The Hidden Cost of a Job

It's funny, isn't it, how we talk about taking care of our bodies—diet, exercise, preventative screenings—and almost never mention the silent, insidious damage a job can inflict. I see it every day in my practice. Kids come in with headaches, stomach aches, anxiety, things that often point back, not to some physiological failing, but to the stress they’re carrying. And I know, with a certainty that settles deep in my bones, that the seeds of that stress are often planted long before they ever reach my examination room.

I’ve been thinking a lot about work lately. Not the rewarding parts—there *are* rewarding parts, always—but the grinding, demoralizing aspects. The constant feeling of being watched, of having to justify every decision, of never quite measuring up. My dad had that minor stroke last month, and the weeks that followed were a strange blend of frantic and numb. Seeing him, a man who always seemed invincible, vulnerable and suddenly… smaller… forced me to look at my own habits, my own levels of stress. Because the thing about those invisible injuries is, they accumulate.

It’s not always screaming matches or blatant bullying, although those things absolutely exist and leave scars. Sometimes it's the constant low hum of expectation, the subtle pressure to do more with less, the feeling that your value is directly tied to your productivity. It’s the meeting that could have been an email, the endless loop of revisions, the casual dismissal of your concerns. It's the way a culture can normalize a level of exhaustion that should be, frankly, shocking. I felt it myself, a few weeks ago, with two clients simultaneously navigating impossible situations. Just… the sheer emotional weight of it.

My middle child, bless her heart, is having a bit of a tough time at school. Social dynamics are brutal at that age, and it’s heartbreaking to witness. But when I listen to her, really listen, I hear echoes of the pressures I see in the adults I work with every day. The feeling of needing to fit in, of needing to be perfect, of fearing the consequences of making a mistake. We're creating these environments, unintentionally perhaps, that are shaping our children's understanding of what's acceptable, what’s “normal.”

There’s a surprising amount of science behind this, beyond what most people realize. Our brains are wired for connection, for safety, for a sense of belonging. When those needs aren’t met, when we’re constantly operating in a state of alert, it fundamentally changes the way our brains function. The constant stress rewires neural pathways. It can impact memory, concentration, even our capacity for empathy. And it's not just about the direct target of abuse; it affects witnesses, too. The bystander effect—we all carry the weight of what we see, even when we’re not directly involved.

It’s remarkable, isn’t it, how often we accept this as simply "part of the job." How we internalize the message that if we just work harder, if we just toughen up, we can overcome it. But resilience isn’t about enduring endless harm; it’s about having the resources to heal from it. And when the harm is constant, when it’s woven into the fabric of our daily lives, we run out of resources. The effort we expend, the rewards we receive—they become profoundly unbalanced.

The legal protections are shockingly inadequate. It's astonishing how little recourse employees have when their workplaces are actively damaging their health. We talk about workplace safety, but we mostly mean physical hazards. What about the mental and emotional hazards? What about the cumulative effect of constant pressure, of feeling undervalued, of being treated with disrespect? There’s a disconnect, a gap that needs to be addressed, not just for the sake of individual employees, but for the health of our economy, our communities.

I drove to my dad’s house in Norwood so many times those past two months. It was exhausting, yes, but also… grounding. It reminded me of what really matters—family, connection, a sense of safety. And it made me think, with a renewed urgency, about the responsibility we all have to create workplaces that foster those things, not undermine them. It's not just about productivity; it's about protecting the people who make that productivity possible. Because eventually, that cost—the cost of silence, the cost of acceptance, the cost of carrying that invisible burden—it always comes due.