Telling difficult stories without causing harm - Trauma Informed Journalism

Recently, I had the opportunity to take part in a roundtable discussion on regional media education, organised by the Sri Lanka Press Institute (SLPI) in collaboration with the Fojo Media Institute at Linnaeus University, Sweden. I was invited to share my perspective as a mental health professional, and our conversation focused on trauma awareness among journalists.

Trauma, even with what I would consider my limited experience, is one of the most complex concepts I’ve tried to understand. It’s not just psychological; it’s deeply physiological, often unpredictable, and always personal.

And that’s exactly why trauma awareness in journalism matters so much. Journalists are often trying to understand a deeply personal experience and communicate it to a wider audience in a way that makes sense. That’s not an easy task.

When I look at contemporary news, especially in local media, I often see content that is graphic, emotional, and sometimes sensationalised. Even news anchors, at times, seem visibly affected. It makes me wonder – how aware are journalists of the psychological impact of what they report? Not just on audiences, but on the individuals whose stories are being told?

With increasing commercial pressures, the media can sometimes lean toward profit-driven storytelling. Headlines are designed to grab attention, often focusing on the most dramatic parts of a story. Clickbait. But in doing so, are we creating unnecessary panic? And more importantly, at what cost to the survivors?

By prioritising what is most “sensational,” there’s a risk of putting survivors through additional distress, sometimes just to meet deadlines or gain engagement. This raises an important ethical question: at what point does reporting become exploitation?

In psychology, we are guided by the principle of non-maleficence – do no harm. We’re trained not to push people to revisit traumatic experiences unless they are ready and willing. Trauma isn’t just a story someone tells; it’s something that lives in the body. Bringing it up too quickly or without support can be destabilising.

Journalists, on the other hand, often work in fast-paced environments without the time or training to navigate these complexities. Yet they may find themselves asking survivors to revisit painful moments, sometimes under pressure.

This isn’t to criticise journalists as a whole. It’s more a reflection of a pattern we sometimes see – especially in fast-moving, less-regulated media spaces.

As mental health practitioners, we’re careful about “opening a can of worms” unless there is time and space to process what comes up. That caution comes with training and experience. Without it, engaging deeply with someone’s trauma can unintentionally cause harm.

During the discussion, someone raised a question that stayed with me: when journalists encounter trauma in the field, what is their role in supporting survivors? Should they try to ground or stabilise them?

My response was another question: What is the role of a journalist?

There’s no simple answer. It pushes us to think more broadly about the purpose of journalism and the responsibilities that come with it.

Personally, I think it comes down to understanding limits and boundaries.

Journalists don’t need to become “mini-psychologists.” What they can offer is something equally important – basic human empathy. Listening with respect, being mindful not to cause harm, and, where possible, guiding individuals toward professional support.

Trauma-informed journalism isn’t about taking on a therapeutic role. It’s about recognising vulnerability, respecting dignity, and knowing when to step back.

Because sometimes, the most ethical story is not the one that reveals the most, but the one that protects the person behind it while still informing the public responsibly.