Charlotte is a journalist whose specialities include digital culture, politics and mental health. She has written for a wide range of publications including The Independent, iNews, Metro, Digital Spy, Journo Resources, Insider & more.
November 14, 2022 (Updated )
Trauma sells. It’s a sad fact of life, but a fact of life nonetheless. When I first started freelancing, I certainly fell into the trap myself, joking that there’s no price someone can put on my trauma. Except however much I was commissioned to write about it, of course.
On the one hand, writing about my lived experience of autism, OCD, and anxiety is a big part of my career, and one I take great pride in. Only 19 percent of journalists in the UK are disabled. I feel like I owe it to all those who are silenced in some way to speak out about my experiences. I want to raise awareness of the overlooked aspects of my diagnoses: quashing misconceptions and educating people along the way.
But on the other hand, I remember the months leading up to the end of my master’s degree. I was sending job application after job application, pitch after pitch, when I discovered that pretty much all of my paid work had been focused on talking about my disabilities and problems. That isn’t to say I’m not proud of my work, and that I don’t stand by every word I wrote, but it led to the dismaying realisation that I had defined my career based almost exclusively on my trauma and personal life.
The Pitfalls Of ‘Trauma Porn’
Deep down, I knew I kind of played into the hands of ‘trauma porn’ a little — it was an easy way to build up the bylines I sought after so badly, and I knew editors loved it — but it was time to start drawing a line once I realised I was being pigeonholed into writing about my trauma and nothing else.
It was ironic in a lot of ways: I had spent half my life desperate to show that I shouldn’t be defined by my disabilities, and then the other half willingly defining myself based on them, if it meant I could get a foot on the ladder. But just because I felt shut out by mainstream journalism opportunities, why should I have to sacrifice my personal stories and experiences? Why did neurotypical people, or people who aren’t disabled, get to pitch and write about everything under the sun, while I was limited to writing about myself?
The truth is, especially in a much more SEO-oriented world, ‘trauma porn’ is a huge driving force behind a lot of the personal essay and op-ed verticals seen online. They’re alluring to readers because the problems of marginalised people are presented as a form of entertainment; they’re alluring to editors because they’re a goldmine for page views; and they’re alluring to marginalised, early-career freelancers because it’s the only door ajar among row after row of tightly sealed doors.
The freelancer may think that once they enter that door, more will open beside it, or there will be more doors down the hallway; but the reality is that if you’re not in control of the stories you’re telling, you’ll quickly find that door shut behind you, leaving you in that singular, narrow corridor.
How Identities Can Be Exploited
“I started Ashamed Magazine for that exact reason,” says freelance journalist and editor Halima Jibril. Jibril found Ashamed, a zine described as being “by and for people of colour” in 2019. The publication’s remit, according to its website, is to “make art directly confronting the feeling of shame, and our mission is to reclaim it.”
“Now identity politics is a trend, it’s all [that] editors see POC as useful [for]. It signifies to others that they’re ‘woke’, in my opinion,” Jibril comments. “This is the clearest when editors hunt for marginalised writers during trending topics, and I guess that’s just the reality of digital journalism, but I think it sucks! If they really cared, they [would] look for these stories all year round.”
Previous research by Journo Resources found that calls for pitches aimed at attracting writers of colour can increase four-fold in light of a trending topic — but up to half are exclusively looking for stories relating to race and lived experiences, giving little to no space for journalists to explore other topics.
Halima Jibri (L) and Funmi Lijadu (R)
Another freelance journalist, who has asked to stay anonymous so as not to affect future work, has encountered similar issues to the ones described by Jibril — especially early on in her career. “As a woman of colour, I’ve often felt like the easiest way to get commissioned is to write opinion pieces and personal essays about race and racism,” she explains. “It’s a very common situation, as POC journalists are always asked to comment on or write about race, even if that’s not really their exact beat or remit.”
The journalist added that she has written about her racial identity in the past, but not necessarily out of choice. “Mining my personal trauma for commissions has been a way for me to get money and bylines when I’ve been freelancing and needing to establish myself, as well as earn a living,” she says, adding that when it comes to publishing the stories of women of colour, “many publications don’t do this ethically.”
“They aim to push out clickbait-y headlines and really delve deep into traumatic personal incidents within the piece, even if the writer wasn’t keen on doing so, because it’ll probably gain traction,” she explains. “We are pigeonholed by the colour of our skin, which is worse if you are young and a freelancer trying to break in.”
Inequalities & Biases Across The Industry
A recent report commissioned by the National Council for the Training of Journalists (NCTJ) found an appalling lack of diversity in the journalism industry. Not only do 80 percent of journalists come from upper- or middle-class backgrounds, but 89 percent of journalists have at least one university degree, while 87 percent come from white backgrounds.
Why don’t any of these journalists write about their trauma? Why do they get to pick and choose their route into the industry? According to student and freelance writer Funmi Lijadu, the answer is because “the only people that can possess a detached journalistic voice are those with loads of privilege.”
“Going for personal topics is a sure-fire way of having a unique story that probably hasn’t been told in the same way before,” she said. “But I think there’s an issue of young marginalised people, especially women, being encouraged to share trauma.”
Amber Sunner, an former entrepreneur fellow at Business Insider, has openly written about the long-term impact medical trauma like strokes have had on her day-to-day life. Sunner, who started freelancing as a student, says, “My first dip into freelance journalism was characterised by me forcing myself into writing about my trauma.”
“I have gone through a lot of trauma in my life, so it made sense for me to capitalise it,” she explains, adding that pitches based around her trauma had always been successful, and admitting that she thought it was the logical first step into the journalism industry. For Sunner, it was an “easy way” to build a portfolio and make money, but she felt like writing about her medical trauma “ultimately established [her].”
Faith Martin, a music journalist with cerebral palsy, also has similar sentiments. She tells us that despite being in the music journalism beat, she often finds herself under pressure to talk about disability issues. “People automatically think that when you’re disabled, you have to be an advocate and don’t have other interests,” she said. “A lot of the time, I feel my disability comes before my skillset as a journalist.”
How The Industry Should Improve
So, how can we turn the tide on freelance journalism’s trauma porn problem? Most importantly, the journalism industry must start addressing a lot of its systemic issues, attitudes, and biases towards marginalised communities.
This includes increased access for marginalised communities at all levels, setting standards of care and guidelines for journalists writing personal pieces, and a year-round commitment to telling diverse stories — not just when a big story hits the news agenda. Everyone must play their part.
• Editors and staff reporters should take time to understand best practices when reporting on marginalised communities — and do this before a story hits the headlines. You can read our guidelines on several different topics and On Road Media have great resources and workshops for journalists and newsrooms.
• Look to publications set up by writers and editors with lived experience. The Unwritten, for example, centres disabled voices, while gal-dem and Black Ballad give space to writers of colour.
• Take an honest audit of who you’re commissioning, when you’re commissioning them, and what you ask them to write about. Ask yourself where you could do better — and engage with your freelancers on other topics they might want to write about.
But according to journalist and editor Punteha van Terheyden — author of The 10-Point Pitching Plan — there are a few things we can do to make life easier for ourselves, too. For van Terheyden, it all comes down to knowing your rights and personal boundaries and remembering above all that you are in the driving seat.
Remember, you have the power and control to advocate for yourself if you’re telling your own story.
“Editors are not all going to look out for the wellbeing of a writer. [They] expect if the writer is pitching it, they’re comfortable with it,” she explained. “Newer journalists also may not feel able to demand read-backs before publication, or say no to things they are uncomfortable sharing, but they should know it’s absolutely within their rights to do so — especially when telling their own first-person story.”