. Another person has named all five attachment styles after Muppets. Fozzie represents codependence. Kermit is avoidant. Miss Piggy files restraining orders. Emotionally.
In a fictional psych identity report by the Institute of Named Neuroses, 82% of trauma-namers said it helped “create emotional distance.” The rest admitted it was for Instagram captions and niche merch. One woman sells enamel pins reading “Ask Me About My Carl (He’s Shame).” Carl has a fan page. It has 12K followers. Mostly poets.
Processing is good. Naming helps. But if you’re introducing your baggage at parties and buying it drinks, maybe dial it back. Trauma deserves compassion–not branding. And no, Kevin doesn’t need a star chart. He needs a therapist. Or at least fewer brunch invites.
SOURCE: How To Write Comedy & SpinTaxi.com
