This anecdote is personal. It illustrates how work can seep into the personal when we least expect it.

When I am in my professional role – as an interpreter or as a clinician – my boundaries are very well established. The stories I hear make their way in but only to a point – even the most gruesome stories.

In advance of any client contact, I prepare. First and foremost, my environment acts as the professional infrastructure, setting a tone. Where I sit, where the client sits, the lighting, the ambient sound – all is well planned. I feel strong.

Next, I spend time (even a few minutes) quieting my mind and doing some visualization of how I want to be in the impending interaction. I breath. Then, I am ready. It is like putting on some type of personal armor that allows me to engage fully but at a healthy distance.

That is a long lead in for what I want to share.

Recently, I spent some time engaged in my favorite self-care activities. I had eagerly anticipated them during the week. They did not disappoint. I was happy and utterly relaxed. What a great way to lead up to a subsequent gathering of friends! We talked, laughed and ate. I was happy – totally in the moment.

Then, innocently, the conversation shifted to a topic that was too real for me. The people at the table became engaged in a spirited discussion about a subject that I deal with daily, as it relates to my clinical clients. Their theoretical discussion was my very real, day-to-day professional reality. I listened but didn’t participate. It was the last thing I expected and was utterly unprepared.

Ever so slightly, my head dropped, I closed my eyes and subtly covered my face with one hand. My heart started to beat more quickly and my breathing became shallow. In the blink of an eye, I was back in the trenches but without my armor. Fortunately, the group became aware of my discomfort and, as good friends do, recognized the impact of this innocent table conversation. We changed the subject.

The impact stuck with me though. I was  unable to undo the impact quickly. The angst I felt was real. My fight/flight response was activated. I went on to talk and laugh about other things but I was unsettled. Over time, I have become good at masking this (whether or not that is healthy). I wanted to run. Once I had said my goodbyes, some time later, I knew it was important to regroup. In fact, when I went home, I did not turn on the TV or my iPad, my usual go-to activities. Rather, I closed my eyes for five minutes and fell asleep for two hours. I awoke feeling better and more relaxed. I lost myself to sleep so I could find my way back to my center.

This is vicarious trauma. It can rear its head when you least expect it. No one is immune. Be mindful of what your triggers might be and how you care for yourself.