Waking up this morning to stories about Xi challenging Trump over Taiwan at the summit in China was unnerving. Obviously the story itself was fairly innocuous, most of the context behind the headlines was too, and yes, I know publications need people to click articles and maybe even still buy papers, but as someone inherently pessimistic who already struggles not to spiral into sweeping thoughts like “the world is doomed”, seeing singular phrases dragged out and made to feel more urgent than they actually are does my bipolar brain in.

In these conversations, stern warnings are just business for world leaders. Relationships, priorities and politics are performed differently across the globe. I will spare you the indignity of me mansplaining international relations, but if there were a summit conversation where nobody mentioned weapons, conflict, instability or defence, something would probably be deeply wrong.

Whether we like it or not, big egos and their big toys will always dominate global politics, but not every headline needs to imply civilisation is six months away from collapse.

To be fair, coverage of this particular story has actually been relatively level-headed once you get beyond the headlines, but that is not always the case, and it does make me wonder whether journalism needs to rediscover a more honest way of presenting the news. The world is already figuratively and literally on fire in countless ways. Most of us know that. I do not think journalism should be bland, perfectly impartial or stripped of narrative entirely, but I do think the industry has a responsibility to consider what prolonged emotional escalation does to the people consuming it every single day.

This was one of the perks of regional news broadcasts back in the day. Every grim national headline would eventually be followed by something light, strange or fairly innocuous from somewhere nearby. A cat stuck in a drainpipe in Kent. A bakery reopening in Hull. Some old bloke raising money for a hospice by pulling a caravan across Yorkshire. There was balance to it. A reminder that life was still happening outside the constant churn of catastrophe.

Those moments still exist, but they feel buried beneath endless rolling outrage now. Thanks to social media, it is far easier to doom monger for engagement and pennies than it is to remain measured, rational and transparent in intent.

Maybe the world has always been this noisy and negative and I am only noticing it more as I get older. Quite where the time has gone and how I have somehow ended up 33, I honestly could not tell you. But the overwhelming feeling in Britain at the moment seems to be exhaustion. People are fed up. They want honesty about the bigger picture, obviously, but they also want reasons to feel uplifted, inspired and vaguely hopeful about the future again.

And maybe that is part of journalism’s responsibility too. Not to lie. Not to sanitise reality. Not to pretend wars, instability and political tension do not exist. But to remember that informing people and emotionally flooding them are not the same thing.