DeLaval

Gail Vitale

When people ask me what it’s like to work in HR, I sometimes want to answer with a single word: lonely.

It’s not that I don’t love my work—I care deeply about it. I believe in creating environments where people can thrive, where fairness matters and where culture is more than a poster on the wall. But the truth is, HR is often a role full of contradictions. And at times, it can feel incredibly isolating.

HR professionals are expected to be a bridge—between employees and leadership, between business goals and personal struggles. We constantly navigate that middle space. Not quite “management,” not quite “staff.” And because of that, we don’t always belong to either world.

We know things. We carry things.

We’re the ones who sit across from someone and tell them their role is being eliminated. We’re in the room when the hard decisions are made—and then we’re the ones asked to help everyone else process them. But who helps us process what we’ve just witnessed or delivered?

Confidentiality is a cornerstone of the job and rightfully so. But with it comes emotional isolation. There are so many things we can’t say, so many conversations we shouldn’t unpack— even when they affect us deeply. Over time, that takes a toll. You can’t just grab a coffee and vent to a colleague when your role is built on safeguarding the organization’s trust.

That silence can slowly strain the very relationships we work so hard to build. I’ve seen it firsthand—how the confidentiality required in HR shifts how people see you. Friendships you once had at work may fade, not out of malice, but because you’re no longer someone they feel they can be fully open with. In response, I’ve learned to draw clearer boundaries. I don’t share personal social media with colleagues. I separate work from my personal life. Some days, it feels like I live two parallel lives: one professional, one personal—rarely intersecting.

And maybe that’s why it’s hard to gain complete trust, no matter how open or approachable you try to be. As someone who genuinely loves people—who finds joy in hearing their stories, learning from different cultures and seeing the world through varied perspectives—this part of the job can feel especially limiting. HR is meant to bring people together. Yet, the role can sometimes make you feel apart from the very community you’re working to build.

“HR is meant to bring people together. Yet, the role can sometimes make you feel apart from the very community you’re working to build”

I remember an HR colleague who went through an incredibly tough time just before the COVID lockdowns in 2020. Their company had announced major redundancies days before the country shut down. Overnight, they were navigating difficult, emotionally charged conversations across multiple geographies—all through a screen. No physical presence, no team beside them. Just back-to-back video calls at odd hours, supporting others while barely staying afloat themselves.

They were in a foreign country, locked down and alone. As the terminations ended and life “moved on” for most, there was no safe space for them to decompress or grieve what they had carried. The isolation didn’t end when the lockdowns lifted—it lingered. It settled in. Eventually, it led to burnout.

That story stayed with me—because it could have been any of us in HR. And frankly, for many of us, it was.

We’re expected to model the culture. We champion morale, engagement and inclusion. We’re supposed to be balanced, approachable, empathetic—even when we’re exhausted, even when we’re navigating our own challenges. There’s a strange, unspoken assumption that we’re somehow immune to the same frustrations and disillusionments others feel.

And while we support the development and well-being of others, HR professionals rarely receive that same level of support. We talk a lot about employee burnout, but not enough about HR burnout—about the emotional labor, the pressure to always be “on,” and the silent weight of carrying everyone else’s challenges while minimizing our own.

Still, I haven’t walked away from the profession—because there is meaning in what we do. There’s purpose in helping resolve conflict, in guiding someone through a tough transition, in helping leaders become better versions of themselves. Sometimes, we’re the only ones holding space for humanity in a room full of business decisions.

But it’s important to say: it’s not always easy. HR can be a lonely role. And the more we acknowledge that reality, the better we can care not only for our teams, but for ourselves.

To my fellow HR professionals:

If you’ve ever felt the quiet weight of this role sitting heavily on your shoulders, you are not alone. We may work in isolation at times, but we are part of a community that understands the strength it takes to lead from the middle. Let’s make space—for each other and for ourselves.