We need a framework to understand and treat online trauma, which includes fandom trauma, but let’s be real: fandoms are not the only online communities that can turn profoundly toxic.

Perhaps “treat” is the wrong word, because it suggests medical professionals, but I can’t be the only one who thinks we’re at the precipice of swaths of people finding their mental health jeopardized because of their online experiences? Because of how deeply they’ve tied themselves to something that disintegrated upon further inspection?

I’ve not been shy about sharing my own story, so I’m not pointing fingers elsewhere, or speaking from a high horse: I say this because I’ve been there, and some might argue I’m still there.

I’ve been to therapy, but the reality is as far as I know there are no therapists out there that are explicitly familiar with the way we can be harmed by online culture and socialization. There is no framework to treat it. I did my best to contextualize my experience, explain the infrastructures, the feedback loops, the way being re-traumatized seemed inescapable, but it wasn’t easy.

I have issues with the movement that says phones/social media/the internet is bad for kids. Not because I disagree with the sentiment, but because I think it applies to adults, too. Maybe I’m just weak because I’ve found myself profoundly affected by these online dynamics, but even if that’s the case, I’m not the only one. And as much as some adults would deny being impacted in any way, we’ve probably all witnessed adults spiralling on social media in a way that suggested they’d benefit from logging off.

But it’s also not as easy as just “logging off.” We are not logical beings, and even if we find ourselves miserable as we doomscroll, there is likely something that keeps us there. The rare euphoria that makes it worthwhile.

The reality is that the internet isn’t going anywhere, social networks aren’t going anywhere, which means there will be a slew of people who find themselves on the back foot for whatever reason.

Telling people to see a shrink is all well and good until you realize that there isn’t an established protocol to address these experiences.
Not long after I published my fandom trauma, revisited piece, another One Direction fan found herself harassed into deleting her accounts. In the email that was shared with the fandom, she specified “I wish I never began uploading”

We can mock these people, but that doesn’t mean they’ll disappear. In fact, I think their numbers will only continue to grow. And as of right now, there is no framework to help them come to terms with what they’ve experienced and process it.

Mocking the fans who are disappointed with Taylor Swift being “right-coded” or marrying a man when she’s supposed to be their single BFF for life or signalling from her closet makes for a great engagement bait. But it doesn’t help those people. I suspect those that pull dunks on these people don’t really care about their mental well-being, but I can assure you that being ridiculed doesn’t help. If we can recognize that it’s not healthy to be this invested, then we have to recognize that we need ways to work through it. And those don’t exist.
Some of the criticism I’ve gotten is that my analysis and criticism doesn’t apply to the majority of fandom. I don’t deny that at all. That’s the point: that a miniscule percentage of overinvested fans are being catered to and led off the garden path. They may not be the majority of any fan base, but they are still real, they still have experiences.

The numbers might be miniscule, but the infrastructure that breeds them will continue to grow and spread— that isn’t even considering the way so many people are goaded and shepherded into unhealthy attachments to brands, groomed into seeking spiritual fulfillment from corporate products. Engagement is gamified, affect is being farmed and sustained through AI texting features and exclusive platforms. Fans are being extracted for cash and labour, only to find themselves hollowed out and despairing when reality doesn’t live up to their fantasies. Not understanding why they can’t just “log off,” not understanding how to make sense of the wasted time — in some cases, the wasted years. Where do we go for this type of after care?

It’s something I’d like to work on—but even thinking about how it could be implemented feels like such a massive hurdle. Is it worth training psychologists in these matters when the field itself is falling out of favour? Would group sessions be helpful or simply reinforce trauma and allow participants to ruminate, indefinitely? Would workbooks be worthwhile, or just clog up the self-help aisles?