Compassion Fatigue….is rife, in the helping professions!
Why?
Because most of those who step into these professions do so because of their own previous experiences.
Experiences of always being the one in their family who ‘had the answers’. ‘Took care of everyone else. ’ Felt responsible for the feelings and needs of others at an age that no child should feel responsible for that.
Experiences of not having their own needs met for being ‘listened to’, ‘heard’, ‘respected’. Of wanting to now make damn sure that no-one else needs to feel the same and they will do all they can to help prevent that!
The thing is, these children gravitate towards these roles within their childhood, and then into adulthood, because they are natural caregivers. It was always, let’s say, part of their DNA.
BUT
All people need to work on their old wounds and patterning to prevent unhealthy habits from stopping them from living their most fulfilling life and managing their own mental health.
Of course, I am biased, but I believe everyone should have therapy! Because we all have ‘stuff’ to deal with, unhelpful patterns and beliefs to overcome. Therapists, I would say, are amongst those who need support the most, but because of their natural tendency to care for others, what we usually notice is that they neglect caring for themselves. Reliving those same patterns from childhood. No longer not having their needs met by others, but now not meeting their own needs as adults. Because they have no idea how.
This is why Compassion Fatigue is rife in the caring professions! Why it is paramount that helping professions take personal responsibility for working on their own past wounds, and overcoming patterning that no longer serves them.
ALSO
It is the responsibility of those services that they work for to create a system that allows them to care for themselves. This cannot just be another job for the carer.
I make no secret that one of the reasons I left the biggest ‘caring’ system of them all was because the system I was part of at the time did not allow me to effectively balance my values of motherhood, career, and managing my own wellbeing. I had to step into running my own business…possibly one of the most stressful things anyone could decide to embark on, to find that balance. How ironic is that it was stepping into more stress that allowed me to do that? Because I felt empowered to make choices that were right for me. Because I created the system needed for ME to thrive in all aspects of my life.
I have been determined to do the same, create the same, for all of team Laura Greenwood Therapy. To allow them to thrive as a human being, own their individuality as a therapist, whilst taking care of their families, and looking after their wellbeing. To show, there is another way.
I believe self-care isn’t just a buzzword; it’s an ethical necessity. Supporting our own mental health is how we stay psychologically effective, compassionate, and connected to the work we love.
For Maternal Mental Health Awareness Week 2025, I reached out to the team to ask them how they care for the emotional demands of their roles and what helps them stay grounded. I also asked them if they felt safe to, to share any times when they themselves felt ‘victim’ to the compassion fatigue experienced by other caring professionals.
I hope in their reflections and stories, you find validation. You find guidance. You find hope. Whatever you need to take from our words. We write them for you.
“To prevent compassion fatigue as a therapist, I’m mindful of how I structure my time and energy. I give myself enough space between clients to reset, avoid overloading my schedule, and plan my workload around both my family commitments and energy levels. I prioritise self-care in ways that are sustainable, incorporating exercise and regular micro moments throughout the day — like deep breathing, short walks, grounding exercises, and staying hydrated. These small but intentional acts have a cumulative effect, helping me stay regulated, present, and able to support others without burning out.”
“Given that my first daughter was born prematurely at just 30 weeks due to an emergency placental abruption, anxiety was a constant companion during my second pregnancy.
I was terrified of going through that experience again and the risks it posed to me, my unborn baby, and my family, especially since my underlying health condition added to those risks.
Although physically I was closely monitored throughout my pregnancy, there were times when I felt my fears weren’t met with the compassion I desperately needed. Instead, I often sensed a feeling of blame. One consultant even bluntly asked me why I would risk having another pregnancy, which felt incredibly shaming as an expectant mother and ruminated on excessively. It was a tough time, and the lack of understanding from some in the medical community only added to my emotional struggles.
Looking back, I realise that this response may have been driven by compassion fatigue, but it had a huge impact on me at the time. I found myself caught in negative thoughts like, “What have I done?” and “I should just be grateful for what I have,” leading to feelings of guilt and shame. Ironically, this added stress likely made things worse, increasing my own risks.
