Holding the Helpers : Mental Health, Loss, and Beginning Again
The mental health field is no stranger to grief, but this season has felt particularly heavy. The loss and reinstatement of critical grants, the strain placed on already stretched systems, and the tragic, violent death of a therapist at the hands of a former client have collectively shaken our professional community. These moments do not exist in isolation; they land on top of personal losses, burnout, and the quiet exhaustion many helpers carry into each new year.
From a sociological lens, times of systemic instability often expose the fragility of care-based professions. When funding is uncertain and safety feels compromised, the emotional labor required of mental health professionals increases, often without parallel increases in support. From a clinical perspective, we know that chronic exposure to crisis, even indirectly, heightens stress responses, compassion fatigue, and moral injury. And as educators, we understand that learning and growth cannot occur in environments where people are constantly bracing for the next impact.
Yet, there is also something profoundly resilient about this community.
Mental health professionals continue to show up, for clients, for students, for organizations, and for one another. They ask hard questions, advocate for ethical practice, and create spaces of care even when the systems around them feel unstable. Still, resilience should never be mistaken for invulnerability. Strength does not mean silence, nor does professionalism require self-neglect.
As the new year begins, this is an invitation to reframe productivity and purpose. Rest is not disengagement. Slowing down is not failure. Pausing between offerings, reassessing capacity, and protecting the well-being of staff and learners are acts of responsibility, not delay. At My Mental Health University, this intentional pause before our next course launch reflects a commitment to sustainability, because education rooted in wellness must be modeled, not just taught.
In times of collective loss and uncertainty, caring for others must be paired with caring for ourselves. This may look like setting firmer boundaries, reconnecting with community, seeking supervision or consultation, or simply allowing yourself to feel the weight of what has occurred without rushing to resolve it.
The work will continue. The learning will continue. But it must continue in a way that honors the humanity of those doing it.
If you are reading this and feeling tired, unsettled, or quietly grieving, know that you are not alone, and that taking care of yourself is not something to postpone until things are “better.” It is how we get through this moment, together.
