"When I was working in the mental health and homelessness sector, I used to joke that my job description should have just read, “Professional Trauma Magnet.” I mean, why not? I had a knack for finding the most challenging situations and diving headfirst into them, all in the name of helping others. Turns out, that was also a not-so-great way to keep my own mental health in check. Who knew?
In all seriousness, though, my time in that field was both incredibly rewarding and utterly exhausting. And no, I’m not talking about the kind of exhaustion that a good night’s sleep can fix. This was bone-deep, soul-draining exhaustion—the kind that lands you in a hospital bed wondering how in the world you got there.
I spent nearly six years working in an environment that was nothing short of a pressure cooker. Every day was a new crisis, a new life on the line, and a new emotional weight to carry. My colleagues and I worked in clients’ homes around the clock, becoming their lifelines, their cooks, their cleaners, and—when it all got too much—their resuscitators. We formed bonds that were as deep as they were complex, only to have those bonds shattered when a client overdosed or took their own life. And when that happened, the unspoken rule was to just keep moving. No time to grieve, no time to process—just carry on.
I burned out. Hard.
But here’s the kicker: the burnout wasn’t just because of the trauma I encountered every day. It was because of how my workplace handled that trauma. We were treated like cogs in a machine—replaceable, disposable, and barely human. Sick days were met with suspicion, mental health struggles were brushed aside, and if you made a mistake, you were more likely to get a reprimand than a helping hand. It was like living in a constant state of “walking on eggshells,” never knowing when the next blow would come.
When I finally decided I couldn’t do it anymore, I left. I took a break. And then, I found a new job—a job where I felt valued, where my mental health was taken seriously, and where I was treated like a human being. And let me tell you, it made all the difference. Suddenly, I wasn’t just surviving; I was thriving.
In my new role, when I called in sick, I was met with empathy. When I had a bad mental health day, I was given grace and support. When I messed up, I wasn’t yelled at; I was helped. My motivation skyrocketed, and for the first time in a long time, I actually wanted to come to work.
This, folks, is the power of psychological safety in the workplace. It’s the difference between dragging yourself to work every day, hoping you don’t break, and actually feeling excited about the work you do. It’s about knowing that when you’re struggling, you’ll be met with understanding, not judgment. It’s about being treated like a person, not a number.
Psychological safety isn’t just some trendy buzzword—it’s a necessity. It’s what keeps good employees from burning out, what fosters creativity and innovation, and what builds a workplace where people actually want to be. And let’s be real, in today’s world, we need that more than ever.
So, if you’re a leader, take note: creating a psychologically safe workplace isn’t just good for your employees—it’s good for your bottom line. And if you’re an employee, don’t settle for anything less than a workplace where you feel safe, valued, and supported. Because trust me, it makes all the difference."
