The hidden cost of telling hard stories: Vicarious trauma

Former BBC foreign correspondent, UN communications specialist, this year’s Global PR Practitioner, and now training as a clinical psychologist, Crispin Thorold

If you work in communications for an NGO, a humanitarian organisation or you deal with conflict, injustice or crisis, you will know what it is to sit with difficult material.

You will have spoken with, or read stories of, survivors or those facing real hardship. Worked with unsettling material you can't unsee. Shaped a narrative around suffering that is not your own, and then closed your laptop and tried to get on with your day.

 What you may not have is a name for what that does to you over time. In journalism, that name is well established. The industry has spent two decades building frameworks, training and support structures around trauma-exposed reporting. In communications, we are barely at the beginning of that conversation.

Crispin Thorold has spent years working at the intersection of journalism, communications and psychology – as a BBC journalist, then in communications roles at the United Nations and now training as a psychologist and psychotherapist. Across these roles, he has been exposed to primary, secondary and vicarious trauma.

Recently named the Global PR Practitioner of the Year, I asked him to help us understand what communications professionals need to know.

Three types of trauma, and why communicators may be exposed to them all

Crispin draws a careful distinction between three forms of trauma exposure. Primary trauma results from direct experience of a traumatic event - being in a conflict zone, witnessing an incident. Secondary trauma comes from working closely with survivors. Vicarious trauma - the form perhaps least understood in our profession - develops from repeated, sustained exposure to traumatic materials: reports, testimony, imagery, case files.

“Unlike classic PTSD, vicarious trauma is not about what happens to you, but rather what you are exposed to repeatedly over time. In our work, it is the cumulative psychological impact of engaging with survivors’ accounts or reviewing distressing content, as we shape narratives around violence, injustice, or crisis. For communicators, this is often mediated exposure - we may not be physically present, but we are deeply immersed in the material,” Crispin says.

And here is the paradox at the heart of this issue: the more empathetic and effective a communicator you are, the greater your potential risk. The very quality that makes you good at this work - the ability to truly inhabit a story, to feel it - is also the quality that leaves you most exposed.

The warning signs, and why we miss them

Vicarious trauma does not typically announce itself. Instead, it accumulates. Crispin describes the early signals as subtle behavioural shifts that can easily be attributed to stress, overwork or simply “having a lot on”: increased irritability or emotional numbness, a loss of clarity or judgement in storytelling or broader communications work, reduced capacity for empathy, or an excessive identification with traumatic experiences.

Outside work, the signs can be just as easy to rationalise, like difficulty switching off, a worldview that has gradually darkened, a heightened sense of threat, disrupted sleep, persistent fatigue, and low-level anxiety.

The reason these signs go unrecognised, Crispin argues, is partly structural and partly cultural. Our profession does not see itself as ‘trauma-exposed’. There is limited formal training on psychological risk, and we have a professional culture that prizes resilience, delivery under pressure and a certain emotional distance from the work.

"In a business that thrives on deadlines and commercial imperatives, conversations like these can become sidelined,” he says.

Who is most at risk?

While trauma exposure is a risk across many communications roles, certain areas carry heightened vulnerability. Crisis communicators face real-time exposure to acute events. Those working in social impact storytelling, human rights advocacy or humanitarian communications are in sustained contact with distressing material as a matter of course.

Crispin flags the humanitarian and not-for-profit sector, human rights organisations, defence, health, and emergency services - those who may encounter unfiltered or graphic content following traumatic incidents - as particularly exposed. But he is clear that no sector is immune, and that the current moment matters: given the level of political instability globally, the risk of exposure to traumatic materials is, right now, elevated.

What individuals can do

Crispin’s advice begins with awareness - an acceptance that exposure to trauma is an occupational reality for many in this field, not a personal failing or an exceptional circumstance. “This begins with an acceptance that exposure to trauma is a form of occupational risk that many of us face. This can include working at the scene of a traumatic incident, to dealing closely with survivors, to reviewing materials that relate to traumatic events.”

From there, he emphasises professional boundaries: knowing when to step back, knowing what kinds of materials you are prepared to work with day-in-day-out, and protecting yourself accordingly.

“One of my personal rules has been that I do not look at images or videos of traumatic incidents unless it is essential for the job at hand (which it rarely is). This simple boundary has significantly reduced my exposure to potentially traumatic materials with no noticeable impact on my ability to do my job well.”

He adds: “Outside of work we should prioritise our body’s needs by ensuring we sleep well, exercise, have meaningful social contact and carry out activities that allow us to unplug. More than anything, if exposed to traumatic materials at work it is always worth speaking to a trained mental health professional.”

What organisations must do differently

Individual resilience is not enough, Crispin says. Organisations have a responsibility - and most are currently falling short.

The starting point is recognition: vicarious trauma is a legitimate occupational risk, not a fringe concern. That means moving beyond generic wellbeing programmes to address trauma-specific exposure in meaningful, structural ways. It means creating reflective spaces where teams can process what they are encountering. It means training managers to recognise early warning signs and respond appropriately. It means building trauma awareness into role design - particularly in crisis or high-exposure positions - and, where possible, adjusting workflows to limit sustained exposure to traumatic materials.

Telling difficult stories responsibly

For those shaping narratives around trauma and suffering, Crispin returns to the fundamentals of responsible communications: factual, clear storytelling that avoids sensationalism and inaccuracy; a focus on enhancing understanding rather than overwhelming audiences; and above all, prioritising the dignity and agency of the people whose stories are being told.

He also asks a harder question - one worth considering with before commissioning or producing difficult content: what is the purpose of this piece? If the subject matter is traumatic and the primary driver is traffic or engagement, that is a reason to pause, and perhaps to reconsider entirely.

Advice for those entering the field

For communicators drawn to purpose-driven, humanitarian or crisis work - particularly those at the start of their careers - Crispin’s advice is to enter with eyes open. This work can be extraordinarily meaningful, but it can also take a psychological toll that is rarely named in job descriptions or onboarding conversations.

Build good habits early: clear professional boundaries (not always a strength in the NGO world), regular reflection, a mentor you can be honest with. Look after your body. Consider regular check-ins with a mental health professional if you are likely to be working with traumatic materials over an extended period.

"Purpose-driven work requires the stamina and endurance of a marathon runner - so expend your energy accordingly. This work cannot be done at full sprint, all the time,” Crispin says.

“Once you are working in these sectors it is important to remember that our exposure to traumatic events is not directly proportional to our commitment to the cause for which we are working. It is OK, in fact it is important, to take a step back from work temporarily if it’s all feeling too much.”

The most important thing to understand

If there is a single message Crispin wants to leave with communications professionals, it is this: trauma is not weakness nor a failure. It is the body's natural response to sustained exposure to heightened stress - and if it goes unrecognised, it can lead to genuinely damaging and even devastating outcomes.

The good news is that with knowledge and awareness, vicarious trauma can be identified early, treated effectively, and in many cases, prevented from taking hold.

So - if you think you may be at risk, seek out support.