The Hidden Grief Therapists Carry—and How to Release It

When I worked as a therapist, no one warned me about this part of the job: the quiet, lingering ache that comes from carrying someone’s story long after your work with them ends.

Even though it’s been years since I’ve been in the traditional therapy room, I still think about my former clients often.

Sometimes my mind drifts to a particular moment in a session, a defining point in their story, or a relationship they were trying to repair. I catch myself wondering: Where are they now? Did they find what they were looking for? Do they feel loved now?

And then there are the clients I never got closure with; the names that disappeared from my calendar. I still think about them too. Sometimes those are the stories that linger the most.

We don’t often name this for what it is: grief.

The Grief No One Talks About

When people hear the word “grief,” they picture funerals, casseroles left on the doorstep, the social permission to cry and take time away.

But as mental health professionals, we know there are other kinds of losses—losses that don’t get named or acknowledged. Losses we’re expected to just… move through, quickly, because there’s another client waiting in the lobby.

This is what I call professional grief:

The client who relapses after months of hard work.
The goodbye that comes before you’re ready.
The progress you watch unravel after they leave your care.
The sessions that end without closure, leaving an open loop in your heart.

When I was in community mental health, I didn’t have a name for it. I just knew I felt heavy.

Certain stories stuck to me. And sometimes, weeks or years later, I’d be sitting at home and find myself wondering about someone I used to see every Tuesday at 2 p.m.

Why It Stays With Us

Our connections with clients are real human attachment.

Even though we hold professional boundaries, we’re still showing up as deeply attuned, emotionally invested people.

We witness their struggles.
We celebrate their wins.
And then—sometimes without warning—we’re no longer part of their story, but they remain part of ours.

The other reason? We’re not taught what to do with it.

We learn how to hold space for others. But we don’t learn how to hold space for ourselves when we’re the ones carrying an emotional residue – especially from a job where we’re supposed to be “put together” and professional.

The Cost of Unprocessed Professional Grief

When grief has no outlet, it builds.

It can start as a quiet weight, but over time it can turn into compassion fatigue or emotional numbing. We might find ourselves pulling back just a little—not because we don’t care, but because caring feels like too much.

I didn’t realize how much I was holding until I left my role. It was only in the space afterward that I began to feel the fullness of what I had carried for years.

Making Room for the Losses We Carry

The first step is simply naming it. You can’t process what you won’t acknowledge.

Here are a few practices I wish I had known back then — things I now use and share with other helpers:

Name the Grief: Call It What It Is

Give yourself permission to call it what it is. Say it out loud or write it down: “I’m grieving this ending.” Naming it reduces the shame and makes it real enough to tend to.

Create a Small Ritual: Give It A Container

Grief needs structure. That might be lighting a candle after a client leaves your caseload, writing them a goodbye letter you’ll never send, or taking a short walk after a termination session. Rituals signal to your body that it’s okay to let go.

Tend Your Nervous System: Return to Center

As a sensitive person, I absorbed a lot in my work. It could take me hours to shake it off. Now, I use EFT tapping to sit with the emotion, notice what’s mine and what’s theirs, and come back to myself. It’s the tool I wish I’d had in the clinic.

When you name, ritualize, and regulate, you protect your capacity to keep caring, without burning out.

Your Turn to Reflect

If you’re reading this and thinking, Yes, I’ve felt this too, take a moment with these questions:

What losses from my work have I never named as grief?
How does my body let me know I’m carrying someone else’s story?
What might shift if I allowed myself to feel and release that weight?

Naming the loss is an act of care—for you, and for the work.

You Don’t Have to Carry This Alone

Processing grief isn’t indulgent, it’s maintenance. The kind you need to do to keep showing up with a grounded presence.

If you’re ready to stay connected to yourself while navigating the waves of this work, I have two ways to support you:

The Groundwork

The toolbelt grad school didn't give you.

Like regular cleanings for your nervous system: short, doable sessions that keep you clear, steady, and resilient so you can show up at your best when the work gets heavy.

Learn more about The Groundwork →

The Grounded Clinician

Master the skills to ground yourself.
In eight weeks, build your toolkit: map stress patterns, learn core regulation, and practice boundaries + rituals until they’re second nature so you can self-regulate on demand and sustain the work you love.

Explore The Grounded Clinician →