Recognising Trauma in Yourself and Others

Trauma doesn’t always arrive with a bang. Sometimes it creeps in quietly, through a look, a silence or a moment that didn’t feel safe. It can live in the body long after the mind has tried to move on. Often, we don’t even realise we’re carrying it until something cracks open. 

In my work and in my own life, I’ve come to understand that trauma isn’t just about what happened to us, it’s also about what didn’t happen. The comfort we didn’t receive. The apology that never came. The safety that was never there. 

Recognising trauma in ourselves and in others is a powerful act of leadership. It’s about noticing the unsaid, the unseen and the unheard. It’s about choosing to respond with compassion instead of judgment and it’s about creating space for healing, even when we don’t have all the answers. 

In this blog, I want to explore how trauma can show up, how we can begin to recognise it and how we can hold space for ourselves and each other with care. 

What Trauma Can Look Like in Yourself 

Recognising trauma in yourself isn’t always easy. We’re often taught to push through, to keep going, to be strong, especially when others are relying on us. But trauma has a way of showing up even when we think we’ve buried it deep. 

It might look like exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix or a constant feeling of being on edge, like something bad is about to happen. You might notice you’re more irritable than usual or that you’ve started avoiding certain places, people or conversations without fully knowing why. 

Sometimes, trauma shows up in the body before the mind catches on. Tight shoulders. A racing heart. A gut that never quite settles. Other times it’s in the thoughts that loop endlessly or the moments of numbness where everything feels far away. 

I remember a time when I was leading a project that meant a lot to me, one that aligned with my values and purpose. On the surface everything looked fine. But underneath I was constantly bracing for impact. I’d wake up with a heavy chest, feel waves of anxiety before meetings and second-guess myself even when I knew I was doing the right thing. It wasn’t the work itself, it was the echoes of past experiences, of not being heard, of being undermined, of having to fight to be taken seriously. That’s when I realised: I wasn’t just tired. I was still carrying my trauma. 

Recognising that truth didn’t fix everything overnight, but it gave me language. It gave me the permission to slow down, to seek support and to stop blaming myself for feeling the way I did. 

Recognising Trauma in Others 

Just as trauma can be hard to spot in ourselves, it can be even harder to recognise in others, especially when people have learned to mask it well. But if we slow down and pay attention, there are often signs. Not always loud ones but subtle shifts that tell us something isn’t quite right. 

It might be someone who’s suddenly withdrawn or someone who’s always “on” over-performing, over-explaining, over-apologising. It might be the colleague who avoids conflict at all costs or the friend who laughs a little too hard when things get uncomfortable. These behaviours aren’t flaws, they’re adaptations. Survival strategies shaped by experiences we may never fully know. 

I’ve learned that being trauma informed isn’t about diagnosing or fixing people. It’s about being curious, not judgmental. It’s about asking, “What might be going on beneath the surface?” and “How can I show up in a way that feels safe?” 

In leadership, this matters deeply. When we recognise trauma in others, we create space for honesty, for dignity and for healing. We stop expecting people to leave their pain at the door and instead invite them to bring their whole selves, gently and at their own pace. 

Responding with Compassion 

Once we begin to recognise trauma in ourselves and in others, the next step is learning how to respond. Not with urgency to fix but with a willingness to hold space. Compassion isn’t passive. It’s active and intentional. 

Sometimes responding with compassion means saying, “I see you. I hear you. I’m here.” Other times it means knowing when to step back, when to respect boundaries, and when to simply sit beside someone in their pain without rushing them toward a solution. 

In leadership compassion is often mistaken for softness. But I’ve found it to be one of the strongest tools we have. It builds trust. It creates safety. It allows people to show up as they are, not as they think they need to be. 

I remember working with someone who had been through a difficult institutional experience. They were guarded, understandably so and hesitant to engage. Instead of pushing for answers or progress, I simply showed up consistently, gently and without expectation. I made space for silence. I let them set the pace. Over time that consistency became safety, when they were ready, they shared. Not because they were forced to, but because they felt held. That’s compassion in action, not fixing but witnessing. Not rushing but respecting. 

Compassion also means turning inward. Asking yourself what you need. Giving yourself grace when you fall short. And remembering that healing isn’t linear, it’s layered, messy and deeply personal. 

We don’t need to have all the answers. We just need to be willing to listen, to learn, and to lead with heart.