Not every story needs to be told.

 Reflections from the field on gender-based violence, ethical storytelling and the responsibility of listening.

Sometimes, the most professional thing you can do during an interview is switch off the camera.

While reviewing photographs and videos from my recent field visit, I found myself reflecting on something I had witnessed repeatedly among our Matri Shakti.

In front of the camera, they were strong, composed and confident, sharing their stories with remarkable courage. But when we switched off the camera and continued talking in person, many of them broke down in tears.

The contrast stayed with me.

Their strength was real. So was their pain. The scars left by past gender-based violence (GBV) do not simply disappear when a woman finds the courage to speak about her experiences. Sometimes, the camera captures the strength with which she has learnt to face the world, while the pain surfaces only when the recording stops.

Working in communications, I understand the responsibility of returning from the field with a powerful story. We prepare our questions, check the sound, think about the images, the video frame and look for the details that will help an audience connect with a person's experience.

But when we are interviewing a survivor of GBV, our preparation must go beyond getting the story right. It must include knowing when to stop.

Before recording, we must explain where and how the story will be used. We must ensure that consent is informed and voluntary, and that declining to participate will not affect the support a woman receives.

During the conversation, we must listen without rushing to fill the silence. We must never push for painful details simply to make a story more compelling.

If she needs a break, we pause. If she wants to stop, we stop. And when the story is shared, we protect her identity, not just by blurring her face, but by ensuring that locations, personal details and other contextual clues do not put her at risk.

My experience in the field has reminded me that a woman's willingness to share her story is not an invitation to access every part of her pain.

As communicators, we have a responsibility to tell stories that need to be heard, without making the people who share them relive their trauma for the sake of a more powerful narrative.

For me, a successful interview is not simply one that produces a moving story. It is one in which a woman's dignity, agency and choices are respected throughout the process.

Sometimes, the most important story is the one we choose not to record.