We offer expert-led tools and strategies to support the well-being of settlement staff.
A dedicated wellness hub for those who support others.
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Why Choose Us?
At the Settlement Wellness Hub, we believe that frontline workers deserve the same level of care they provide to others. Our hub is designed to support mental well-being, enhance resilience, prevent burnout, and promote a healthier work-life balance.
We offer:
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Monthly live wellness webinars with Q/A
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Burnout Prevention Support Group
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Library of downloadable resources tailored for Frontline Settlement Staff
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Multimedia content focused on stress reduction at work
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Monthly newsletter featuring best practices in workplace wellness
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Evidence-based guidance by a Registered Clinical Counsellor with over 15 years of experience in the sector.
Small Organization
$2,330/ Annually
Up to 25 staff
That's $7.76 per staff/month making it ideal for smaller teams looking to create a culture of well-being.
Medium Organization
$4,075/ Annually
Up to 50 staff
Only $6.79 per staff/month and designed for mid-sized teams seeking robust wellness supports.
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Settlement Wellness Hub © 2025
You Can’t Pour From an Empty Cup
Real Talk on Self-Care for Frontline Settlement Workers
Let’s be real for a second…You’ve likely heard so many times to“Take care of yourself!” And if you’re anything like me in my early years on the frontline, your reaction might’ve been something like, “Sure—right after I support this newcomer mom in crisis, write that report, attend two back-to-back meetings, and somehow figure out how to eat lunch before 5pm.”
I see you. And I get it.
As a Registered Clinical Counsellor with a background in frontline settlement work, I know firsthand how difficult it is to prioritize yourself when your job is built around meeting the needs of others. It feels noble. Important. Urgent. And it is. But the cost? Burnout, compassion fatigue, and that creeping sense that you're losing touch with your own needs.
So this isn’t just another fluffy post about self-care. This is a heart-to-heart from someone who’s been there. Whether you learn it the easy way or the hard way - taking care of yourself isn’t a luxury. It’s survival. And it's also what makes you better at the work you love.
You Can’t Pour From an Empty Cup
Because your work is purpose-driven. You're helping newcomers navigate impossible systems, dealing with trauma disclosures, and sometimes being the only safe person a client has. That creates emotional weight. And sometimes it gets really heavy. Now add onto it systemic pressures—short-term funding, high caseloads, lack of resources—it’s no wonder your own wellbeing gets shoved to the bottom of the to-do list.
And if you come from a caregiving culture or community yourself, there’s likely an internal voice whispering that putting yourself first is selfish. It’s not. It’s wise. And it's necessary.
So... How Do You Actually Implement Self-Care?
And if you come from a caregiving culture or community yourself, there’s likely an internal voice whispering that putting yourself first is selfish. It’s not. It’s wise. And it's necessary.
1. Rethink What Counts as “Self-Care”
Self-care isn’t just bubble baths or yoga classes. It’s setting boundaries. It’s saying no without guilt. It’s giving yourself permission to not be available 24/7. It’s getting a full night of sleep or drinking water before coffee.
Sometimes, it’s taking five deep breaths and splashing your face with cold water in the washroom before heading back into a tough session. That counts.
2. Build Micro-Moments Into Your Day
You might not have an hour. But do you have 3 minutes between clients? Use it. Breathe deeply. Stretch. Step outside and feel the sun (or just some fresh air!). Even tiny breaks tell your nervous system, “I’m safe. I’m okay.”
3. Have a Decompression Ritual After Work
Instead of going straight from “client crisis mode” to “parent/partner/friend mode,” create a transition. This could be music in the car, a walk around the block, even an intentional 5-minute pause before you enter the house. Give yourself a moment to shift gears.
4. Talk About It—With People Who Get It
Debriefing is not gossip. It’s processing. It’s release. Find a colleague, mentor, or counsellor who understands the unique emotional labour of this work. Don’t carry it alone.
5. Get Clear on Your “Non-Negotiables”
Pick 1 or 2 self-care practices that you commit to, no matter how busy it gets. That could be eating a real lunch, taking a break from your screen every 2 hours, or actually taking one of your 15-minute breaks.
