Caring for the Care Team: Recognizing and Addressing Secondary Traumatic Stress in Oncology Professionals

You signed up to care for patients, not to carry the weight of their suffering home in your pockets.

Yet if you’ve worked in oncology for any length of time, you know it’s nearly impossible not to absorb some of the pain, fear, and loss you witness every day. It’s part of being human — and part of what makes you a compassionate professional. But it also has a name: secondary traumatic stress.

Let’s unpack what it is, how to recognize it, and — most importantly — how to meet it with self-compassion instead of self-criticism.

What Is Secondary Traumatic Stress?

Secondary traumatic stress (STS) is the emotional toll of caring for people who are going through trauma. You’re not the one receiving the diagnosis, enduring treatment, or navigating loss — but you’re right there beside your patients and families, sometimes absorbing their trauma by proximity.

Here’s the distinction:

• Burnout is the gradual exhaustion from workload, long hours, and systemic pressures.

• STS comes from the stories, the suffering, the moments when your heart can’t help but lean in and ache alongside someone else’s.

And in oncology, the risk is higher simply because the work brings you face-to-face with profound life-and-death realities more often than most people encounter in a lifetime.

What Does It Look Like?

STS doesn’t usually announce itself with a dramatic drumroll. It sneaks in quietly, often disguised as “just being tired” or “having a bad week.” Here are a few ways it shows up:

• Emotional signs: irritability, sadness, numbness, anxiety, compassion fatigue.

• Cognitive signs: intrusive thoughts, difficulty concentrating, loss of perspective, or hope.

• Physical signs: poor sleep, headaches, fatigue that coffee can’t cure.

• Behavioral signs: pulling away from patients or colleagues, avoiding certain conversations, noticing your empathy feels thin.

If this sounds familiar, you’re not broken. You’re human — and humans have limits.

How to Spot It in Yourself

STS can be tricky to catch because we’re all trained to “power through.” But powering through is often the very thing that masks the problem. A few self-check questions:

• Do I feel emotionally wrung out after patient conversations?

• Do I carry patients’ stories in my head when I’m trying to fall asleep?

• Have I started to feel detached, cynical, or hopeless?

• Do I feel guilty for even having these feelings?

If you’re nodding along in agreement, take a breath. Awareness acknowledgment is the first and bravest step.

Taking a Self-Compassionate Approach

Here’s the good news: The antidote to STS isn’t toughness. It’s tenderness. Not indulgence, not weakness — but self-compassion.

A few strategies to try:

• Mindful pauses: A minute between patients to breathe, stretch, or simply put your hand on your heart and remember you’re doing enough.

• Peer support: Debrief with trusted colleagues. You don’t need to carry it all alone.

• Rituals of release: Journal, take a walk, listen to music that helps you exhale the day.

• Professional support: Therapy, coaching, or supervision can provide perspective and relief.

• Healthy boundaries: Allow yourself to truly log off at the end of your shift. Netflix counts as recovery — just don’t binge the oncology drama series.

Remember: You wouldn’t tell a patient to just “get over it.” Offer yourself the same grace.

The Role of Organizations and Teams

STS isn’t only an individual issue — it’s also a workplace reality. Organizations that acknowledge this create cultures where staff feel safe, supported, and sustained. That might look like:

• Regular debrief sessions after difficult cases.

• Access to mental health resources.

• Leadership that normalizes talking about stress and well-being.

When institutions invest in the emotional health of staff, everyone benefits — including patients.

Closing: Permission to Care for Yourself

Here’s your permission slip (not that you need one): You are allowed to care for yourself. In fact, it’s part of your professional responsibility. Empty cups don’t pour, and depleted hearts don’t heal.

So today, give yourself the gift of one small act of self-compassion. A mindful breath. A short walk. A phone call to someone who makes you laugh. The work you do is extraordinary, and you deserve extraordinary care, too.

Takeaway: Secondary traumatic stress is real, it’s common, and it’s not a personal failing. The solution is not to toughen up, but to soften toward yourself. You don’t just support patients on their journey — you’re on a journey too.