When the News Comes Home With Us: Making Space for Our Own Humanity

Christiane C. Long, PhD, LCSW

Content note: Discussion of sexual assault and its emotional impact

Recent reporting on a former Cornell University student’s allegation that seven fraternity

members sexually assaulted her in 2024 has brought renewed attention to sexual violence and

institutional accountability on college campuses. Following a civil lawsuit, prosecutors have

reopened the criminal investigation. These remain allegations in an ongoing case, and questions

about individual conduct and institutional accountability are still being examined.

For many women and others whose lives are shaped by gender-based violence, particularly those

who have survived sexual violence, the news may be horrifying without feeling surprising. That

familiarity is part of its heaviness. We recognize the questions these stories raise: Who knew?

Who could have intervened? Who stayed silent? Would someone have acted sooner if protecting

a survivor had mattered more than protecting a reputation? Concerns about concealment,

minimization, and institutional self-protection can feel painfully familiar, even while the specific

facts of this case remain under investigation.

The weight comes from recognizing how ordinary these conversations have become: women and

gender diverse people discussing whom they can trust, how to keep one another safe, and

whether they would be believed if something happened. For some of us, the reporting brings us

back to our own experiences of being harmed, doubted, or left without support. It can also stir

anger at the silence of people—including men who could challenge other men—whose

intervention might make a difference. As social workers, we may hold those feelings alongside

our clients’ reactions while navigating our own grief, fear, and exhaustion. Understanding

trauma professionally does not make that familiarity any less painful.

As a therapist, social worker, and a survivor of sexual assault, I approach this news from more

than one place. I bring my professional understanding of trauma, my concern for survivors, and

my own history. Those parts of me do not exist in separate rooms. Being trained to help others

navigate trauma does not make me immune to its impact.

In our work, we listen to stories of violence, betrayal, fear, and loss. We make space for

experiences that clients may never have spoken aloud. We offer steadiness while someone else

finds words for what happened to them. That work matters deeply. It also asks something of us.

Repeated exposure to others’ traumatic experiences can contribute to secondary traumatic stress.

For clinicians who are survivors, there may be another layer: a client’s story or a news report can

stir our own memories and feelings. These experiences can overlap, although they are not the

same, and a strong emotional response does not automatically mean we have developed a

trauma-related condition.

Then the session ends, and we go home.

We shift from our professional role into the rest of our lives. We make dinner, answer messages,

care for people we love, and try to rest. Yet we are also living in the same world as our clients.

The news is on our phones. The public commentary follows us. There is no clean transition that

makes everything we have heard disappear.

This is why self-care in social work has to be more than something we recommend to clients. It

must be something we make space for in our own lives, too. The NASW Code of Ethics

recognizes professional self-care as essential to competent and ethical practice.

During news cycles like this one, that may mean choosing when to read updates and declining to

revisit graphic details. It may mean taking a few quiet minutes between sessions, seeking

consultation, attending our own therapy, or telling someone we trust, “This is affecting me.” We

can use supervision and consultation to process the professional impact while protecting client

confidentiality. We also deserve spaces where we can receive support as people. As humans.

Self-care requires support from our workplaces, too. Manageable workloads, meaningful

supervision, protected breaks, and access to time off help make care possible. Organizations

share responsibility for addressing the impact of trauma exposure; individual coping cannot carry

that responsibility alone.

We can care about survivors and seek accountability while setting limits on how much

distressing coverage we consume. Taking a break does not erase our concern. Our attention does

not have to be constant to be meaningful.

Social work is a heavy field. Those of us doing this work need permission—and practical

opportunities—to put some of that weight down. We deserve care because we are human,

including when we are the person others turn to for help.

A few practical ways to care for yourself during heavy news cycles:

• Set a news boundary. Choose a brief window for updates, mute distressing accounts,

  and give yourself permission to skip graphic details.

• Pause between sessions. Feel your feet on the floor, stretch, drink water, or step outside.

  Notice what you need before moving into the next hour.

• Create a transition home. Change clothes, take a short walk, or listen to music that

  helps you shift out of your professional role.

• Reach for support. Use consultation to process the work while protecting client

  confidentiality. Seek your own therapy or connect with people who affirm your identities

  and understand your lived experience.

• Make room for ordinary life. Eat, rest, laugh, spend time with someone safe, or do

  something you enjoy. You do not have to earn those moments by reaching exhaustion.

• Adjust the workload when possible. Protect a break, request support, or take time off. If

  distress is affecting your sleep, relationships, or ability to stay present, seek additional

  support.