A Final Thought
You are doing sacred, life-changing work. But you’re also a human being with limits, needs, and a body that’s trying to tell you when it’s had enough. Listen to it. Honour it. You don’t need to “earn” rest. Learning to say, “I care deeply—and I also matter.” That shift changed everything.
If no one has told you this today: You are not failing when you’re tired.
You’re tired because you’re doing hard, meaningful, emotional work. You’re showing up in the messiness of people’s lives with compassion and strength. And that’s incredible.
Let’s take care of ourselves as fiercely as we care for our clients. We deserve that. You deserve that.
Let’s be real for a second…You’ve likely heard so many times to“Take care of yourself!” And if you’re anything like me in my early years on the frontline, your reaction might’ve been something like, “Sure—right after I support this newcomer mom in crisis, write that report, attend two back-to-back meetings, and somehow figure out how to eat lunch before 5pm.”
Understanding and Navigating Vicarious Trauma in Settlement Work
There’s a moment that happens in this work, quiet, almost invisible, when someone shares something with you that stays lodged in your chest long after the meeting ends. It might be a client’s story of war, violence, or loss. Or maybe it’s the way their child looked at you when you had no housing solution left to offer.
You go home, you make dinner, you laugh at a show, but that feeling… it lingers.
That, my friend, is the slow drip of vicarious trauma…when the pain you witness seeps into your body, your spirit, your worldview.
And if you’ve felt it? You’re not weak. You’re not overly emotional. You’re human.
You're someone who cares so deeply that your empathy doesn’t clock out at 5pm.
So What Is Vicarious Trauma, Really?
Vicarious trauma (VT) is the emotional residue left over after hearing trauma stories again and again. Unlike burnout (which is more about exhaustion and overload), VT actually reshapes how you see the world. You might start feeling:
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Numb or detached
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Hopeless or cynical
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Hypervigilant or overly protective
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Disconnected from your own joy
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Like you’re never doing enough
And here’s the kicker: it happens slowly. It doesn’t announce itself with a bang but rather it creeps in over time.
So What Is Vicarious Trauma, Really?
Because we’re holding space for real human suffering.
Refugees, claimants, and migrants often arrive carrying the weight of war, persecution, displacement, and trauma. And guess who they tell their stories to? You.
Not a therapist. Not a social worker. You—the settlement worker they trust, the one who helped with their PR paperwork or found them a school for their child. You become their safe person. And that’s beautiful—but it also means you're absorbing a lot.
Now, layer on systemic barriers, anti-immigrant rhetoric, and institutional injustice? Yeah. It's a lot to hold.
How Can You Protect Yourself Without Shutting Down?
This is the heart of the work: staying open and connected without drowning in the pain. Here’s what can help:
1. Name It
When something hits you hard, acknowledge it. “That story really affected me.” Or “I’m still thinking about that family.” Naming it makes it real—and that’s the first step in processing it.
2. Create Emotional Boundaries
Boundaries aren't walls—they’re filters. They let the empathy through while keeping your own emotional core protected. Ask yourself: Am I taking this on as mine? Or can I witness and support without absorbing it?
Sometimes it helps to visualize leaving the story at the office. One tip that works well is using a ritual shift—a small, mindful act that signals your nervous system it's time to transition.
When you put the key in the lock and hear that familiar click, pause. Take a breath. In that moment, let it be your cue to leave work at work. You showed up, you gave your best—and now it’s time to return to yourself.
Boundaries can be quiet, personal, and powerful. And they can start with something as small as a turn of the key.
3. Debrief with Intention
Find your people. That could be a trusted colleague, a counsellor, or a peer support group (we got one of those!) Processing what you’ve heard in a safe space is not only healing, it’s essential. You are not meant to carry this alone.
4. Balance the Narrative
When all you hear is trauma, your worldview starts to shift toward fear and despair. So make space to also witness resilience, humour, healing, and success. Celebrate the small wins: the client who made their first phone call in English, the teen who smiled for the first time in weeks, the moment you remembered to eat lunch before 2pm. These matter.
Notice the laughter in staff meetings, the strength in your clients, the hope that lingers even on hard days. Let joy back in—not as a denial of hardship, but as a reminder that light still exists alongside the heavy.
