The Truth about Compassion Fatigue

"I still cared deeply, but my ability to feel that care had worn thin"

Have you ever noticed that feeling when you’re listening to someone’s pain, and instead of empathy, all you feel is… nothing? That’s compassion fatigue creeping in—the slow, sneaky drain of caring too much without protecting yourself. It’s not burnout, it’s not just stress, it’s a slow erosion of your ability to care because you’ve given too much. You become numb. 

I learned this the hard way during my years as a mental health practitioner. Picture this: back-to-back crisis calls, each one heavier than the last. A young person suffering with their suicidal thoughts, followed immediately by someone detailing their plans to end their life, to managing child sexual exploitation cases. By the fourth call, my responses started to sound robotic. "I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way… What’s your support system like?" The words were right, but the feeling? Gone. I was a compassion zombie—going through the motions, but emotionally hollowed out. Absorbing trauma stories and feeling like I had to be an endless well of support that left me emotionally numb. There were days I’d finish a shift and just sit in silence, completely drained yet still carrying the weight of other people’s pain.

It has taken me many years to admit this feeling because I want to help, I care about people, my job was and is to support others. I felt guilty and terrible knowing that I had no more empathy to give. It’s a strange feeling. I still cared deeply, but my ability to feel that care had worn thin.  

It was only until I started to talk about it to people in various caring roles, people like nurses, social workers, counsellors, that at some point they had felt similarly. But this remains an unspoken topic. Why? Let’s talk about it.  

What is compassion fatigue?

Compassion fatigue (also known as vicarious trauma or secondary traumatic stress) is a result of helping others in particular being exposed to people’s traumatic stories that impacts physically, emotionally, and psychologically. It is often mistaken for burnout. Burnout stems from prolonged exposure to general stressors; compassion fatigue arises from absorbing others’ trauma. It is mixed up because the symptoms of burnout and compassion fatigue are often similar. 

What does compassion fatigue look like?

Physical Exhaustion  Insomnia  Headaches

Emotional Detachment  Numbness  Social withdrawal

Cognitive  Trouble concentrating   Productivity loss

Who is 'at risk' of compassion fatigue?

Whilst professionals in caring roles are more susceptible to compassion fatigue, they’re not the only ones to be at risk. 

Volunteers in caring services such as elderly care, mental health charities, etc., as well as generally empathetic individuals, are also prone to compassion fatigue. People who actively engage in charity or volunteering may come to feel that they cannot commit any more energy or time to the plight of others because they feel overwhelmed or paralysed by pleas for support and that the world’s challenges are never-ending.

Essentially, anyone can experience compassion fatigue; however, individuals who are exposed to environments that require significant levels of care may be more at risk of experiencing compassion fatigue. 

It’s important for us to be aware of this in order to support each other and create systems that help address their health and well-being before it escalates to compassion fatigue.

Where I went wrong: No boundaries

Awareness alone wasn’t enough for me, though. I had to confront the hard truth: my own lack of boundaries was fuelling the fatigue.Looking back, I realise my biggest mistake was believing that more care = better care. I thought saying no, taking breaks, or stepping back meant I wasn’t committed enough. But the truth? Without boundaries, compassion isn’t sustainable.

Boundaries aren’t just about saying 'no'—they’re what kept my compassion alive. Here’s what finally clicked for me (and what might help you too):

1. Saying "I need a minute" isn’t selfish

   • Between crisis calls, I used to power through without a breath. Now? I’d enforce a five-minute pause—just to reset. Even in high-pressure roles, micro-breaks stop the emotional overload.

2. Not every problem is mine to fix. 

   • I used to take work home, replaying conversations, wondering if I’d done enough. But holding onto others’ pain doesn’t help them—it just drains you. Learning to mentally "hand over" at the end of the day was a game-changer.

3. Switching off is non-negotiable. 

   • Checking emails at midnight? Cancelling plans because "someone might need me"? Nope. Now I’d set firmer limits: no work contact outside hours unless urgent. Sustainable compassion means having a life outside caring.

   • The majority of people naturally have their phones on silent, but it still buzzes away. Make use of the Do Not Disturb functions and select what notifications from apps that need to be turned off. Most modern phones have customisable shift settings where specific notifications are turned off at various times on specific days. Check your phone settings!

4. Asking for help isn’t weakness.

   • I rarely talked about my own stress, thinking it was unprofessional. But debriefing with colleagues or a supervisor isn’t just okay—it’s essential. You can’t support others if you’re running on empty.

Lessons for Sustainable Compassion

Compassion fatigue taught me that caring smarter—not harder—is the key. Boundaries aren’t walls; they’re the guardrails that keep you from crashing.

Now, I ask myself:

"Am I helping from a place of strength, or am I running on fumes?"

"If I keep going like this, will I still be able to care in a year?"

If you’re feeling that numbness creeping in, take it as a sign—not that you don’t care enough, but that you need to care for yourself too. Because the world needs compassionate people like you. And that means you need to be okay.

Compassion is a renewable resource but only if you replenish it. See it like a phone battery, you can’t run on 2%. My rule now: For every hour I give to others, I give 10 minutes to myself

Admitting vulnerability and struggles is scary. It is stigmatised as failure. But the first time I admitted my struggles to my team, they responded with “me too”. Suddenly, we weren’t isolated. We became each other’s support system.

Start with small changes. 5-minute buffer zones between appointments, 10 minutes at the end of the day to offload. You’ll then notice big shifts.

Let’s talk about it… 

Compassion fatigue isn’t a sign you’re broken—it’s proof you’ve cared deeply. But the world needs you sustainable, not sacrificial. 

So here’s your permission slip: 

Set a boundary. Just one. And watch how the numbness starts to thaw.  

(P.S. If you’re struggling, please reach out to someone. You don’t have to do this alone.)