We have all had a moment as a trauma therapist when we wondered whether we could still do trauma work. Asked ourselves if this work has ruined us. So then, how do we start to answer this question?

If you’re coming home from sessions totally wiped — not just tired, but disconnected — this isn’t about you being too sensitive. It’s about vicarious trauma. In this post, I share 3 real reasons naming it can shift how you feel, how you show up, and how you get support.

Vicarious trauma is a normal part of being a trauma therapist — not a sign you’re doing it wrong. In this post, we unpack what it really is, how to recognize the early signs, and how to work with it before it spirals into burnout. If you’ve been feeling off, disconnected, or stretched thin, this is for you.

You help your clients celebrate progress all the time. But your own wins? You skip past them like they don’t count. If pride feels unsafe or performative, this blog is for you. We’ll unpack where that shame comes from, introduce a nervous system-friendly practice for integration, and help you feel the good — without needing to earn it.

If traditional systems feel like pressure, you’re not alone. This blog reframes “system-building” as a trauma-informed, nervous system-safe practice — not a productivity project. You’ll learn the three types of systems every therapist needs, how to build scaffolds that evolve with you, and why sustainable structure starts with rhythms you already have. Whether you’re in private practice or an agency, these tools are designed to support your capacity — not squeeze it.

You cleared your schedule. You rested. But you still feel tired. If you’re a trauma therapist wondering why time off hasn’t helped, this post offers a deeper lens on nervous system recalibration — plus simple rhythms to help rest actually land.

Early summer can feel disorienting for trauma therapists. You finally have space to rest, but instead of relief, there’s unease. In this post, we explore why rest alone isn’t enough—and how to recalibrate with nervous system support, rhythm, and vicarious resilience.

We’re fluent in the language of trauma, including vicarious trauma. But what about the moments that soften us, nourish us, help us stay? This blog explores vicarious resilience — not as a reframe, but as a nervous system truth. It’s what happens when we let in the good. And it matters more than we think.

Therapists are constantly told to prioritize their mental health — but rarely given the space or structure to do it. This post explores what sustainable care really looks like, how the Trauma Therapist Trauma Response Continuum can help you name your experience, and why slowing down isn’t weakness — it’s survival.

Peer support isn’t a luxury for trauma therapists — it’s real mental health care. In this post, we’re naming the power of peer connection to interrupt isolation, regulate our nervous systems, and remind us we were never meant to do this work alone.

You know what burnout feels like. But what if it’s something else?

This Mental Health Awareness Month, we’re naming vicarious trauma — not as a failure, but as a valid, human response to doing this work.

Because when you can tell the difference, you can finally ask for the support you actually need.

Therapists talk about mental health all the time — but rarely our own.

This Mental Health Awareness Month, I’m sharing what it looks like to stop whispering about anxiety, depression, and vicarious trauma… and start naming them out loud.

Because being human doesn’t disqualify you from this work. It’s what makes you great at it.

Whether you’re sharing a resource, offering a word of encouragement, or simply naming a glimmer from your work—you’re doing more than helping someone else.
You’re strengthening your own resilience.

When equity is missing in trauma therapy, it doesn’t always look loud or dramatic. More often, it looks like brilliant, compassionate trauma therapists quietly leaving the work they love—not because they can’t handle the weight of the stories they hold, but because the systems around them make it almost impossible to stay.

Some days, you leave your office feeling like a ghost of yourself. 

You’ve held space for client after client, absorbed stories of deep pain, made SO MANY clinical decisions—all while holding yourself together.

But when the workday ends and you slam the laptop shut for the day, the work doesn't just disappear.