I’ve always been captivated by true crime; it’s woven into the fabric of my life. My mother’s modest library was filled with non-fiction accounts of murder, a reflection of her own tragic history. She lost her closest friend to what she suspected was foul play in her twenties, which ignited her passion for stories of truth, justice, and criminality.
My fascination with the genre grew alongside her influence. As a preteen, after exhausting R.L. Stine and Lois Duncan’s works, I stumbled upon Duncan’s true crime memoir, Who Killed My Daughter? It chronicled her search for her own daughter’s killer, a pursuit that continued until her passing in 2016. My admiration for Lois was so strong that I reached out to her and received a heartfelt response. We even connected on social media.
During my college years, I dove deeply into psychology, particularly abnormal psychology, dreaming of becoming an FBI Criminal Profiler. However, just weeks after graduation, my life took a devastating turn when my mother was murdered by my brother. The ensuing legal struggle to secure justice for her death was almost as traumatic as the initial discovery of her body.
Many people don’t understand that for co-victims like myself, healing doesn’t begin the moment a loved one is taken. Instead, the lengthy legal process often halts our progress, sometimes indefinitely. Now, I face a lifetime of advocating against my brother’s potential parole—a process that began shortly after my true crime memoir was published.
After my mother’s murder, my perspective on true crime shifted dramatically. It transformed from mere stories and statistics into a part of my family legacy—heartbreaking experiences that reshaped my life. I am not alone; with over 16,000 new murder victims each year in the U.S. (a figure that’s surged by 130% since 2020), countless co-victims share similar stories.
As the true crime genre continues to expand, I urge fellow fans and creators to approach it with sensitivity. I’m not calling for a boycott of true crime; it has been a significant part of my journey. However, I ask for awareness regarding the language used, especially in titles that may be distressing to those affected by crime. For example, the podcast “My Favorite Murder” uses a title that is particularly triggering for me. While they shouldn’t change for just one person, a dialogue around such topics would be beneficial.
As our society learns to be more empathetic, it’s crucial to recognize the experiences of victims and their families. Many in the true crime community strive to share a more compassionate narrative. For instance, Tiffany Reese’s Something Was Wrong highlights various forms of abuse through personal stories. Kim Goldman has created meaningful content from her experiences with murder and the legal system, while Sarah E. Turney has utilized social media to advocate for justice for her sister, allowing her voice to amplify other injustices.
Therefore, I ask you to approach the true crime genre with mindfulness. For many, this isn’t just entertainment—it’s a harsh reality, and our experiences deserve dignity and respect, just like our lost loved ones.
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Summary
True crime is more than a trend for many; it’s a lived reality shaped by personal loss and trauma. As the genre grows, it’s essential to approach it with sensitivity and awareness, recognizing the experiences of victims and their families.