Have you ever come across one of those insane storytelling TikTok's and think: do I (and millions of other random people on the internet) need to know this?
TikTok's done a lot for us, but it's also given rise to a whole new type of content: deeply personal stories.
Some of these things I wouldn't even tell my own mother.
So why do people feel compelled to this non-consensual trauma dumping?
Because trauma content, to put it bluntly, performs.
Those heartbreaks and hardships have become the digital age's hottest currency. The more raw, the more viral-sometimes even paving the way for influencer careers.
But while 'keeping it real' has its appeal, there's a bit of a dark side here. This isn't just personal expression; it's also a culture that rewards pain points as clickbait.
The undeniable fact here is that when likes and comments pour in, they're affirmation that our experiences resonate.
Or in other words, our content is hitting.
So, when it comes to the case of trauma content, in a strange way, the TikTok audience has become a makeshift support group. It's a place to vent and feel validated in those feelings, because chances are, someone, somewhere has gone through something similar.
There's a reason that 'I left my toxic ex and here's how' has become a whole genre in itself.
But let's be honest-there's real incentive here.
Viral trauma content can attract followers, brand deals, and, in some cases, even make creators mini-celebrities. People might just get the attention they wanted from the ordeal itself. (Was it worth it? The jury's out.)
But there are issues with broadcasting trauma.
Oversimplification and sensationalism, to name a few.
When a three-year relationship ends, it's rarely just about one bad text exchange. But TikTok's 30-second window means complex narratives get cut down, giving the tough stuff a bite-sized appeal that often dilutes the real emotions.
Revisiting trauma for engagement's sake might feel like healing for some. But for others, it can be an endless cycle that reopens old wounds. Sure, they're getting attention, but at what cost to actual recovery?
Once people start sharing every detail, it's hard to set boundaries on what's private versus what's shareable. Audiences might start expecting more, pushing creators to live-stream their next therapy session.
And then there's the risk of exploitation.
Some brands look at viral stories and see engagement gold. But jumping on these tales of trauma can backfire when the focus shifts from support to sales.
Not only can consumers smell opportunism from a mile away, but by monetising hardship, we're perpetuating a dangerous culture that champions negative narratives for clout.
People crave 'realness,' but authenticity shouldn't mean exploitative. If you're thinking of partnering with creators who share personal stories, make sure the relationship is about uplifting and respecting their journey-not turning it into a spectacle for likes.
This means asking yourself: are you in it for the message or the metrics? Make sure the partnership is about offering value without pushing them to reveal more than they're comfortable with.
For topics like domestic violence, mental health, or family issues, sometimes the best move is no move. A supportive comment might be appreciated, but a full-scale campaign around someone's trauma? Kinda icky.
It's about highlighting the resilience journey, not the gritty details.
If your campaign involves themes of resilience or recovery, consider involving mental health professionals to guide the tone and ensure ethical storytelling.
Support mental health organisations, share resources, or fund content that benefits your audience's well-being rather than just pulling in views.
Audiences can spot when brands are sincere versus when they're simply riding a trend. As marketers, we should be cautious about how and why we work with creators sharing personal stories.
The goal? Make meaningful connections that don't turn trauma into a branding tactic. Because at the end of the day, true authenticity can't be manufactured-it has to be earned.
And that's certainly not done by encouraging discourse best left in a therapist's office.
