In a shocking TikTok video that has racked up over 9.7 million views, Gabriella shares a heart-wrenching confession: "I'm Gabriella, and I spent my early childhood in a meth house." The video then cuts to Gabriella and her friend, as they candidly share their traumatic experiences, interspersed with adding layers of candies to a bowl.

This is the recipe for a trauma candy salad, a trend that involves mixing equal parts sweet treats and traumatic life experiences. The result is a raw, unfiltered look into the emotional scars of young individuals.

The trauma candy salad trend is sweeping TikTok, with users sharing their most distressing experiences in one-minute clips. These confessions range from sexual abuse and eating disorders to divorce, bad breakups, bullying, health issues, loss, and parental abandonment. The trend's deliberate lack of context or explanation sets it apart from other formats.

This phenomenon is a dark humor-coded manifestation of Gen Z's mental health struggles. Each revelation is meant to make viewers uncomfortable and stunned. According to a 2022 survey, one in three Gen Z adults have openly discussed their mental wellbeing on social media. The tone of these posts may be shifting from subtle to unflinchingly candid.

Eloise Skinner, a London-based psychotherapist and author, suggests that the "trauma candy salad" phenomenon reflects Gen Z's backlash against trigger warnings that have dominated digital mental health conversations. "Platforms like TikTok encourage the fusion of levity and humor through challenges like this, even when sharing sensitive personal trauma," she notes.

Read more about the surprising trend that's revealing hidden emotional pain on carsnewstoday.com.

Unloading emotional baggage or trauma dumping can serve as a coping strategy in the aftermath of distressing events. The experience of trauma can be profoundly isolating, which is why some creators may – either consciously or subconsciously – share their stories in an attempt to break free from the shackles of loneliness. The issue, however, lies in the fact that once something is shared online, we relinquish control over the reactions or comments of strangers on the internet. Nevertheless, not everyone participating in this trend thinks that far ahead; it’s simply not that profound.

“I stumbled upon trauma candy salad TikToks recently and found it amusing that people were making light of their trauma,” explains 25-year-old Scotland-based Emma Cassidy. “My best friend and I have been through similar situations, so we knew we had to create one. Some people may find these triggering, but I think it’s all about the ‘if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry’ mentality.” 

“We saw someone else do it and knew we had enough trauma to participate,” adds Megan, 23, who filmed a video with her friend while on a camping trip in Washington State. This bonding and community-creating aspect of this challenge is not just fueled by people who’ve gone through similar life experiences and find it relatable, but also by those counting their blessings. “This trend makes me realise that nothing in my life has truly been traumatic and I need to be just grateful,” reads one comment.

“Some people may find these triggering, but I think it’s all about the ‘if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry’ mentality.”

Abby Bailey, a 23-year-old living in Georgia, has no qualms about admitting that she publicized her trauma because she thought it would drive traffic. On her TikTok, the 23-year-old candidly shares that for years she mistook another man as her father and that her biological father has now passed away. “I figured that if there was one thing I could get views on, it would be my backstory or trauma. Not saying that everything I said wasn’t true because it is. I don’t have any reservations about sharing my story online; I am an open book. People can judge me all they want, but I have grown and become the person that I am today because of the things that have happened to me,” she says.

When questioned about seeking professional help to discuss her experiences, Bailey admits, “I haven’t confided in an expert because I don’t believe it would be beneficial; my past is complex, and I fear I would be a burden. I’ve learned to cope with my life’s events and, for now, I’m in a good place. Perhaps someday I’ll speak with someone.”

As I delved deeper into the world of TikTok videos, initially for research purposes but later out of personal fascination, the algorithm began to feed my consumption habits with an increasing stream of individuals' harrowing stories repackaged as entertainment. As I stumbled upon newer iterations of the trauma candy salad challenge, I found myself becoming increasingly desensitized to the disturbing incidents shared, despite the intensity and gravity of what was being shared remaining high. I began comparing the stories I'd heard, unconsciously ranking them by shock value, and I knew I wasn't the only one experiencing this desensitization to people's trauma.

The approach may not appeal to everyone, but it’s clearly someone’s guilty pleasure.

As with all trends, they take on a life of their own, evolving to suit different purposes. The trauma candy salad recipe has also been adapted, giving rise to new niches: think healthcare worker edition, couples edition, and teacher edition. Instead of filming it with a group of friends, some have opted to go solo. Others have replaced the candy with medication or tablets they claim to take to combat various health issues and illnesses.

Is there an unconscious cathartic release or high to be gained from sharing painful memories with strangers online? “Having grown up in a culture of constant social media sharing, the internet feels like the main stage to put their inner turmoil on full display because there’s an intense craving to finally have their emotional pain truly seen and validated on a large scale. But ripping your band-aid off in front of the world, without a type of containing personal support system, can simply leave you stuck in an agonizing cycle,” says clinical psychotherapist Dr. Daniel Glazes, highlighting the need for better and more constructive channels to elevate these conversations. Instead of dumping life’s deeply disturbing events into the psyche’s trash folder to fester, trends like the trauma candy salad use humor as a crutch, as a processing method.

In a peculiar manner, following a multitude of conversations and witnessing an abundance of emotional unburdening, I have come to grasp, to some extent, how this approach empowers Gen Z and alphas to reflect on their most agonizing experiences with a fleeting sense of amusement. While this method may not resonate with everyone, it is undoubtedly a sweet indulgence for some. Do we permit our traumatic experiences to dictate our identity, or do we take control and redefine our trauma?