React, but don’t act: how our brains write stories in shock.
On September 10, 2025, Charlie Kirk was killed while speaking at Utah Valley University. Two days later, a 22-year-old suspect was taken into custody; officials say the motive remains under investigation. In those first hours, many of us felt a jolt of emotions and the instant urge to make sense of the senseless. That’s human. It’s also when “us-versus-them” stories ignite fastest. This piece is about people, not politics: what our brains do under threat and how to pause before those inner stories harden into public posts.
What happens in the brain when we witness violence
Acute stress flips our inner circuit breakers. The amygdala, the brain’s alarm, surges, while the prefrontal cortex, the part that plans, weighs evidence, and inhibits impulses, temporarily goes offline. Under that chemistry, we narrow our attention, jump to conclusions, and privilege speed over accuracy. It is adaptive for survival, but hazardous for judgment.
Why “us-versus-them” ignites so quickly
In uncertainty and pain, the mind craves closure. Psychologists call this the “need for cognitive closure”, a push for definite answers that feels soothing in the moment, but can harden into overconfident, premature beliefs. Pair that with a classic pattern called the outgroup-homogeneity effect (“they” are all the same), and our threat-tuned minds start filling blanks with stereotypes, speculation, and certainty we have not earned.
How rumors and quick takes take root
There is an old law of rumor: importance × ambiguity. The more a story matters and the fewer verified facts we have, the faster unverified claims spread, especially inside our own heads. Even when corrections arrive, the original impression can keep echoing in our attitudes. In the hours after Kirk’s killing, we saw that formula in the wild: misidentified “suspects,” false attributions, and hoax claims racing ahead of updates.
The inner narrative is the real battleground
Yes, social platforms amplify division. But the most potent misinformation engine is quieter: the story-factory between our ears. In shock, many of us started scripting motives, assigning blame, and drawing battle lines, before anyone knew who pulled the trigger or why. That is human. It is also exactly when critical thinking matters most.
A brain-and-heart hack to catch false stories 🧠❤️
Use the 3×3 Reset: three breaths, three signals, three questions.
1) Three breaths (physiology first).
Slow, nasal inhales; longer exhales. Let your heart rate drop so your prefrontal cortex can come back online.
2) Three signals (scan inside).
Name what is present without judgment:
Sensation: “My chest is tight.”
Emotion: “I feel scared and angry.”
Thought: “I want someone to blame.”
Labeling reduces the alarm’s grip and widens choice.
3) Three questions (critical clarity).
Evidence: What do I actually know, from primary sources? What is speculation?
Alternatives: What are at least two other plausible explanations?
Impact: If my first story is wrong, who could this hurt?
If you still feel charged, write a “hot take” in a private note—then set a timer for one hour. React, but do not act. Do not post until your body is calm and you have rechecked the facts. What you publish in a reactive state can follow you for years. Your future self deserves better.
Practical guardrails for a steadier mind
Name the threat to tame the brain. Literally say, “I am in a threat state.” It reminds you that the alarm is about now, not truth.
Start with “I might be wrong, and here is what I know so far.” It signals humility and keeps your mind open to updates.
Separate facts, feelings, and forecasts. Three columns. If you conflate them, bias wins.
Audit your verbs. Replace “They intended…” with “It appears…” until evidence exists. This softens premature motive-reading.
Widen the circle. Ask, “How would a thoughtful person from the ‘other’ side see this?” It interrupts outgroup flattening.
Beware belief echoes. If you shared or liked something inaccurate, correcting it helps others, but the first impression may still tug on you. Notice it; do not feed it.
A closing invitation
Moments like this test our humanity. Grief wants a villain. Fear wants a script. Dignity asks us to slow down, hold space for the unknown, and tell the truth we actually have, not the story we wish were true. Take a beat. React…but do not act, until your head and heart can stand behind your words.
