I began my career in the voluntary sector as a support worker over 10 years ago. Newly graduated and with a job offer from a women’s hostel which was paying just above minimum wage, I could not have been more excited.

Fast-forward a decade and a number of similar roles later – in recent years working with women who had experienced trauma – and I was leaving my final role in the sector, completely exhausted, burnt-out and questioning why I had ever gone into it. How did my outlook change so much?

It is not that I question whether I made a difference – I know I did. I remember most of the names and stories of the hundreds of individuals that I worked with, and how I supported them. It’s also not that I didn’t look after myself. Over the years, I developed strong boundaries, positive coping strategies and emotional resilience. But, the combination of difficult working environments, compassion fatigue and vicarious trauma meant that by the end of my time in the sector, my excitement had vanished.

Anyone in the helping professions is at risk of compassion fatigue, physical and emotional exhaustion, and a reduced ability to empathise. It is inevitable that a worker takes on some of the survivor’s feelings – whether it is anxiety, fear, sadness, powerlessness or anger. Over time, a worker can start to experience some of the same symptoms as the person they are supporting, affecting them physically, emotionally, mentally and sexually.

For me, the physical symptoms included frequent headaches, constriction in my throat which felt as if someone was strangling me, lethargy and exhaustion. The emotional symptoms were tearfulness, anxiety, nightmares and seeing intrusive images. All of this affected my relationships with my husband, family and friends.

What was even more difficult to deal with was the impact vicarious trauma had upon my worldview. I had always wanted to have a family, but started to feel very uncertain about whether I wanted to bring children into such a dark world. Although I did everything I could to manage these symptoms, burnout seemed, and was for me, inevitable.

Vicarious trauma and burnout don’t just occur in a vacuum. My experiences were intensified by the increasing frustration of carrying out support work in the context of austerity measures. It became almost impossible to secure rights for survivors . Nearly every conversation with social services, housing, mental health teams and the police was a battle. Furthermore, the organisations I worked for were under strain, having to make cutbacks and ask staff to work in less than ideal conditions.

However, I found a shocking lack of awareness at senior management level about vicarious trauma and its impact upon staff wellbeing, in more than one organisation. Lack of resources was cited as a reason to not support staff wellbeing, although many approaches to doing so are either free or very cheap. A culture of openness, non-blame and empathy go a long way to negate the effects of vicarious trauma and can prevent burnout from occurring. But, unfortunately (and ironically, given that this approach is expected from staff towards service users), I did not find this culture to be embraced by my former employers.

To foster a positive workplace culture does not detract from an organisation’s purpose or from prioritising service users’ needs. If authentic measures are put in place to support staff wellbeing, surely this can only have a positive impact on the work that is carried out? It will enhance an organisation’s reputation, improve outputs, increase staff retention and morale. In a sector where the only appreciating asset is people, it makes both moral and economic sense for organisations to take staff wellbeing seriously.

Confessions of a charity professional is the Guardian Voluntary Sector Network’s anonymous series where charity workers tell it how it is. If you would like to pitch us an idea, click here.