The Secondary Trauma of Seeing the Charlie Kirk Video Online

Written by Amy Heutmaker, MBA, MS, LPC, Mental Health Counselor

Since yesterday afternoon, many of us have been confronted with the Charlie Kirk video circulating online. Whether we stumbled across it on social media or had it sent to us, the experience of watching such content carries a weight that often goes unspoken: secondary trauma.

Secondary trauma doesn’t just happen to first responders, therapists, or people working in crisis. It can happen to anyone who repeatedly encounters disturbing material online. When we witness violence, hatred, or suffering—especially when it feels raw and personal—it impacts us. Our bodies tighten, our hearts race, and our sleep suffers. Even if we never met the person in the video, the pain is real.

Now is a time for connection

What struck me most was how quickly the video spread. Social media moves at lightning speed, but our nervous systems don’t. They process every image, every word, every implication of harm or loss. For some, seeing that video may trigger old wounds; for others, it’s a new and jarring reminder of how fragile life can be.

A significant part of my work as a counselor in Cleveland involves supporting victims of gun violence. Whether someone is the direct victim, a witness, exposed secondhand through social media, or a first responder — the trauma is real!

This is where compassion and coping come in. First, compassion for ourselves: taking breaks, muting timelines, or reaching out to a trusted friend. And then, coping skills: try stepping outside for fresh air, moving your body gently, practicing deep breathing (four slow counts in, six counts out), or journaling what you feel. For some, creating art, praying, or spending time with pets brings grounding and comfort. Healing often looks like small acts of care repeated over time.

If you’ve felt unsettled by the Charlie Kirk video, you are not alone. Your reaction is human. You don’t need to minimize it or “just scroll on.” Healing means giving ourselves permission to feel the weight of what we’ve witnessed—and then gently setting it down.