Holding Space Without Holding It All

I’m involved with a lot of debriefs at work.

I’m the co-director of the debriefing program for our medical school. I’m the physician lead for the monthly debriefs for our PICU team. As an ethics consultant, debriefing—whether formal or informal—is part of the terrain.

Honestly, I’m not even sure how it became one of “my things.” But I suspect it happened the way most things happen in academic medicine. Someone asked me to do it once, probably because I seemed like I’d be good at it. I wasn’t terrible, so they asked me again. After a few rounds of that, I figured I should read something or do some training so I wouldn’t just be winging it. And before long, I was doing it more than anyone else. I’d read more than anyone else. And suddenly, I was someone else. I was that person.

It’s kind of like how you become Director of Transport Medicine. There’s no formal training program. You show up, help out, stick around. And then one day, someone hands you the reins.

But here’s the thing about debriefing, and emotional labor in general: if you’re even a little bit empathic, carrying the emotions of others can get heavy. And if you notice that you carry other people’s feelings? That’s your sign: you’re empathic. And you’re probably doing work that keeps piling more on you to carry.

When I know something will be emotionally dense, I try to prepare. But if I’m honest, my prep usually looks like this: I glance at my Outlook calendar and think, Oof, that one’s going to be rough. That’s it. That’s the extent of it. Then I silence my notifications and head in.

Lately, I’ve been in so many debriefs that walking around emotionally saturated has started to feel normal. And because I didn’t notice it right away, I started doing the same kind of emotional work in places where it wasn’t my job.

A friend hit a rough patch.
Hold space. Listen generously. Carry emotion.

Another headline about suffering somewhere in the world.
Hold space. Listen generously. Carry emotion.

My spouse had a minor health setback.
Hold space. Listen generously. Carry emotion.

Without realizing it, I was holding space for the whole damn galaxy.

And what happened? I started to feel like a bloated, twitchy nerve ending. Everything felt heavy and overstimulating. I was slow to move but quick to flinch—a weird mix of sluggish and raw.

That’s when I realized I’d brought my emotional work home with me—not in the good, boundaried way that lets us show up with empathy, but in the way that lets work seep into every crack of our day. That kind of spillover is easy in medicine. People come to us sick, hurting, and vulnerable. Emotional heavy lifting is part of the job. But when we forget to close the valve—when we carry that load into every relationship, headline, and ambient conversation—we strap ourselves with a burden we were never meant to bear.

Because we’re good at helping. Because people need us. Because we care.

That kind of exchange only works until it doesn’t.

So, what’s the move?

First, name it. Recognize where you're doing emotional work that isn’t your job. Your emotions are yours. Everyone else’s emotions? Also theirs. And if that sounds like kindergarten ethics, it’s only because we’ve been miseducated. We teach kids not to hurt others’ feelings, and somewhere along the line, we forget that feelings aren’t things that can be hurt by someone else. We grow up thinking our emotional states are dictated by what others do or say—things we cannot control. Which means we end up in a lose/lose game with no exit.

Second, extract yourself. Start listening without absorbing. When someone shares something painful, offer your full presence without taking on their pain as your own. Try a mental script like: Their emotions are theirs, my emotions are mine. You can still be kind, generous, loving, and less exhausted. Which, in turn, makes you better at all those things anyway.

Third, prep with intention. When you’re going into emotionally intense territory, don’t wing it. Schedule real time before and after. Meditate, walk, play chess on your phone. Do anything that clears emotional residue. Just don’t zone out in your inbox and pretend that’s recovery—it’s not. (Ask me how I know.)

You don’t need to harden your heart. You just need to build better containers.

Because this isn’t about caring less, it’s about caring better. More sustainably, more humanely, and more aligned with your actual job (and life) description.

Let the emotions pass through you, not into you. You’re not a sponge. You’re a conduit. And you get to decide what flows through.  And what doesn’t.