In hindsight, I don’t blame these individuals because I understand that compassion fatigue can stem from the emotional demands, stress, and lack of support that professionals face, especially in public sector roles.
However, as a therapist and clinical supervisor, I believe it’s essential to be aware of my working environment and my own vulnerability to compassion fatigue. Recognising the signs is crucial for maintaining my own well-being and effectiveness in helping others, as well as for the well-being of my clients.
I regularly reflect on this in supervision and encourage the same with my supervisees because it can sneak up without us realising.”
“I’ve always viewed myself as resilient, strong, and capable of navigating some pretty tough experiences. And then the pandemic happened.
I was working part-time in the NHS as a Senior CBT Therapist and part-time at Goldsmiths College, University of London as a Lecturer and Clinical Supervisor; AND I was mum to two children under the age of 5.
Like a tsunami wave we could see but we could not outrun, the panic was palpable everywhere I turned and was ever present in every conversation I had.
As a senior therapist managing other therapists, it was tough. As a lecturer training CBT therapists through a pandemic, it was tough. As a psychotherapist working with clients whose difficulties were exacerbated by the global anxiety, it was tough. As a mum who didn’t learn to read or write phonetically, it was tough.
The crushing weight of (metaphorically) holding everyone’s anxiety broke me. I felt helpless against the current of uncertainty. But here’s what helped me – I noticed how I was feeling, and each day I made the tiniest move towards doing what was best for me and did it.
I stopped watching the nightly reports, I rested when I needed to, I made space to cry when I needed to, I remembered to breathe, and I practiced self-care. Most importantly, I let go of expectations (all the shoulds that my mind sometimes tells me) and focused on what mattered most in that moment.
I extended the same compassion to myself then, and it’s something I still prioritise each day.”
“As a therapist and a mother, I have experienced compassion fatigue. The first noticeable time was a few months after I returned to work after having my second child.
I found juggling my role as a mum and therapist a tricky balance. We were just coming out of the pandemic, meaning I’d had little to no social contact throughout maternity leave, and I had little to no self-care within my routine.
I can notice when compassion fatigue is setting in now. I didn’t realise what it was back then. The signs for me are a loss of patience, an increase in frustration with myself, and my emotional resilience isn’t as strong.
My ways to manage this: Talking! The power of talking to someone who gets you is so important, even if it’s a little chat on WhatsApp. Walking! Massively underrated activity. always feel calmer after some fresh air. And exercise! Group exercise classes are a huge part of my life, I notice if I have a break from classes, my wellbeing suffers. If I’m not taking steps to look after my own self-care, then I’m more likely to struggle with compassion fatigue.”
“As a therapist being married to another therapist, I find that almost every day the pair of us get the opportunity to offload, decompress, and process our working day with one another, and it does us both the world of good.
Whether this is the chance to contemplate our clinical decisions, or reflect on how it has personally affected us or our outlook on things. It can be a really tough job at times, and I’m glad that I can share this with someone in the know, a non-judgmental counterpart, someone who gets it.
Another facet to this is that we encourage each other to go on and thrive. If I ever have doubts, I know that my wife would support me through those and spur me to achieve my career goals — for example, working with complex trauma and children and adolescents.
I know that I have done the same for her with her ambitions to work with more perinatal cases, which has been especially difficult considering how much input was needed to get pregnant in the first place and the subsequent miscarriages that followed.
We help each other through our own stuff for our own sake, and in turn, this leads to the betterment of other people. It leads us to empathise more than ever with what people go through and reminds us how important it is to help people in their time of need.
Having someone to reflect on this with is invaluable; therapist, wife, or significant other — I think it improves who I am.”
A Collective Message from Laura Greenwood Therapy to You
Compassion fatigue doesn’t mean we’re weak. It means we’re human. And recognising its presence is not a sign of failure — it’s a sign of deep awareness that something needs to change.
Whether you’re a therapist, healthcare worker, teacher, parent, or anyone in a caring role, please know you’re not alone in this. Take the break. Drink the water. Go for that walk. Cry if you need to. Reach out to someone who gets it.
You are not just the caretaker — you are also someone who deserves care.
Laura and the Team x
