The Profitization of Trauma
Where do we draw the line with vulnerability?
A Ted Talk. A memoir. An interview on Oprah. An unfiltered Instagram post. These are only several mediums where people share their life stories with a large audience. Vulnerability is a gift — to share with others, to draw readers through authenticity. But have we gone one step too far?
If you are familiar with the reality TV Show Ru Paul’s Drag Race, you will know that “we would like to see a more vulnerable side to you” is a common critique contestants receive. A drag queen can conjure up impeccable dresses and have a sharp wit, but with no tragic backstory or an inability to show their tearful side, how can they possibly relate to the general public?
The issue is our struggles are now selling points that contribute to our overall brand. We acquire social tokens when we share vulnerabilities. Trauma or struggle gives us character. Of course, there are varying degrees to which people exploit their life experiences.
With online creators, you have a more extreme end: Parents who share intimate details of their children’s private lives. (Why aren’t there robust laws for this yet?) You then have a less extreme end: adult creators who choose to share their own private lives. They have autonomy and are not hurting anyone in the process.
But are they?
I want to be clear before going forward and say that I am not against vulnerability. One of my favorite publications on this website is the ever-so-wonderful Human Parts. Among the best articles I’ve read here are personal pieces.
I do believe, however, that it is easy to become blindsided, as though covered by a black curtain. Especially when something appears to be harmless. After all, how could you knock it? Sharing vulnerabilities, creating authentic connections, and destigmatizing difficult conversations are all integral to our motivations as human beings.
It becomes sinister when I consider the need for profit. Creators consistently sharing their personal lives may not be hurting others, but I would argue they are hurting themselves. You are not obligated to share the dark details of your life for clicks. In a social market where vulnerability turns a profit, and people are desperate for cash, it is easy to be swept in.
Oversharing online has become normalized at the expense of our privacy. Often, at the expense of our need to process trauma before we’re ready to share our wounds with the world. Health writers don’t have time to preserve emotional energy because being raw puts food on the table. If you are a chronic oversharer online, I urge you to ask yourself: Are you writing that article because you want to share every minuscule detail of your day, or are you trying to pay next month’s rent?
I am aware that if the answer is yes, it’s not going to stop people from grinding out articles. We all need to live. All I want is for people to stop among the madness and reassess, to put their own emotions first before they become other’s voice of reason. Oversharing ties into increasing isolation and our strong desire for community. But please know, you are allowed things for yourself. Thoughts, desires, and feelings that no one can take from you.
Vulnerability has been commodified. Celebrities and public figures use memoirs as PR stunts — to control a narrative and save floundering careers. I’ve noticed a spike in these sorts of ploys living in England in recent years. One example is former Conservative prime minister Theresa May who wrote a book on abuse of power. It would be like if Prince Andrew wrote a book raising awareness of sexual assault.
Another example is our health secretary, Matt Hancock, who went on the reality show I’m A Celeb and garnered sympathy by talking about his dyslexia to detract from his abhorrent actions during the Covid-19 pandemic. (It somewhat worked as he made it to the final.) Authenticity is now a brand, a tool to emotionally manipulate others and avoid accountability. Vulnerability in the wrong hands is abused. Of course, not everyone has sinister intentions. Though, we ought to reconsider how we view it.
I remember when I first came on this site and felt like the only way to make money was by sharing my trauma. Everyone else was doing it and I figured: Hell, if I’m gonna suffer. Might as well make coin doing it. I felt like my hardships set me apart. But trauma doesn’t make you a better writer, it just makes you traumatized.
It would be cool if I could conjure up some punchy article titled ‘What I Learned From My Mental Illness’ and give you all the answers to life. But the truth is, I didn’t learn anything from my mental illness. There’s nothing I can craft from something so inherently ugly. No inspirational quote. No. pretty painting. No moving poem.
The perception of the tortured artist helps us buy into the profitization of trauma. We like to think that our trauma has meaning and that if we turn it into art, a negative can always be spun into a positive. But not every traumatic event is a life lesson. Sometimes things happen and they just plain suck. I don’t think it’s depressing to say that.
What’s more depressing to me is pretending that every trauma can be coated in a veneer of sickly sweet caramel, always repurposed and packaged like a chocolate wrapper with a twee message or amusing joke written on the front. That feels more sinister to me than confronting the realities of life.
Now, if I ever do share the details of my trauma, it’s because I genuinely want to. Sharing struggles is powerful. It raises awareness of the difficulties marginalized groups in society face, especially systemic ones. It increases empathy and breaks down divisions. It can simply make people feel less alone. But, I will never surrender to the idea that my trauma is an instant means of profit or an inspiring lesson strangers can gawk at over breakfast.
Then again, I did have to share a personal anecdote to get my point across here. So, maybe, we are all living in a Catch-22 spiraling vortex of vulnerability, not able to escape how our experiences relate to each other, always searching for meaning in some avenue. However, that’s too complex to process right now. In the meantime, I’ll just go take a nap.
