For much of the week, I could not keep myself from continuing to follow coverage of the protests and uprising taking place primarily in Tahrir Square.

I stayed up late into the night watching and re-watching broadcasts from undisclosed locations as journalists were suddenly and frighteningly targeted by … it still seems uncertain who. Their broadcasts were grainy. CNN’s Anderson Cooper spoke carefully while sitting in an unidentified room, the windows covered in curtains and minimal lighting. ABC’s Christiane Amanpour spoke emphatically but also in an unidentified location and showed photos of her crew being confronted in their hotel room.

Many journalists’ equipment was confiscated. Two New York Times reporters wrote about their experience being arrested and taken to a prison by members of the Egyptian government’s secret police.

Almost as quickly as the air had turned against reporters of just about any media outlet, it seemed to turn back. Reports were live and out in the open again. Those arrested were released.

But it was an incredibly gripping few days. There is a sort of creed to journalists that it is not just uncomfortable to become part of the story but that “the moment we become the story, it’s over.”

As journalists we are not supposed to become the story, let alone a part of it. We are supposed to stay in the background as neutral observers, gaining in our own experience and knowledge as we watch closely, the trials and triumphs of other lives.

Sometimes it’s an easy and even comforting principle to live by.

It helps in keeping a clear and unbiased head to remember that our job is simply to report what we see and what we know as fact.

Relating is messy. And it changes the story.

When journalists became a part of Egypt’s story, it was clear how uncomfortable so many of them became. And the minute they were involved nothing else was. It was hard to tell just who was attacking who, where the orders were coming from, why the sudden, desperate move to hide the stories that were being told.

Nothing was really clear.

It was that philosophy — to steer clear of being a part of the story — that drew me to journalism in the first place.

Watching the news over the last week, I realized it’s also a philosophy that probably wouldn’t hurt to be implemented in our everyday lives.

There are times when it seems the world around us has descended into chaos in our own personal levels. We have coworkers with troubles, friends with troubles, families with troubles.

There are times when it’s best to play the role of the observer. To relate is messy. There is such a thing as getting too involved. And doing so is neither helpful nor productive.

When we look at the world around us, it’s important for us to look first, survey the scene and act second.

Of course, none of the reporters a world away in the Middle East asked for a starring role in the uprising in Cairo. But when we look back at it for a day or two, that’s what we’ll see.

What was already a chaotic situation in Egypt became more so when the story suddenly changed shape and became less about a people’s desire for change and more about a shadowy move to mute the story all together.

Maybe it’s not a philosophy for everyone. But for those of us who learn more by way of watching, observing, taking note, remembering that we are not the story is a comforting thought. It’s a universal philosophy, just as applicable at home as it is at work.

Because when we make a story that isn’t ours to tell, that isn’t ours to live, about us, it can muddle the lines. When we think we’re helping, what we’re really doing is making the story about us. That’s when it’s time to step back, listen and most importantly, learn.

Jessica Sieff is a reporter for Leader Publications. Reach her at jessica.sieff@leaderpub.com.