Behind the Smiles and Stethoscopes: The Silent Crisis in Veterinary Medicine

When we think of veterinarians, we think of warm offices filled with wagging tails, purring cats, and gentle hands that heal our beloved pets. We think of people who must love animals so deeply that they made it their life’s work to care for them. And that’s true — but it’s not the whole story.

What we don’t often see behind those smiles and stethoscopes is the silent suffering. The exhaustion. The compassion fatigue. The emotional toll of helping others — both pets and the humans who love them — while having to carry the weight of loss, pressure, and impossible expectations. And it's killing them.

Veterinarians are dying by suicide at alarming rates. In fact, studies have shown that veterinarians are between 2 and 3.5 times more likely to die by suicide than the general population. This statistic isn't new, but it isn't getting the attention it deserves. And it’s not just veterinarians — vet techs, assistants, support staff — the entire veterinary field is struggling under the weight of burnout, trauma, and emotional overload.

Why? Because this profession, as rewarding as it is, is also unbelievably hard.

These are people who entered the field with hearts wide open, wanting to make a difference. But day after day, they’re faced with gut-wrenching decisions, heartbreaking goodbyes, financial conflicts with pet owners, and long hours filled with little rest. Many carry the burden of performing euthanasia, often multiple times a day. Imagine trying to care for animals and people with all the compassion you have — while having to constantly balance emotional devastation, economic strain, and the knowledge that someone might blame you when things don’t go perfectly.

And then there’s the pressure to always be okay. To always smile. To always seem kind and patient and strong. But the truth is, this is a field full of deeply empathetic people who are often hurting in silence.

Add in student debt, low pay compared to the amount of schooling required, and the rising aggression from pet owners (yes, it happens — more often than you’d think), and it’s a perfect storm for emotional collapse. And still, so many in veterinary medicine show up anyway. They keep trying. They keep giving.

But we lose too many of them.

We don’t talk about this enough. We need to change that. Because the people who care for our animals need us to care for them, too.

If you’re in the veterinary field and you’re reading this — please know: you matter. Your work matters. But your life matters more. You are allowed to feel overwhelmed. You are allowed to step back. You are allowed to seek help. You are not weak for being tired. You are not alone in your struggle.

Mental illness does not discriminate. It doesn’t care if you’re the strongest one in the room. It doesn’t care how many degrees you have or how many lives you’ve saved. But healing is possible — and you deserve that healing just as much as the animals you help every single day.

We need to foster environments in clinics and hospitals that make space for mental health. That recognize the trauma. That offer support instead of judgment. We need to be kinder — as clients, as peers, as a society — to those who do the work many of us could never do.

If you know someone in veterinary medicine, reach out. Ask how they’re doing — really doing. Tell them you see them. Thank them for their compassion. Remind them that they’re more than their job, and that their wellbeing matters just as much as the patients they care for.

This blog post won’t fix the system, but I hope it reminds someone — even just one person — that their life is worth saving. That they are not alone. And that it’s okay to not be okay.

To the vet who is quietly breaking down in the supply closet, to the tech who hasn’t had a real day off in weeks, to the assistant who cries after every euthanasia: you are loved, you are seen, and this world is better with you in it. Please take care of your heart. It’s carried so much.

And to everyone else — be gentle. You never know the kind of pain someone hides behind their kindness.

With all my Love,

Briana