Have you ever cried in session and thought, “I just failed as a therapist”? You’re not alone. Many of us were trained to see tears as weakness, but what if our tears are actually a bridge, a way to deepen trust and presence with our clients? I share my personal story of crying with my clients and how it has shaped my career as a trauma therapist.

Therapist spaces are supposed to be safe places where we can show up as our full, human selves. But what happens when those very spaces make us feel small, dismissed, or even attacked? In this post, Jenny shares a recent rupture in a local therapist group, the impact it had on her nervous system, and what it’s taught her about repair, regulation, and building trauma-informed spaces that truly feel safe enough to be seen.

Someone told me I shouldn’t be a therapist because I’m affected by my clients’ trauma. That comment hit a nerve not because I believed it, but because I remember when I did. In this post, I share what it stirred up in me, the wave of support that followed, and why naming our vicarious trauma out loud is a radical act of truth-telling for trauma therapists everywhere.

When a client dies, therapists carry a unique kind of grief, held in silence because of confidentiality and stigma. In this post, I reflect on an interview with grief specialist Khara Croswaite, LPC, about what it means to navigate loss as a therapist. We explore why the anxiety and hypervigilance that follow are normal, how to decide about funerals and rituals, what to do when families reach out, and how community can make healing possible.

So many trauma therapists have been hurt in therapist spaces: judged, dismissed, or made to feel like being human made them less professional. In this reflection, I share what happened when I finally experienced a different kind of room, one where I didn’t have to perform or prove anything to belong.

Feeling numb in session or second-guessing everything you say doesn’t mean you’re a bad therapist, but it might mean you’re burned out. In this post, I share how to recognize the signs of disconnection, release your “professional armor,” and use tools like Watch the Fire to process vicarious trauma, prevent compassion fatigue, and stay human in trauma work.

Burnout doesn’t always look like exhaustion. For trauma therapists, it often starts with quiet disconnection—from your clients, your body, and the part of you that loves this work. This post explores how that happens, why it’s not your fault, and what loosening your armor might unlock.

If you’re bracing before every session like you’re stepping onto a battlefield, you’re not broken — your nervous system is doing its job. In this post, we’ll talk about how vicarious trauma shows up in the body, why white knuckling isn’t the answer, and how a simple somatic shift can help you stay present and grounded with your clients (and yourself).

What happens when you’re the one grieving — and still holding space for others? In this post, I share what it looked like to keep doing trauma work while grieving the death of my dad in early COVID. Not to offer a blueprint, but to open the conversation. Because our grief shows up in the room too. And that matters.

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.

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.

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.