When the Well Runs Dry: Recognising and Restoring Yourself from Compassion Fatigue
- Wayne George

- 13 minutes ago
- 3 min read
Have you noticed it lately—the quiet dullness where compassion used to flow freely? You still care, of course. You still listen, hold space, and show up. But something feels… thinner. The well you draw from each day feels low, and you’re running on fumes.
If you’re a counsellor, pastor, nurse, social worker—or simply someone who gives deeply—you may know this space all too well. It’s called compassion fatigue, and it’s not a personal failure. It’s a natural cost of caring.
What Is Compassion Fatigue?
Compassion fatigue, was expanded and popularised by trauma researcher Charles Figley (1995), who described it as “the cost of caring” for those in helping professions. It refers to the emotional and physical exhaustion that can develop from chronic exposure to others’ suffering. It’s the “cost of caring” that can leave us feeling detached, numb, or cynical, despite our best intentions.
Over time, repeated empathy without replenishment can lead to burnout, vicarious trauma, and even a loss of meaning in the work we once loved. It’s the shadow side of empathy—the part that whispers, I can’t do this anymore.
How It Creeps In
It often starts quietly:
You find yourself less patient with clients.
You dread sessions you once looked forward to.
You start feeling emotionally flat after a day’s work.
You carry your clients’ stories home, replaying them in the shower or before sleep.
Research shows that high empathy, poor boundaries, and heavy caseloads increase the risk (Figley, 2002; Stamm, 2010). But it’s not only workload—it’s unprocessed emotional residue that builds up session by session, story by story.
Why It Matters
Left unaddressed, compassion fatigue can cloud judgment, erode empathy, and even lead to ethical slips. But perhaps most heartbreakingly—it steals joy. It drains the sense of calling that brought us into this work. The good news? Recovery is absolutely possible. Compassion fatigue is reversible when met with awareness, care, and intentional rest.
Restoring the Helper Within
Here are a few evidence-based ways to refill the well:
Name it without shame.
Awareness is the first step toward healing. Simply acknowledging “I’m experiencing compassion fatigue” moves it from the shadows into light.
Create emotional boundaries.
Remind yourself that empathy does not mean absorption. Techniques such as mindfulness, brief grounding between sessions, and reflective supervision can help separate your experience from your client’s.
Replenish through connection.
Peer supervision and collegial support have been shown to buffer against compassion fatigue (Thompson et al., 2014). Talk to people who “get it.” It reminds you that you’re not alone.
Re-engage your values.
Return to why you do what you do. Journaling or prayerful reflection can help reconnect your professional purpose to your deeper sense of meaning.
Tend to the body that carries the heart.
Exercise, hydration, proper sleep—basic, yes, but profoundly protective. Compassion fatigue lives in the body as much as the mind.
Seek supervision and, if needed, therapy.
Even counsellors need counsellors. We cannot pour from an empty cup, nor should we try.
A Gentle Reminder
You entered this profession because you care. That same compassion deserves to be turned inward now. Self-care isn’t indulgence—it’s stewardship. The world needs helpers who are whole, rested, and grounded.
As we approach the year’s end, maybe it’s time to pause, breathe, and whisper grace over yourself.
You have carried much. You have given much. It’s okay to rest now.
References
Figley, C. R. (1995). Compassion Fatigue: Coping with Secondary Traumatic Stress Disorder in Those Who Treat the Traumatized.
Stamm, B. H. (2010). The Concise ProQOL Manual (2nd ed.). Pocatello, ID: ProQOL.org.
Thompson, I. A., Amatea, E. S., & Thompson, E. S. (2014). Personal and contextual predictors of mental health counselors’ compassion fatigue and burnout. Journal of Mental Health Counseling, 36(1), 58–77.






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