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Wounds Without the War: The Silent Toll of Secondary PTSD

  • Writer: Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
    Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
  • May 26

The toll of Secondary PTSD can be just as heavy as firsthand trauma, especially for caregivers and professionals who carry the emotional weight of others’ pain. Without proper support and boundaries, the toll of Secondary PTSD can quietly erode a person’s well-being, leaving them overwhelmed, disconnected, and emotionally exhausted.

Wounds Without the War: The Silent Toll of Secondary PTSD

You didn’t experience the trauma yourself—but why does it feel like you did?


When we think about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), we often picture combat veterans, survivors of violence, or those who’ve endured life-threatening events. But trauma doesn't always knock directly on your door. Sometimes, it creeps in through someone else’s—through the stories we absorb, the pain we witness, and the people we love.


This is the world of Secondary PTSD—a quiet, consuming form of trauma that affects those who support, care for, or work closely with people who’ve endured traumatic experiences. And unlike its better-known counterpart, secondary PTSD often goes unspoken, unseen, and untreated.


What Is Secondary PTSD?


Secondary PTSD, also known as vicarious trauma or compassion fatigue, occurs when someone develops trauma-related symptoms as a result of exposure to another person’s trauma. This is commonly seen in mental health professionals, emergency responders, nurses, social workers, and even loved ones of trauma survivors.


Imagine listening, day after day, to heartbreaking stories of abuse, war, loss, or violence. Over time, these stories begin to lodge themselves in your psyche. You might feel anxious, emotionally numb, avoidant, or overly alert. You may start having nightmares or flashbacks—not of your own memories, but of someone else’s suffering.


You’re not weak. You’re not overly sensitive. You’re human—and you’re absorbing more pain than the body or brain was ever meant to carry.



When Caring Hurts


For many, the hardest part of secondary PTSD is the guilt. You might tell yourself: “It wasn’t my trauma. I have no right to feel this way.” But that guilt only deepens the damage.


In fact, studies show that secondary trauma can mirror the symptoms of direct PTSD—including intrusive thoughts, mood swings, hypervigilance, depression, and burnout. Yet many who suffer feel they must push through for the sake of their clients, loved ones, or patients.


This constant emotional labor leads to chronic fatigue, emotional detachment, and a loss of joy—especially in the very work or relationships that once brought purpose.



Self-Care Isn’t a Luxury—It’s Lifesaving


The antidote to secondary trauma isn’t to stop caring—it’s to care for yourself just as fiercely. Self-care in this context goes far beyond bubble baths or days off. It’s about deep, sustainable habits that protect your mental and emotional reserves.


This might look like setting emotional boundaries, getting supervision or consultation, practicing mindfulness, debriefing after difficult sessions, or attending therapy yourself. It’s recognizing when you’re over-capacitated and learning how to step back before burnout takes hold.


Rest, reflection, and regulation are essential—not selfish. They’re what allow you to keep showing up with integrity and compassion, without losing yourself in someone else’s story.


Final Thought:


If you can absorb trauma secondhand, shouldn’t you deserve healing firsthand?


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Rewiring the Blues: How to Gently Train Your Brain Out of Persistent Sadness

  • Writer: Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
    Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
  • Apr 20

Persistent sadness can feel like an invisible weight—subtle but suffocating. You get through your daily tasks, meet responsibilities, even manage a smile when necessary. But underneath, there’s a quiet ache, a low hum of emotional heaviness that doesn’t lift. It’s not quite depression, not quite contentment. It’s the in-between—and many people are living there without realizing how much it’s draining them. But here’s the light at the end of that long tunnel: if your brain learned this sadness, it can also unlearn it.

Rewiring the Blues: How to Gently Train Your Brain Out of Persistent Sadness

Our brains are creatures of habit. Think of yours like a record player: the more a particular song is played, the deeper the grooves get. When sadness becomes a regular emotional response—due to trauma, stress, or even childhood experiences—your brain memorizes it. Over time, these patterns become the default. Thoughts like “I’m never enough” or “It won’t get better” may play without you even realizing it. This isn’t a personal flaw—it’s your brain trying to keep you safe in familiar territory. But there comes a time when we need to break the loop, and that’s where self-conditioning comes in.


What Is Self-Conditioning?


Self-conditioning is the intentional act of retraining your brain to respond differently. Similar to how Pavlov taught dogs to associate a bell with food, we can teach our brains to associate certain activities, thoughts, or environments with better emotional states. It’s not about pretending everything is fine—it’s about gently creating new associations that help the brain feel safer, calmer, and more open to joy. You’re not forcing yourself to be happy. You’re giving your nervous system new options.


How to Start Rewiring Your Emotional Default


Interrupt the Pattern Gently:


The first step is awareness. When you catch yourself sinking into sadness, don’t scold yourself or try to suppress it. Just notice it. Say to yourself, “I feel heavy right now.” Naming the emotion helps create space between you and the feeling. It’s not who you are—it’s just something you're experiencing.


Create Small Positive Associations:


Look for ways to pair neutral or positive experiences with simple sensory cues. Light a candle and say a comforting mantra. Play music while doing dishes. Sit in sunlight and breathe deeply. These tiny pairings help the brain associate mundane moments with calm and safety. Over time, these experiences rewire your nervous system and help create new, more hopeful grooves.


