Who Takes Care of Us?The Hidden Reality Behind Veterinary Medicine and How Reiki Can Help

Every year, on the last Saturday of April, the world celebrates the men and women who dedicate their lives to animal health, public welfare, and food safety. We celebrate their compassion, their expertise, their sleepless nights, and their unshakable commitment to beings who cannot speak for themselves.

But today, I want to address a question that is rarely asked:

Who takes care of the people who take care of the animals?

I write this not as an outside observer, but as a veterinarian who works in clinical settings, feel the weight of some situations, and also lost a few colleagues along the way… and they were not failed professionals… quite the opposite… they were respected, brilliant, successful colleagues who chose to end their lives. And I write this because silence has already cost us much.

Some Numbers We Cannot Ignore

If you follow me, you know I love numbers and statistics and I will share some data here because I believe most people have no idea of what happens behind the scenes, since the veterinary profession is heavily romanticized. We have a “calling,” and our patients are adorable… and that is true… but there is also another side… the daily challenges, the cases of animal abuse, the pressure from guardians and hospitals, the low wages, the long working hours, and the lack of recognition, among many other things…

This is not a profession in crisis because its veterinarians are weak, but because the weight we carry is extraordinary and largely invisible to the outside world. The data speaks clearly:

• Veterinarians are 2 to 4 times more likely commit suicide than the general population and up to twice as likely as other medical professionals (CDC, 2019).

• Female veterinarians face a 3.5 times higher suicide risk than women in the general population; male colleagues face a 2.1 times higher risk.

• Approximately 80% of veterinarians experience depression at some point in their careers.

• In a North American study of over 11,000 veterinarians, 31% reported depressive episodes and 17% had experienced suicidal ideation since graduating.

• A survey found that 89.1% of veterinarians consider suicide one of the most critical issues facing the profession, and 92% identify stress as a significant concern.

• Nearly 50% report feeling unhappy in their careers, and more than half would not recommend the profession to others.

  
  

These are not just statistics...these are our colleagues and friends, people who entered this profession due to pure love for animals and who often find themselves, years later, utterly depleted.

Why Our Work Is So Hard

People outside the profession often assume our lives are filled with fluffy puppies and grateful pet owners. And yes, there is joy, but there is also a very different reality that unfolds behind closed clinic doors, one that we rarely talk about.

Animal cruelty and abuse. We see neglect, suffering, and abuse in forms most people will never encounter, and we carry those images with us. They do not simply disappear at the end of the shift.

Client pressure. Pet owners in grief can become hostile, accusatory, or abusive. We are yelled at, and many times threatened, all while trying to remain calm and professional for the animal in front of us.

Performing euthanasia. Every single month, veterinarians end lives. Compassionately, mercifully, but still end them and the emotional weight of this, repeated throughout a career, leaves its mark, undoubtedly.

Being undervalued. In an anthropocentric society, we treat “just animals.” Our training is as long and rigorous as that of medical doctors, yet our work is consistently devalued financially, socially, and culturally. This chronic undervaluation erodes self-worth over time.

Responsibility for our own pets. When the patient is also our own beloved animal, the emotional burden becomes even greater. We are not only veterinarians making clinical decisions, but also deeply attached guardians. The responsibility is doubled: both professional and personal. The fear of making a mistake, of not doing enough, or of not being able to save our own animal intensifies the pressure significantly. In these moments, clinical objectivity inevitably becomes intertwined with emotional attachment, and every decision carries an even heavier emotional weight than usual.

Access to lethal means. This is perhaps the most painful truth to write. Research has shown that when pentobarbital—the euthanasia drug used daily in veterinary practices—was excluded from mortality data, the elevated suicide rate among veterinarians essentially disappeared. Veterinarians do not die by suicide at higher rates only because they are more depressed than others. They die because, in a moment of crisis, they have immediate access to a substance that is reliably and quickly fatal. A moment of despair, which in another person might pass, becomes final.

I have lost some colleagues to suicide...people I knew, respected, and admired. And every single time, the reaction was the same:“But they were so competent. So successful. They seemed fine.” That is precisely the point....These were not struggling vets who had lost their way. They were respected professionals, some of them well-known in their field. The very traits that made them exceptional veterinarians, like perfectionism, conscientiousness, a deep sense of responsibility, and a reluctance to appear vulnerable, were the same traits that made asking for help feel nearly impossible.

The stigma around mental health in our profession runs deep., because we are trained to be the ones with all the answers, the ones who hold steady in emergencies, the ones who help. The idea of admitting that we ourselves are drowning feels like professional failure...But it is not and it never was.

Bringing Reiki into Our Daily Practice

Those of you who follow my work know that Reiki for animals is my primary focus and passion. I believe deeply in its capacity to support healing, calm, and well-being in our patients. But today, I want to turn the lens around, because before we can fully be present for our animals, we need to be present for ourselves.

Reiki is a Japanese energy-based technique that awakens the body’s natural capacity for balance and self-healing. And it would be powerful if veterinarians could use it first for their own healing, because we must care for ourselves before we can truly care for others.

What would it look like if clinics and hospitals began to integrate Reiki into their daily culture, not as a luxury, but as a genuine tool for team well-being? A brief self-treatment before euthanasia, a quiet moment after a traumatic case or a short meditation before starting the shift. Reiki is a practice that can be available to every member of the team, from the lead surgeon to the reception staff. It would mean a more human approach to a profession that has long operated on the premise that we must simply endure. It would mean acknowledging that compassion fatigue is real, that accumulated grief is real, and that the emotional cost of our work deserves attention and care.

When we feel supported and emotionally sustained, we bring a different quality of attention into the room, because we are calmer and our decisions are clearer. Our capacity for compassion, toward both animals and their guardians, is deeper. An emotionally grounded veterinarian is not just a healthier person, but a better veterinarian.

I am not suggesting that Reiki alone is the answer to a systemic crisis. Our profession needs some structural changes, like better working conditions, better wages, policies that limit unsupervised access to lethal medications, and a cultural shift that ensures we are recognized for the important work we do every day. But I am confident that Reiki can be part of the answer, as it is accessible, gentle, and profoundly restorative. It is already used in human healthcare, and there is research supporting its benefits for healthcare professionals.

It is something we can learn and carry with us, practicing self-care in moments that might otherwise be absorbed into the body as accumulated stress.

On this World Veterinary Day, I want to speak straight to my colleagues:

We are not just a pair of skilled hands. We are a human being, someone who has deep feelings, who carries so much, and who deserves care in return for all the care we give.

Allow yourself to heal and. to receive support and, if it resonates with you, allow yourself to discover Reiki.

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