There’s a curious hierarchy of care in most organisations. At the top, coaching sessions are blocked months in advance. Executive offsites come with mindfulness breaks and curated reflection circles. The CEO has a performance coach, a leadership coach, sometimes even a life coach. But the one person carrying the emotional weather of the organisation? They get none of that. HR has to cope alone.

It’s an odd irony. The department tasked with creating safe spaces often has nowhere to go itself. The people function becomes the emotional sponge, soaking up everyone’s frustrations, confessions, burnouts, breakups, resignations, and silent suffering while quietly filing its own away. There are no frameworks or feedback loops to catch the emotional labour of HR. It’s invisible, unpaid, and unquestioned.

We talk a lot about HR burnout in hushed tones, as if naming it too loud would somehow discredit the profession’s resilience. But the truth is, this kind of burnout doesn’t flare up suddenly. It drips. It accumulates every time an HR professional is expected to mediate without bias, listen without judgment, absorb without reacting. The weight of being everyone’s emotional safety net with no net of your own starts to show not in performance, but in the quiet fatigue of coping.

And let’s be honest, HR doesn’t get to say “I’m not okay.” Not out loud. That phrase feels like a luxury meant for other departments. When you’re the one checking in on everyone else’s wellbeing, when you’re leading mental health awareness campaigns and planning stress management workshops, you automatically become the face of calm. Even when your own storm is brewing.

Imagine this: a manager has a meltdown over targets HR listens. A new joinee cries on their first day HR reassures. A senior leader walks out mid meeting after a conflict HR smooths it over. But when HR itself feels overwhelmed, there’s rarely a check in. Because we assume HR can handle it. We assume the human in “human resources” is somehow superhuman.

This cultural myth that HR is emotion proof is dangerous. Because it traps HR professionals in a cycle of silent service. Their emotional labour doesn’t reflect in appraisals or dashboards. There’s no metric for how many breakdowns they quietly managed or how many teams they kept from imploding. No one counts how often they go home carrying other people’s grief.

It’s not just the work, it’s the expectations. The expectation to be always neutral, always professional, always composed. But when your role is inherently tied to people’s personal struggles like lay-offs, harassment complaints, conflicts and loss, you can’t remain untouched. Emotional residue builds up. And when there’s no space to process that, it becomes a slow leak of energy and purpose.

Meanwhile, at the top of the ladder, coaching is not just available it’s encouraged. It’s structured, confidential, generously funded. Leaders have someone to decode their fears, amplify their vision, balance their inner chaos. This isn’t to say CEOs don’t deserve coaches. They absolutely do. But what message does it send when HR, which manages people, doesn’t even get permission to feel?

The conversation around mental health in HR is still too clinical. We talk about it in terms of productivity, not humanity. We discuss policy, not people. The emotional toll of HR is rarely acknowledged because the role is seen as administrative, not affective. But ask any HR professional what keeps them up at night, and chances are it’s not payroll errors it’s people pain. The resignation they didn’t see coming. The feedback that hurt more than expected. The confrontation that never got closure.

HR isn't a department. It’s a container. It holds the fragility of the workplace. And yet, we don’t give it the tools to stay whole. We don’t normalise therapy for HR. We don’t offer coaching unless it’s tied to a promotion. We don’t say “you matter” unless it’s in a line on an Employee Appreciation Day banner they printed themselves.

This imbalance is unsustainable. Because when HR breaks, the culture cracks. When the caretakers become the casualties, workplaces stop being safe.

So how do we change this? First, by rewriting the narrative. HR professionals are not just policy executors. They are emotional frontline workers. They deserve the same psychological safety they’re expected to build for others. They need access to mental health support not as a perk, but as a priority. Regular, confidential and stigma free.

Secondly, organisations must budget for HR wellbeing. Just as they invest in leadership coaching, they must invest in HR support systems. This isn’t indulgence it’s kind of an insurance. A burnt out HR team cannot nurture an engaged workforce. A depleted HR function cannot lead a healthy culture.

Third, we need to break the culture of “coping” in HR. Coping sounds noble, but it’s often code for suppressing. We must move from coping to caring for ourselves, for our peers. Peer circles, therapy allowances, dedicated mental health days, these are not trends, they are necessities.

And finally, it’s about representation. When CHROs speak publicly about their emotional journey, it creates space for others to step forward. Vulnerability in leadership isn’t weakness it’s culture setting. The truth is, HR professionals will never stop showing up. It’s who we are. We will continue to host, heal, hold space. But it’s time we stop treating our own pain like a footnote. Because the person who plans the mental health webinar might be the one who needs it the most.

So the next time someone says, “But you’re in HR, you’ll be fine,” maybe we respond differently. Maybe we say, “I’m in HR which is exactly why I need support too.” Because behind every coachable CEO is an HR professional quietly holding the mirror. Maybe it’s time someone held one up for them too.