Joy, Limits, and Meaning for Those Who Help Others
Written by Julia Elstrodt, Psychotherapist
Julia Elstrodt is an Ivy League-educated psychotherapist who helps people overcome trauma, reconnect with joy, and find wholeness. She works in private practice and in collaboration with charities supporting survivors of domestic violence, modern slavery, and other forms of gender-based violence.
If you are someone who chooses to help for a living, yours is the work of hope. This article explores how activists, doctors, therapists, and frontline workers can stay close to pain without losing sight of joy, limits, and meaning. Being in the arena surrounds us with personal trauma, vicarious trauma, and re-traumatization. The list goes on. Yet, we continue to fight difficult battles and return for more. We are drawn to work that hurts and heals us at the same time.
In the presence of pain
I recently met healthcare professionals involved with Doctors Without Borders, an independent medical humanitarian organization. Their work in areas affected by conflict asks them to witness extremely challenging scenarios, face setbacks, and make difficult decisions. I was glad to hear that the doctors make use of the mental health professionals available to them. They described how much they learned while in the field, and many return several times, even with the emotional challenges involved. For many, what is gained from the experience seems to outweigh its difficulties. It is a chance to offer something meaningful in places where hope is in short supply.
Activists face a different challenge. A big part of their work is to tell personal stories, which can lead to continuous re traumatization. In my work with activists, I see firsthand how much strength and resilience it takes to do that, deliberately reopening wounds in the hope of giving a voice to many and impacting future generations. They, too, continue to return to the work.
Therapists also live in proximity to pain, but in a quieter setting. Daily, we choose to engage with people’s suffering, listen to their sorrows, and attempt to bring light into their stories. Our areas of expertise usually have a deeply personal foundation, which means we often attract clients whose struggles mirror our own. The work requires support and a lot of self reflection.
Over time, I have learned to respect the breaks between sessions, the somatic release techniques I use at the end of the day, and my long sleep needs. I also couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else. Witnessing the effects of this work is my biggest source of joy and fulfillment.
Joy as an act of courage
At a recent FGM Summit at the Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office (FCDO) in London, my dear friend and colleague Sema Gornall, CEO of the Vavengers, said something that stayed with me, “Our courage should be with fun things.” In other words, we can be brave not only in facing pain, but in allowing ourselves joy.
Her jokes sprinkled throughout the event turned a sensitive afternoon into one filled with laughter, and certainly made my job of providing mental health support much easier. We can put so much emphasis on the problems we are trying to solve that we forget to have fun, as if joy were somehow less serious than suffering.
Joy is an act of courage, and it may be one of our most underrated tools for sustaining healing and hope. Every time we come together as helpers to laugh, share experiences, and deepen our bonds, we are doing something quietly defiant. We make space for something more than survival.
Community is what makes this possible. When we have people around us, we can learn to ask for help. I notice how, whenever I try to do something alone, I struggle. Especially in this line of work, the weight of it can be difficult to carry by ourselves. We need others to collaborate with, and the humility to recognize both our strengths and limitations.
Honoring our limits
The work of hope is not sustainable without limits. I had to take a short break from my frontline work to grieve the death of a loved one. In my fragile state, I did not have the capacity to handle that extent of vicarious trauma. Stepping back from that role was not easy, but it was necessary. Sometimes, the most compassionate thing we can do is withdraw for a while.
We need to recognize and respect our limitations. I have spent much of my life running on self imposed expectations, rather than meeting myself where I am. Being kind to ourselves is much easier said than done, but often essential. In moments when we beat ourselves up, it can help to ask, “Would I treat someone I love the way I am treating myself right now?” If the answer is no, this is an opportunity to correct our thinking.
The same is true of changing our minds. Sometimes we overcommit. We might say yes to joining a panel, only to realize later that we do not have the capacity. Many of us in helping professions can also be people pleasers and have a hard time saying no. Saying, “I changed my mind, I can’t,” can feel even harder. Yet there can be real kindness in checking in with ourselves and responding honestly, even if it disappoints others in the short term. Honoring our limits is not a failure of devotion. It is what allows our devotion to last.
Why we return
What brings us back to difficult work is not only resilience but meaning. There is something deeply human about being in the arena of life instead of watching from a distance. I have observed people with remarkable skills suffer more when they are disconnected from the very things they are here to offer. What we give asks something of us, but it also gives something back.
In a recent training with grief expert David Kessler, he told us, “You are in the perfect position to help the person you once were.” To me, these words accentuate the mutually beneficial nature of our work. We all suffer from occasional impostor syndrome or the belief that we are not ready for something. But ready can sometimes be a decision. Yes, we are all (hopefully) constantly growing. Still, we can often help a great deal from where we are right now. What is ultimately required of us is to show up, be present, and witness.
Personally, I love witnessing the impact of this work. It is a privilege to be part of people’s lives and their development. It brings me immense joy to see the blossoming of self love and self confidence. For each person I get to help, what I receive in return is far greater.
The more I walk this path, the more I realize that a meaningful life is rarely built from something missing. More often, it asks us to make use of what is already here. Our history, our life experience, our pain, our joy, our passions, and our capacity to care.
This, to me, is the work of hope, returning, again and again, to what we have to offer and allowing it to change us as much as it changes others.
Read more from Julia Elstrodt
Julia Elstrodt, Psychotherapist
Julia Elstrodt is a psychotherapist specializing in trauma and embodied awareness. Knowing her vocation from the age of eleven, she has dedicated her life to the art of healing. Her work is rooted in the psychology of C. G. Jung, bridging the worlds of psychotherapy and spirituality. Shaped by the lived experience of profound trauma, Julia is deeply committed to supporting healing in both individuals and communities.
