Compassion fatigue, also known as empathy fatigue, often affects helpers, educators, caregivers, and advocates. Symptoms include exhaustion, numbness, and a total loss of the passion that once drove you toward your cause or career. It’s the cost of caring too much.

You may also feel reduced empathy, irritability, and a sense of detachment—as if you’re floating outside yourself, looking in and simply going through the motions. Compassion fatigue is caused by chronic, intense caregiving without balancing it with your own soul care.

We saw it a lot during COVID, especially among healthcare workers putting in relentless hours with little rest.

I see it often among those of us in suicide prevention. We dive in with purpose and determination, but the work can become overwhelming. At times, it feels like pushing a giant snowball uphill in a snowstorm.

I hit compassion fatigue about five years into speaking

After one event, I walked to my car and collapsed into the seat. The thought hit me hard: I can’t do this anymore. I can’t tell this story again. What am I going to do?

I sat with that feeling for a moment and acknowledged what was happening. I wouldn’t have called it the catatonic phase (see below), but I was probably somewhere around phase 3.5 or even 4.

So I asked myself, What are my options?

Two ideas felt promising.

One was expanding my topics, so I didn’t have to tell the same painful story every single time. I could incorporate other stories and add more training-based content.

Then another idea popped into my head.

What if I handed out index cards at the end of each talk and asked people to write down one thing they learned? That would be their gift to me—something I could take home.

And when one of those emotional crashes was about to hit, like the one that happened in the car that day, I could pull out those cards and read them before it overtook me.

Maybe they would fill me back up.

Expanding my topics helped. But nothing has helped more than those cards.

I have thousands now.

Today, I can often head off the crash before it happens by recognizing the warning signs and spending time with those gifts written on simple index cards.

I also set boundaries.

During my busiest and most emotionally intense months—like September, suicide prevention month—I try to book virtual events and those closer to home, even if they pay less. The combination of heavy travel and emotionally intense speaking can be draining when your story carries this much weight.

Protecting my energy and myself allows me to keep doing the work that matters.

If you recognize yourself in these phases, don’t ignore the signals

Compassion fatigue isn’t the end of your passion. It’s a warning light on the dashboard. And it doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’ve been carrying something heavy for a long time. It might mean finding ways to move forward differently. It might mean a change in direction.

The key is learning to notice when the weight is becoming too much—and finding ways to refill what the work takes from you.

For me, it’s those index cards—thousands of small reminders that the work matters.

Your refill might look different.

If you’re going to keep doing work that requires your heart, you have to protect that heart along the way.

Pay attention to the signals your mind and body send. Adjust your boundaries. Find the things that refill your cup.

Because the world still needs people who care.

And the people who care need to care for themselves, too. Now more than ever.

AnneMoss Rogers

AnneMoss Rogers is a leading wellness and suicide education expert and one of the top mental health speakers and suicide prevention speakers. Known for her powerful, motivational keynotes, AnneMoss combines her personal story of loss with proven strategies to help organizations build a wellness culture that drives results and saves lives.  She speaks at conferences, workplaces, K-12 schools, and universities, delivering impactful presentations that inspire change and promote mental health awareness.
AnneMoss does this work in memory of her son, Charles, who struggled with anxiety, depression, and addiction, and died by suicide at age 20 in 2015.