Use Micro-Rewards:


The brain responds well to even the smallest rewards. Every time you do something that’s good for you—like getting out of bed, stretching, responding to a text—acknowledge it. Say “That was brave,” or check off a box. It may feel insignificant, but celebrating the smallest wins teaches your brain to associate effort with success, which builds resilience over time.


Practice Thought Swapping:


When a negative thought appears, try adding a gentle follow-up. If you think, “Nothing will change,” you can add, “…but some things already have.” This isn’t about denying hard feelings. It’s about creating space for multiple truths. Your sadness might be valid, but it doesn’t have to be the only voice in the room.


Schedule “Emotional Rehearsals”:


Take 2–3 minutes a day to visualize yourself feeling safe, joyful, or peaceful. Imagine yourself smiling, laughing, or walking confidently. The brain doesn’t distinguish much between imagined and real experiences—so this practice helps it rehearse new ways of being. These emotional rehearsals build memory and readiness for real-life moments of peace when they arrive.



Why This Works


All of these practices are based on the brain’s natural ability to adapt, known as neuroplasticity. The same way your mind learned sadness as a survival response, it can now learn calm, confidence, and lightness. You’re not erasing sadness—you’re just showing your brain that there are other emotions available, too. And as these practices grow into habits, you’ll notice small changes: moments of stillness, easier breaths, thoughts that don’t spiral so fast. Those moments are the building blocks of healing.


Affirmations to Rewire the Mind


  • “This moment isn’t forever.”

  • “I’m allowed to feel good again.”

  • “I can learn a new way of being.”

  • “My brain is learning peace.”

  • “I am more than what I feel right now.”


Repeating affirmations may feel strange at first, but they serve as small anchor points for your identity and healing. Even if you don’t believe them yet—say them. The belief can come later.



Final Thought


What if your persistent sadness isn’t a flaw in who you are—but a habit your mind is ready to outgrow? And if that’s true… what’s one small, loving cue you could offer your brain today?


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The Whale: A Wake-Up Call for Self-Acceptance and the Dangerous Delusion of Escaping Reality

  • Writer: Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
    Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
  • Feb 9
The Whale: A Wake-Up Call for Self-Acceptance and the Dangerous Delusion of Escaping Reality

Darren Aronofsky's The Whale is a harrowing exploration of pain, guilt, and self-destruction. With Brendan Fraser’s powerful portrayal of Charlie, a man suffering from morbid obesity, the film delves deep into the complexity of human relationships, especially the strained bond between Charlie and his estranged daughter. But beyond the emotional weight of Charlie's struggles, the film also subtly challenges our perceptions of addiction, particularly through the lens of his daughter’s marijuana use. While this element of the story may seem secondary, it offers a sharp commentary on how substances, such as marijuana, are often used as a way to numb pain—and how they ultimately hinder true healing.


The Illusion of Escape: Marijuana as a Coping Mechanism


One of the key emotional undercurrents of The Whale is the daughter’s use of marijuana, which she relies on to escape the overwhelming emotions she’s too afraid to confront. Though the film doesn’t directly focus on her addiction, her reliance on marijuana serves as a quiet but potent symbol of avoidance. By using marijuana, she creates a temporary buffer from her inner turmoil and the unresolved anger she holds toward her father. However, much like Charlie's struggles with food, this coping mechanism offers only a fleeting sense of relief.


The way The Whale portrays marijuana use in this context underlines an important, often overlooked point: substances might provide short-term escape, but they never truly address the underlying pain. The film doesn't glamorize or trivialize marijuana use, nor does it offer a simplistic view of addiction. Instead, it shows how these distractions merely allow the characters to perpetuate cycles of avoidance and emotional stagnation—while ultimately leaving them stuck in their pain.



The Power of Self-Acceptance


At the heart of The Whale lies a deeper message about self-acceptance and the healing that comes from confronting our own truths. Charlie’s journey, though filled with intense shame and self-loathing, highlights the significance of accepting who we are—flaws and all. His story is a reminder that true healing isn’t found in hiding from our emotions or seeking external fixes, but in embracing the parts of ourselves we’ve been taught to hide or reject.


The film subtly contrasts Charlie’s inner turmoil with his daughter’s struggles, particularly her inability to accept the reality of their fractured relationship. Both characters cling to illusions—Charlie to the belief that his body can provide protection from emotional pain, and his daughter to the hope that marijuana can keep her from facing the truth of their past. Yet, both find themselves suffocating under the weight of these illusions, unable to move forward until they face the truth.


Charlie’s path to redemption isn’t found in finding an external solution or having someone "save" him—it’s in realizing that only he can save himself through the slow, painful process of self-acceptance.


Only You Can Save Yourself


The Whale makes a sobering point: while we may lean on substances, food, people, or other distractions in an attempt to escape our pain, ultimately, we are the ones who must do the difficult work of healing. No one can rescue us from the darkness we face except ourselves. It’s only by confronting our inner demons—accepting the things we’ve tried to avoid—that we can begin to move toward real change.


Charlie’s story demonstrates the profound impact that self-acceptance can have on our mental health and overall well-being. The film is a stark reminder that healing is not an easy road, nor is it a quick fix. It requires us to face the parts of ourselves we most want to run from and, in doing so, reclaim the power to heal.


An Eye-Opening Question


As we watch Charlie struggle with his past and his daughter’s painful detachment, we are left with one compelling question: How often do we rely on distractions—whether it’s substances, relationships, or unhealthy coping mechanisms—to escape our own pain, and what might happen if we dared to face our truth and practice self-acceptance instead?


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