What We Carry: The Invisible Weight of Humanitarian Work
(This is Part 2 of a four-part series exploring trauma-informed leadership and organizational care in humanitarian work.)
Why a trauma-informed lens matters more than we admit
There are stories humanitarian workers tell openly, the ones that make sense to others.
And then there are the stories that stay tucked beneath the surface.
The exhaustion we don’t want to name. The grief we’re not sure is “appropriate.”
The disappointment we swallow because we’re afraid of sounding ungrateful.
The moral distress we silently carry home.
The moments when something in us shifted, and we knew it, but kept going anyway.
These are the parts of the job that few people see…the weight that builds slowly, quietly, and often invisibly. And yet, this invisible weight shapes how people show up, how they trust, how they cope, how they make decisions, and how they lead.
This is why trauma-informed leadership and trauma-informed organizational design are not buzzwords or trends. They are compassionate, realistic ways of understanding the human cost of this work…and leading in a way that doesn’t unintentionally deepen the wounds people already carry.
There is no such thing as “just work” in humanitarian work
Most people outside this sector have no idea what it means to hold suffering with your own bare hands. They don’t know what it means to work inside instability, to navigate impossible tradeoffs, to watch decisions unfold that leave you questioning your values, or to live inside systems that themselves are stretched thin.
The weight of humanitarian work is rarely one big event. It’s the accumulation:
of bearing witness
of chronic uncertainty
of giving more than you receive
of working in systems that move faster than people can heal
of being “strong” long after your body asked for rest
of making decisions that never feel clean
of watching colleagues burn out, or break, or leave
of caring deeply in environments that don’t always care back
People don’t talk about these parts because they’re hard to explain.
Or because they’re afraid. Or because the culture tells them to “be resilient”…a word that has become a mask for quiet suffering. (Or worse, weaponized.)
And so much of what we carry stays invisible.
The emotional cost becomes physical
Our bodies keep score long before our minds catch up. Sometimes it shows up as:
irritability we don’t recognize as our own
the inability to switch off
pressure behind the eyes at the end of the day
a numbness that worries us
over-functioning because slowing down feels dangerous
going through the motions on autopilot
a shrinking of joy
the sense that your world has become smaller
None of this is a personal failure. It’s the natural response to living for too long with too much.
But without a trauma-informed approach, these quiet signals are misinterpreted as “underperformance,” “attitude,” or “resistance.”
And that misinterpretation becomes its own injury.
“I’m fine.” The two most dishonest words we use at work.
Humanitarian culture rewards strength, continuity, commitment, self-sacrifice. And those qualities can be beautiful, until they become armor.
People say “I’m fine” because they believe:
there’s no room for their pain
others have it worse
they shouldn’t complain
they don’t want to burden the team
their job might be at risk
their leader doesn’t know what to do with the truth
So the truth stays silent. And the silence becomes heavy.
Trauma-informed leadership creates spaces where people don’t have to choose between honesty and safety.
It doesn’t demand disclosure. It doesn’t pry.
It simply makes it possible for people to be human without fear of consequence.
And that alone is transformative.
The invisible weight shows up in how people relate to systems
People who have been carrying too much for too long respond to organizations differently.
They may become:
quieter
more guarded
less trusting
more reactive to sudden changes
more sensitive to inconsistency
more disillusioned by broken promises
more affected by ambiguity
more reliant on structure and clarity
more skeptical of leadership messaging
Again, none of this is personal. It’s the very VERY normal, very VERY human response to stressors that have accumulated unevenly over time.
This is why trauma-informed systems matter just as much as trauma-informed leaders.
People heal or hurt in context, not in isolation.
Beneath the weight is often a longing
Most humanitarians don’t want to leave this work. They want to feel whole in it.
When people feel safe, steady, and supported, they often rediscover:
their hope
their grounding
their creativity
their compassion
their courage
their clarity
their sense of meaning
It doesn’t take much. The human heart recalibrates quickly when it feels protected.
Which is why trauma-informed leadership and organizational design aren’t just “well-being strategies.”
They’re retention strategies.
Trust strategies.
Performance strategies.
Ethical strategies.
Human strategies.
They honor what people are already carrying, without asking them to carry more.
We cannot heal what we won’t name
The truth is this:
Humanitarian work will always ask something of us. But it shouldn’t ask everything.
When we begin to name the invisible parts…the grief, the moral injury, the disorientation, the disappointment, the fatigue…we create the possibility for repair. We create the possibility for healthier systems, healthier leaders, healthier decisions.
We create the possibility for whole people and whole work.
And we begin to build organizations worthy of the people who are giving so much of themselves to keep them running.
This is why trauma-informed matters.
Not because people are fragile.
But because they are precious.
Coming Up Next
This is the second post in a four-part series on trauma-informed humanitarian work.
In the next part of this series, we’ll move from what we carry to how leaders can respond. We’ll look at the everyday moments where trauma-informed leadership quietly shifts the atmosphere of a workplace. No grand interventions. Just human, steady practices that make the load lighter, not heavier.
I’m looking forward to continuing this journey with you.
Holding space with care and solidarity…here’s to staying whole, together,
~ Kate
Thanks for reading The Olive Pages: Fieldnotes on care, clarity, and staying whole
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KRC provides coaching, psychosocial support, and organizational consulting to humanitarian professionals and mission-driven organizations worldwide. Based in lived experience and trauma-aware care, our work helps clients navigate burnout, moral injury, organizational change, and career transitions - while staying human in the process.