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The Weight of Stories: How What We Consume Shapes Our Minds

For years, I lived in the shadows of humanity’s darkest tales. As a true crime podcast producer, my days were spent sifting through decades-old police reports, interviewing victims’ families, and dissecting the motives behind unthinkable acts of violence. I told myself I was doing meaningful work—giving voice to the voiceless, seeking justice through storytelling. And perhaps, in some ways, I was. But over time, I noticed a change in myself, a subtle but persistent shift that left an ache in my heart. I could name more serial killers than spiritual leaders. That realization wasn’t a point of pride—it was a wake-up call.

The stories we consume don’t just pass through us; they linger, shaping how we see the world and ourselves. My immersion in true crime wasn’t just a job—it became a lens. I stopped walking at night, even in my safe neighborhood. Strangers began to feel like threats, and my thoughts grew heavy with a low-grade dread that wasn’t tied to anything real in my immediate world. It was as if a filter of fear had settled over my vision, not born of clarity but of the constant diet of trauma I fed my mind.

This isn’t just about true crime podcasts or documentaries. It’s about what we choose to let into our heads every day—the news headlines, the social media scrolls, the binge-worthy shows that turn suffering into spectacle. When we make trauma a genre, we risk forgetting it’s real. When we consume violence as entertainment, we invite pain into our psyche. Our nervous system doesn’t distinguish between the stories we watch and the reality we live. If we’re constantly surrounded by narratives where no one is safe, our minds begin to believe that we aren’t either.

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This isn’t a call to turn away from hard truths or stop learning about the world. Awareness matters. Justice matters. But there’s a difference between being informed and numbing ourselves with other people’s suffering. I learned this the hard way, as my work left me more anxious, sadder, and less trusting. The residue of those stories clung to me, and I had to ask myself, what am I carrying because of what I’m choosing to consume?

Now, I strive for balance. I still believe in truth and justice, but I’ve learned to be intentional about what I let in. I ask myself how I feel after watching or reading something. Does it leave me feeling open and connected or closed off and suspicious? Does it inspire wisdom or feed fear? The answers guide my choices. I seek stories that reflect the full range of human experience—joy and sorrow, hope and heartbreak. I want to carry light and love, not just the weight of the world’s pain.

If you’ve ever felt haunted by the stories you’ve chosen to engage with, know that you’re not alone—and you have the power to choose again. You can feed your mind narratives that make you feel whole, that inspire wisdom over spectacle, and that foster peace without sacrificing awareness. It’s not about ignoring the world’s darkness but about turning inward to protect your light. Because the world isn’t just what we watch—it’s what we carry. And we get to decide what that is.

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