Blog
|
|
|
13 July 2025
Trigger Warning: This blog post discusses experiences of trauma, consent, hospital mistreatment, sedation, panic attacks, and distressing medical care. Please take care of yourself while reading.
When Hospitals Hurt: The Urgent Need for Trauma-Informed Care
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
I’ve spent more time in hospital than out over the last year and a half. If someone had told me that would happen, I probably wouldn’t have believed them. It’s been a tough road, more than just physically. There’s this whole side of being in hospital that people don’t talk about enough, and that’s how the system itself can hurt you, especially when it doesn’t understand trauma.
Trauma-informed care, at its heart, just means treating people like humans with feelings and lived experience of the world and the things in it. It’s about recognising that everyone has a story, that lots of people come into hospital carrying invisible scars, and that those scars affect how they react to medical care. It’s not about being soft or gentle for the sake of it, it’s about respecting people enough to slow down, explain what’s happening, ask before touching, and give people choices where you can. It’s about making the hospital a place where people feel safe and heard, not scared or powerless.
Unfortunately, that’s not what I’ve always felt during my many stays. Sometimes, medical staff would do things without telling me what they were about to do. No warnings, no explanations, just hands or tools moving before I even had time to think about it. When your body already hurts and you feel vulnerable, being touched without warning can feel like being erased, like your consent doesn’t matter. And if you’ve been through trauma before, that feeling can hit you hard.
There were moments when I was told I wasn’t allowed to leave my bed or even the ward. Often it wasn’t really explained, it was just stated like a rule I had to follow without question. I know hospitals have rules and sometimes restrictions are necessary, but when you don’t understand why or when it feels like you have no say, it can feel like you’re trapped. For someone with a history of trauma, that feeling can spiral into panic or shut down completely. Instead of feeling cared for, you feel more scared and alone.
On top of that, when I’ve been overwhelmed or struggling emotionally, I’ve had my feelings dismissed. Sometimes I was called difficult or too sensitive, I often felt like my fears and pain didn’t count. That only makes it harder to ask for help or to trust the people caring for you. Feeling small or like a burden is the last thing someone who’s already hurting needs.
Then there’s the hospital environment itself. It’s noisy, bright, and full of interruptions. For someone like me, who’s sensitive to sounds and lights, it can be unbearable. Imagine trying to rest or process your emotions while beeping machines go off, people talk loudly outside your room, and staff come and go without warning.
This isn’t just my experience. There are so many people who feel the same. Survivors of abuse, people with disabilities, those living with mental illness, refugees, neurodivergent folks, people of colour, LGBTQ+ patients and many more, from all walks of life.. all of us come with histories and needs that the hospital system doesn’t always recognise.
What I’ve learned is that trauma-informed care doesn’t require fancy tools or expensive programs. It’s really about respect. Asking before you touch. Explaining what’s happening. Giving people choices when possible. Listening without judgement. Creating an environment where people feel safe enough to relax and trust.
But it can’t be just a training once a year or a poster on the wall. Trauma-informed care needs to be part of how hospitals run, in every interaction, every shift, with every patient. Staff at all levels need to understand trauma, how it shows up, and how to reduce harm instead of adding to it. People with lived experience need to be part of the conversation because we know what helps and what hurts.
I know hospital staff work hard. I’ve met some amazing people who genuinely care and do their best. But the system itself often makes it harder for them to give trauma-informed care. That’s why it needs to change from the top down, so the people on the frontlines have the tools and support they need. On the other hand, I have been treated very badly by a number of people who were supposed to keep me safe. I was treated as a number, as a problem that wouldn’t go away. I was ignored, traumatised, and made to feel very small. Despite the staff knowing my access needs, I was continually made to feel more and more distressed.
Despite being told multiple times what my access needs were, and what was triggering the panic attacks and nightmares the staff were causing, they continued to trigger them. They seemed to ignore my requests to stop. This is not okay and has caused long-term trauma, which I am still dealing with today.
At the end of the day, hospitals should be places where people come to heal, not places where they relive old wounds and/or get new ones.
Healing starts with feeling safe, respected, and seen.
And that’s what trauma-informed care is all about.
PLEASE- do better.
Disclaimer:
This is a personal account based on my own lived experience. To protect privacy, identifying details have been changed or withheld. This post does not refer to any individual or institution by name, it is a combination of multiple experiences in multiple places over time and is not intended to cause harm or make specific accusations. It is shared in the interest of raising awareness about broader issues in healthcare and accessibility.
Trigger Warning: This blog post discusses experiences of trauma, consent, hospital mistreatment, sedation, panic attacks, and distressing medical care. Please take care of yourself while reading.
When Hospitals Hurt: The Urgent Need for Trauma-Informed Care
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
I’ve spent more time in hospital than out over the last year and a half. If someone had told me that would happen, I probably wouldn’t have believed them. It’s been a tough road, more than just physically. There’s this whole side of being in hospital that people don’t talk about enough, and that’s how the system itself can hurt you, especially when it doesn’t understand trauma.
