In my Eastern Orthodox household, Christmas is celebrated on January 7. I planned to share my Slovak traditions with my followers, posting photos of Slavic dishes and videos of my family singing Christmas carols. As my parents bowed their heads in prayer before dinner, breaking news alerts lit up my phone. “Renee Good fatally shot by ICE officers.” I stopped scrolling.
As someone whose online work sits at the intersection of personal identity and public storytelling, I’ve long used my platform to illustrate both culture and advocacy. Posting about a celebration suddenly felt wrong, but staying silent felt like avoidance. I searched for more information, watching the story unfold in real time, aware that whatever I chose to post would carry weight. In moments like this, the line between personal life and public responsibility collapses.
Creators are at the center of public attention. We see them everywhere, filming in public, filling our feeds with product recommendations, and appearing in UGC ads on television. Their visibility invites scrutiny, often without context. While creators may look like the rest of us, audiences frequently hold them to a different standard, expecting them to speak up during moments of injustice as stories break and evolve. But what does it cost to be both impacted by the news and responsible for explaining it?
According to Pew Research Center, 53% of U.S. adults get some of their news from social media, with younger people being more likely to get their news from platforms like Instagram and TikTok. Information-based creators play a huge role in this ecosystem.
This shift is not only about headlines. It is also about cultural context and trust. In recent years, trust in American media has fallen sharply, with surveys showing 36% of Americans have no trust at all in traditional news outlets. Many consumers now turn to creators who feel aligned with their own values, not only for updates, but also for interpretation.
Creators like V Sphehar (@underthedesknews) and Amanda Informed have helped fill the gap by translating fast-moving political developments for audiences seeking immediacy and context. This has been especially important for creators serving communities of color, immigrants, women, and other audiences who have not always felt represented or prioritized by mainstream coverage.
These creators are not just outside observers. They are translators and witnesses, often embedded in the stories they cover.
At what point does the blurring of personal life and public responsibility become unsustainable? Traditional journalists can often step away after a segment airs or a story is filed. For creators, notifications, comments, criticism, and expectations can follow them throughout the day and into the night. That constant exposure can lead to burnout, especially without institutional support. Unlike many traditional workplaces, creators often lack employer-provided healthcare, mental health resources, or formal protections. They frequently perform multiple roles at once, reporting, editing, moderating, and serving as the face of their brand. When identity is part of the story and creators are deeply connected to the communities most affected by the news, the work can feel impossible to turn off.
For creators responding publicly to fast-moving or politically charged news, even posting after careful consideration can carry emotional weight. “By the time I was ready to share my story, I had already done so much emotional work. People think you are healed, but you are still holding your breath when you hit post,” said Bridgette Ugarte, a body positivity creator and TEDx speaker.
Monica Moltó, a Cuban photographer who began creating art and documenting life in Havana during the COVID-19 pandemic, finds it impossible to separate her work from her community. Living through widespread shortages, power outages, and restricted access to information, Moltó turned to photography as a way to document the emotional and material realities around her.
Moltó was able to transmute her art into something powerful and inspirational, while living in survival mode, focusing on emotions rather than reacting to world events. But still she feels a responsibility to document what’s happening to her community. “I’m still recovering from Cuba, and I am hurt. It has been difficult to show up…I feel like my community is watching, waiting to see what will happen next, but I have not been able to fully express myself yet. This feels like the beginning of that process.”
The United States has become increasingly hostile toward immigrants in both rhetoric and policy debates. Reports of ICE activity and fears of enforcement have created anxiety even in communities that once felt insulated. International crises, from Venezuela to Israel and Palestine to Ukraine, also heighten expectations for creators to respond, even when their platforms are not built around political news.
For creators working in high-stakes information spaces, the pressure of accuracy can be especially acute. Nikki Sapiro Vinckier, a healthcare creator, approaches content creation the way she approaches patient care: cautiously, deliberately, and grounded in evidence-based practice.
“Speed matters, but accuracy matters more,” Vinckier said. “I’m very aware that people may use what I share to make real medical decisions, so I’m cautious about posting anything that hasn’t been vetted through a clinical lens.”
“The fear of getting something wrong is real,” she said, noting that in healthcare, misinformation can have serious consequences.
Beyond the technical responsibility, there is emotional weight in being perceived as a trusted source during moments of crisis. “People often come to this information while scared or vulnerable,” Vinckier said. “My role isn’t just to inform, but to do so ethically and responsibly.”
Politics and extremism have infiltrated every aspect of our world, including what we typically consider lifestyle categories. When beauty, travel, and shopping creators are pulled into the same cycle, social media feeds can begin to feel like emotional whiplash, shifting from lighthearted content to graphic footage of violence and protest in the same scroll. Some consumers call for creators to take a stand. Others feel overwhelmed by the collision of crisis, commentary, and consumer content.
For Mishka G., a student at Baruch College with family in Ukraine, that tension has made social media emotionally draining. “It feels very overwhelming to be online because there is so much happening all the time,” she said. “My family is from Ukraine, so every news update feels personal.”
In response, many creators have had to build their own support systems and boundaries. While they cannot fully disconnect, they often learn to compartmentalize, choosing to speak honestly with their communities about mental health, and at times, choosing to pause rather than immediately chase the next headline. Rest, for many, has become a form of resistance.
At the pace of the modern news cycle, it is impossible for creators to advocate for every cause they care about. Perhaps audiences should expect less immediacy, and instead begin to acknowledge the emotional labor, and the real sacrifice, behind information-based creation.
Information-based creators are not robots. They have emotions, responsibilities, and limits. They often exist in a space that is highly visible to both audiences and advertisers, yet largely unsupported by institutional structures. Their credibility does not come from traditional credentials or claims of neutrality, but from lived context and the trust they build with their communities. Telling the truth while living inside it has become one of the most demanding forms of digital labor today.