As someone who has spent years in a caring profession, I know first hand the emotional toll that comes with helping others through their most difficult moments. Vicarious trauma, or secondary trauma, is something I’ve come to understand deeply, though for many years, I didn’t even realise I was experiencing it. It’s the emotional weight you take on when you witness or hear about the trauma and suffering of others. In my role, I’ve been exposed to countless stories of pain and hardship, and while I was doing my job, I didn’t see the impact it was having on me.
Over time, the trauma I was witnessing began to affect me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. As a health visitor, I encountered vulnerable children and families, and their struggles stayed with me long after I’d left their homes. I noticed that I was becoming more anxious and emotionally drained, but I pushed through it, believing it was just part of the job. The empathy that had once driven me to help others started to feel overwhelming, as though I was carrying their burdens inside of me. I didn’t realise it at the time, but this was vicarious trauma at work.
The effects crept into my personal life in subtle, but powerful ways. I became easily triggered by things I would have previously brushed off—a baby’s cry, an emotional story on the news, or even a simple hug from my partner. I found myself feeling detached from the people I cared about and unable to connect with them in the same way. I would get angry or tearful without understanding why. Looking back, it’s clear that the trauma I had absorbed from others had built up inside me, slowly chipping away at my own sense of wellbeing.
It took time, but I eventually recognised that I needed help. The first step was acknowledging that what I was feeling wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t something I could just push through. Vicarious trauma is real, and it deserves attention. I reached out for support—something I should have done sooner but had convinced myself I didn’t need. Talking to a counsellor helped me unpack the emotional toll my job had taken on me. I realised I wasn’t alone, and that many caregivers experience this, though we often suffer in silence.
Learning to set boundaries became crucial in my recovery. For so long, I had blurred the lines between my work and personal life, bringing the emotional weight of my job home with me. Now, I focus on finding healthy ways to process the emotions I absorb at work. I practise mindfulness, talk through my feelings, and remind myself that it’s okay to say no when I need a break. This has made a huge difference in how I handle the inevitable challenges of my role.
By sharing my story, I hope to raise awareness about vicarious trauma and let others in caring professions know that it’s okay to struggle with the emotional toll of the work we do. It doesn’t make us weak or incapable. In fact, recognising the need for self-care and support is an essential part of sustaining the compassion we bring to others. We can’t pour from an empty cup, and by taking care of ourselves, we become better caregivers for those who need us most.