Trauma-informed care, at its heart, just means treating people like humans with feelings and lived experience of the world and the things in it. It’s about recognising that everyone has a story, that lots of people come into hospital carrying invisible scars, and that those scars affect how they react to medical care. It’s not about being soft or gentle for the sake of it, it’s about respecting people enough to slow down, explain what’s happening, ask before touching, and give people choices where you can. It’s about making the hospital a place where people feel safe and heard, not scared or powerless.
Unfortunately, that’s not what I’ve always felt during my many stays. Sometimes, medical staff would do things without telling me what they were about to do. No warnings, no explanations, just hands or tools moving before I even had time to think about it. When your body already hurts and you feel vulnerable, being touched without warning can feel like being erased, like your consent doesn’t matter. And if you’ve been through trauma before, that feeling can hit you hard.
There were moments when I was told I wasn’t allowed to leave my bed or even the ward. Often it wasn’t really explained, it was just stated like a rule I had to follow without question. I know hospitals have rules and sometimes restrictions are necessary, but when you don’t understand why or when it feels like you have no say, it can feel like you’re trapped. For someone with a history of trauma, that feeling can spiral into panic or shut down completely. Instead of feeling cared for, you feel more scared and alone.
On top of that, when I’ve been overwhelmed or struggling emotionally, I’ve had my feelings dismissed. Sometimes I was called difficult or too sensitive, I often felt like my fears and pain didn’t count. That only makes it harder to ask for help or to trust the people caring for you. Feeling small or like a burden is the last thing someone who’s already hurting needs.
Then there’s the hospital environment itself. It’s noisy, bright, and full of interruptions. For someone like me, who’s sensitive to sounds and lights, it can be unbearable. Imagine trying to rest or process your emotions while beeping machines go off, people talk loudly outside your room, and staff come and go without warning.
This isn’t just my experience. There are so many people who feel the same. Survivors of abuse, people with disabilities, those living with mental illness, refugees, neurodivergent folks, people of colour, LGBTQ+ patients and many more, from all walks of life.. all of us come with histories and needs that the hospital system doesn’t always recognise.
What I’ve learned is that trauma-informed care doesn’t require fancy tools or expensive programs. It’s really about respect. Asking before you touch. Explaining what’s happening. Giving people choices when possible. Listening without judgement. Creating an environment where people feel safe enough to relax and trust.
But it can’t be just a training once a year or a poster on the wall. Trauma-informed care needs to be part of how hospitals run, in every interaction, every shift, with every patient. Staff at all levels need to understand trauma, how it shows up, and how to reduce harm instead of adding to it. People with lived experience need to be part of the conversation because we know what helps and what hurts.
I know hospital staff work hard. I’ve met some amazing people who genuinely care and do their best. But the system itself often makes it harder for them to give trauma-informed care. That’s why it needs to change from the top down, so the people on the frontlines have the tools and support they need. On the other hand, I have been treated very badly by a number of people who were supposed to keep me safe. I was treated as a number, as a problem that wouldn’t go away. I was ignored, traumatised, and made to feel very small. Despite the staff knowing my access needs, I was continually made to feel more and more distressed.
Despite being told multiple times what my access needs were, and what was triggering the panic attacks and nightmares the staff were causing, they continued to trigger them. They seemed to ignore my requests to stop. This is not okay and has caused long-term trauma, which I am still dealing with today.
At the end of the day, hospitals should be places where people come to heal, not places where they relive old wounds and/or get new ones.
Healing starts with feeling safe, respected, and seen.
And that’s what trauma-informed care is all about.
PLEASE- do better.
Disclaimer:
This is a personal account based on my own lived experience. To protect privacy, identifying details have been changed or withheld. This post does not refer to any individual or institution by name, it is a combination of multiple experiences in multiple places over time and is not intended to cause harm or make specific accusations. It is shared in the interest of raising awareness about broader issues in healthcare and accessibility.
Image created by AI using a description given by me. The medical professionals in this image DO NOT represent any real person, living or not. These are fictional medical professionals.
Image description- A hospital scene.
A group of medical professionals, including doctors and nurses, surrounds a woman lying in a hospital bed. The woman appears to be overweight and has an expression of distress or discomfort. She is in a hospital bed. The doctors and nurses are all wearing their respective medical uniforms—white coats and light blue scrubs—in various combinations. The overall tone is of a possible medical emergency or a serious patient care situation. The image style is a graphic illustration or comic-book-style drawing, with shading and outlines to create depth.
Image description- A hospital scene.
A group of medical professionals, including doctors and nurses, surrounds a woman lying in a hospital bed. The woman appears to be overweight and has an expression of distress or discomfort. She is in a hospital bed. The doctors and nurses are all wearing their respective medical uniforms—white coats and light blue scrubs—in various combinations. The overall tone is of a possible medical emergency or a serious patient care situation. The image style is a graphic illustration or comic-book-style drawing, with shading and outlines to create depth.
All writing and all images on this website are copyright and cannot be
copied or used without the express and written permission of Tabitha J Page.
Sharing pages straight from the website is welcomed however/please give credit if sharing and use the direct browser link.
copied or used without the express and written permission of Tabitha J Page.
Sharing pages straight from the website is welcomed however/please give credit if sharing and use the direct browser link.
