I remember the newsroom. The freezing temperatures, the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, the flickering screens that played multiple channels at once, and the sirens outside that barely made an impression over the quiet hum of Slack messages pinging back and forth. Even when the world seemed to be unraveling, the newsroom often maintained a strange, almost eerie silence. The chaos of breaking news was methodical, structured, and confined to cubicles.
As a writer—and someone who has always had issues with rules and authority—this never sat well with me. Maybe, in part, that’s why I became addicted to the world itself. The newsroom felt like a cage. I needed to be in the earth, away from the phones, the desks, the “war room” meetings where people dissected crises from the comfort of their ergonomic chairs. For most of my adult life, I sought distance from that controlled environment. And when I left, I knew I could never return.
Instead, I exited the corporate media world more than four years ago, got rid of my apartment and all my things, and moved to Afghanistan to forget. Forget the comforts of my American life. Forget the sterile predictability of newsroom bureaucracy. Forget the prepackaged, market-driven narratives. I needed to figure myself out all over again.
There has always been a struggle within me—the push and pull between journalism and the artist’s soul. The dancer’s free spirit trying to fit into a box that never quite fit. The newsroom demanded conformity, structure, and a commitment to the cycle of news production, but my heart longed for the raw, unfiltered pulse of life. I couldn’t reconcile the tension between those two selves, and ultimately, I didn’t want to.
The toxicity of the industry is real. The business of news thrives on tragedy. The more shocking, the more enraging, the better. Headlines are crafted to trigger outrage first, with other perspectives buried deeper into the story. Political angles are played up, alliances subtly (or not so subtly) formed. The algorithms reward divisiveness. The money flows where the clicks go. And people, often unknowingly, become addicted to their own anger, consuming news like a drug that keeps them in a perpetual state of emotional distress.
And yet, I love the news. I love the world. I love learning and understanding the inner workings with the curiosity of a toddler.
I believe in the power of information, in the courage of journalists who risk everything to bring the truth to light. I don’t believe in disengaging from the world or pretending that injustice and suffering don’t exist. Many journalists work tirelessly, often in dangerous conditions, to bring us stories that matter. But I also recognize the damage that unchecked news consumption can do—to our mental health, to our relationships, to our ability to see the world with clarity and compassion.
So how do we navigate this? How do we stay informed without letting the toxicity consume us?
Tips for Consuming News Without Losing Your Peace
Be intentional. Don’t let news consumption be a passive habit. Choose when and how you engage with it.
Limit your intake. It’s easy to scroll endlessly, but set boundaries—20 minutes in the morning, a quick check-in at night. Don’t let it take over your day.
Seek out uplifting stories. The world isn’t just war, corruption, and crisis. There are stories of resilience, innovation, and human kindness. Balance is essential.
Trust your intuition. If you find yourself feeling anxious, angry, or hopeless, step away. Your nervous system wasn’t designed to process a constant stream of crisis.
Spend time with loved ones. Real life happens offline. The people in your immediate world need you present.
Take a news detox. A day—or even a week—away from the news won’t make you uninformed. It will make you more grounded when you return.
Diversify your sources. Avoid getting trapped in one ideological bubble. Read from different perspectives. Challenge yourself.
Engage in real-world action. If something in the news upsets you, channel that energy into something tangible—volunteer, donate, advocate.
Protecting Our Inner Peace
News and storytelling are essential. They shape our understanding of the world, of each other, of ourselves. But we must also protect our inner peace. I’m still figuring out how to do that. It’s a work in progress.
I know that I can’t go back to the newsroom, but I also know I’ll never stop telling stories. The key is balance—staying engaged but not consumed, informed but not overwhelmed. Finding peace in the toxicity of news is an ongoing process, but it is possible. It starts with recognizing that we have the power to choose how we consume, interpret, and respond to the world around us.
And in that choice, there is freedom.
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