Is the algorithm re-traumatising you?

I hadn’t planned to write about algorithms. What I had planned to write about was the dysregulation I noticed in myself, my clients and friends when witnessing the unfolding of distressing global events online.

As both an abuse survivor and a therapist of many years, I felt my own nervous system – and those of many people around me – heighten in response to waves of horrific information flooding social media feeds. Each new disclosure, each resurfaced image and thread pulling back layers of systemic harm seemed to tug at something deeply resonant within us.

I noticed the familiar tightening in my chest. The sharpened alertness. The pull to read more, to understand more and bear witness. Part of me felt fiercely committed to staying informed, to not looking away. Another part felt overwhelmed and agitated, activated in ways that felt old.

And alongside that was something quieter – a subtle sense of recognition. That some of what has long been minimised or silenced in our culture was being named more openly. Big feelings. Complex ones.

Initially, I thought I was writing about re-traumatisation – about how public conversations around abuse and injustice can bring both validation and deep nervous system activation at the same time.

But when I sat with it longer, I realised the conversation was wider than that. Because what I was experiencing wasn’t only about the content itself. It was about the pace. The repetition. The intensity. The endless scroll. And that led me somewhere unexpected.

Let’s talk about algorithms.

Your first algorithm: the nervous system

In many ways, the first algorithm you ever encountered was your own brain.

Long before social media existed, your nervous system was already sorting, prioritising and scanning. It was constantly absorbing information and making predictions about what mattered, what was relevant, what might hurt you, and what deserved your attention. At its core, your brain is organised around one primary question: Am I safe?

In my clinical work, I see how deeply this question shapes perception. For many people, particularly those with histories of trauma, the nervous system does not experience threat as occasional. It experiences it as ambient.

Trauma (whether sudden and overwhelming or cumulative and relational) sensitises this internal system. Vigilance sharpens, and the threshold for what feels destabilising lowers. Attention becomes finely tuned to cues of danger, rejection or injustice.

This is not pathology, Its intelligent adaptation. The mind and body work to keep us safe. The nervous system learns to scan carefully because careful scanning once mattered. Now place that exquisitely attuned system inside a digital environment designed to capture and hold attention.

This is where things become complicated.

How online algorithm can amplify distress

A technological algorithm is also a pattern-recognition machine. It studies your behaviour – what you pause on, what you click, what keeps you engaged, and it adjusts accordingly. Its aim is not your well-being, of course. Its engagement. And what keeps human beings engaged most reliably is strong emotion – particularly emotion linked t o threat.

If your nervous system is already sensitised to danger, content that activates those pathways may grip you more tightly. You may find yourself returning to stories that confirm corruption, crisis or risk. The platform registers this and offers you more.

Over time, I’ve seen how protective adaptations can become caught in this loop. What began as a survival strategy can be mirrored and intensified by digital systems, sometimes until a person feels anxious, polarised, exhausted or increasingly unwell.

Your nervous system leans toward threat because it wants you safe. The algorithm leans toward threat because it keeps you engaged and ultimately profits from that. The overlap is not accidental, and neither is it benign.

The cost of constant activation

It’s important to say clearly: the issues you care about are real. Harm exists. Injustice exists, and staying informed matters, especially when the world turns a blind eye. But awareness now lives within an attention economy.

The more shocking or morally disturbing the material, the longer people linger, the more they comment and share, and the intensity becomes amplified. Meanwhile, your body responds as though something immediate is happening.

When your nervous system registers danger – even distant or symbolic danger, it prepares for action. Your heart rate increases, muscles tighten, breath shortens, and stress hormones circulate. The activation accumulates.

Over time, you may notice subtle shifts. A shorter fuse, maybe or more fatigue. A creeping sense of hopelessness or sleep that feels less restorative. The world is beginning to feel more hostile than it statistically is, simply because your visual field is saturated with alarm, and we are less connected than ever as a species. 

Staying informed without overwhelming yourself

The question is not whether to care. It is how to care without chronically overwhelming your nervous system.

Sometimes that begins with noticing. A gentle check-in with your body while you scroll. Is your jaw clenched? Has your breath become shallow? Is there urgency building in your chest? These sensations are not weaknesses; they are information.

You might experiment with shifting what you linger on. Algorithms adapt over time. If you pause on thoughtful analysis, constructive dialogue or stories of cooperation alongside crisis, your feed slowly recalibrates. Small adjustments compound.

You may also decide to relate to information with clearer boundaries. Choosing when you engage, rather than grazing constantly. Allowing your nervous system space before sleep. Turning toward one or two trusted sources rather than multiple competing streams.

And after taking in something heavy, consciously returning to your body matters. Stepping outside, moving your body, lengthening your exhale. Making eye contact with another human being (or pet), feeling the ground under your feet.

Regulation is not avoidance. It is sustainability. Which is needed if we want to move towards a better world.

When it might help to seek support

For some people, exposure to distressing news does more than create momentary stress. It can awaken earlier trauma. You might notice intrusive memories, heightened anxiety, shutdown or dissociation. Daily functioning may begin to feel harder.

If that’s happening, therapeutic support can help. Therapy offers a space where activation can be processed rather than repeatedly triggered. It offers co-regulation – something our nervous systems are wired to need. You do not have to manage this alone.

Reclaiming your attention

Attention is not neutral. It is time, energy, and nervous system resource. And like any resource, it can be directed.

The energy that builds in your body when you witness injustice does not have to circulate internally or discharge through another scroll. It can be gently redirected outward into something relational and tangible. Into checking in on a neighbour or joining a local initiative. Into volunteering, donating, organising, creating, or participating in small acts of care that strengthen the fabric of your community.

These actions do not need to be grand to matter. Often it is the modest, consistent and relational gestures that soothe the nervous system most effectively. When you move from passive consumption to embodied participation, however small, something shifts. The activation has somewhere to go. The body experiences agency instead of helplessness, and connection instead of isolation.

Caring for your nervous system and contributing to change are not opposing goals. They can be part of the same movement.

Neuroplasticity tells us that what we repeatedly attend to strengthens. If your attention is constantly trained toward threat, your nervous system becomes more efficient at detecting it. If you practise noticing nuance, compassion and constructive action alongside injustice, those pathways strengthen too. You do not need to remain informed in a way that harms you.

Perhaps the more generative question is not how to care less, but how to care in a way that sustains your humanity, which might begin with something very simple. One breath. A pause. Looking up from the screen and noticing the light in the room. The sounds around you. The fact that your body is here, now, in a life more immediate and textured than any feed can hold.

The algorithm may study your habits. But it does not own your awareness. That remains yours.