Balancing the narrative doesn’t mean ignoring pain—it means holding space for the full human experience, including your own.
5. Get Support for You
If you notice signs of vicarious trauma—sleep issues, irritability, hopelessness, avoiding clients—reach out. You don’t need to wait until you’re falling apart to ask for help. Counselling, peer support, and supervision can make a huge difference.
Side Note…Don’t Learn the Hard Way
It’s easy to feel guilty for feeling drained, to tell yourself: You’re not the one who went through war. You don’t get to feel this way. But here’s the truth:
You don’t need to experience the trauma directly for it to affect you.
And you don’t need to suffer to prove your commitment to this work.
You are allowed to feel it. You are allowed to be impacted.
And you are allowed to take care of yourself—fiercely, unapologetically, and daily.
This work asks a lot of you. But you are not a vessel for other people’s pain. You are a human being with your own heart, history, and nervous system. Vicarious trauma isn’t a sign you’re failing—it’s a sign that you care.
So let’s normalize the conversation. Let’s check in on each other.
Let’s build a work culture where no one has to quietly carry the stories alone.
When the Work Hits Home
Navigating Your Own Trauma Triggers on the Frontline
Let me tell you something that’s not said enough in our field: Helping others doesn’t mean you’ve healed everything inside yourself. And showing up with care doesn’t mean you won’t get triggered along the way.
I’ve been a settlement worker, a therapist, and someone with my own experiences of being a newcomer to Canada. And even with years of training, supervision, and support, there are still moments when a client’s story hits me in that deep, familiar place—unexpected, raw, and personal.
Let’s Talk About Triggers (For Real)
A trigger is anything that brings your nervous system back into a state of threat. It could be a story, a tone of voice, a smell, or even someone’s body language.
In settlement work, we often hear stories of war, loss, racism, family separation, grief and the list goes on. If you’ve lived through anything similar—and many of us have—it can stir up old pain that you thought you’d “moved past.”
You’re sitting with a client and suddenly your chest tightens, your body clenches, or you feel like you’re not fully in the room. That’s not weakness. That’s your body remembering.
Yes, Frontline Workers Have Trauma Too
We don’t talk about it enough. Many of us come to this work because we understand pain. We’ve been there, or our families have. Maybe you were raised in a war-impacted home. Maybe you’ve experienced racism, violence, or displacement yourself. That history doesn’t go away just because you have a name badge.
Sometimes the work awakens things we didn’t expect.
What I Do When I’m Triggered
Here’s what I’ve learned about getting triggered doing this work:
1. Pause and Breathe
It sounds simple, but grounding yourself in your breath is the first lifeline. A slow inhale. A longer exhale. Tuning into your body reminds you: I’m here now. I’m safe. Even if you have to do it while still listening to a client.
2. Gently Acknowledge the Trigger
If something hits home, name it to yourself: “That story reminded me of something from my own past.” Don’t judge it. Don’t shame yourself. Just notice. And hold that part of you with the same compassion you offer your clients.
3. Debrief With the Right People
Have a circle—trusted colleagues, a supervisor, or a friend—where you can process these moments. Don’t pretend to be unaffected. Talking about it helps you make sense of what came up, instead of carrying it silently.
4. Create a Plan for Care
If you know a particular topic is especially activating for you (e.g. detention, or grief), make sure you’ve got support lined up. You might schedule lighter work afterwards, or block off time to walk, cry, or debrief. Just give yourself a minute and check in with yourself before you move on to the next client or to do list.
What I Wish More People Knew
Being triggered means you’re human. Trauma is a common wound and having a trauma history doesn’t disqualify you from doing this work. In fact, it might make you more attuned, more compassionate, and more resilient—as long as you’re also caring for yourself in the process.
You are allowed to feel it. You are allowed to be impacted.
And you are allowed to take care of yourself—fiercely, unapologetically, and daily.
A Loving Reminder
You can take care of your own wounds and be present for others.
You can set boundaries that protect your nervous system without abandoning your role.
You can set boundaries that protect your nervous system without abandoning your role.
You can take breaks. Ask for help. Show compassion to yourself, “This topic is hard for me, and that’s ok.”
This work asks so much of you so please don’t abandon yourself in the process.
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