The Weight of Surviving: Why Some Hurts Aren’t Measured by Loss

In the aftermath of disaster, we often focus on what can be seen.

Burnt homes. Twisted fences. Blackened paddocks.

But some of the heaviest damage sits quietly inside people, especially those who survived when others lost more.

After the 2019–20 bushfires in Sarsfield, Victoria, I attended a community meeting that has stayed with me ever since.

The room was filled with grief. Many people had lost everything they owned. Homes. Machinery. Stock. Decades of hard work erased in hours.

Then there was a young woman.

She hadn’t lost her house. She hadn’t lost family members. She’d lost a shed.

And yet she was the most distressed person in the room.

She was shaking. Crying. Unable to speak. Completely overwhelmed.

I remember the discomfort that rippled through the space. Not unkindness, but confusion. The silent comparisons that so often happen after disaster.

How can she be this upset when others have lost so much more?

What I was witnessing was survivor guilt.

Phoenix Australia describes survivor guilt as a common trauma response, particularly after life-threatening events. It occurs when someone survives or experiences less loss than others and feels undeserving of their distress, safety, or support.

Trauma specialists like Dr Kate Brady remind us that trauma is not defined by the scale of loss, but by perceived threat, fear, helplessness, and the way our nervous system responds under extreme stress.

In simple terms: trauma isn’t logical.

That young woman’s nervous system had experienced danger. Her sense of safety had been shattered. And then guilt stepped in, telling her she had no right to feel this way.

Survivor guilt often sounds like:
“I shouldn’t be struggling.”
“Others had it worse.”
“I need to toughen up.”
“I don’t deserve help.”

These thoughts don’t make people stronger. They silence them.

This is where I share what I learnt with audiences: it doesn’t matter how big or small your disaster or challenge is, if it is impacting your mental health and wellbeing, you are worthy of seeking help.

The After Disaster Podcast often explores how recovery stalls not because people aren’t resilient, but because they minimise their own pain. They stay quiet. They step back. They tell themselves to be grateful instead of honest.

And that’s where survivor guilt becomes dangerous.

When people feel they haven’t “earned” support, they delay seeking help. Stress compounds. Sleep deteriorates. Relationships strain. Anxiety and depression take hold.

In farming and rural communities, where stoicism is already prized, survivor guilt can dig in even deeper.

I’ve seen people who walked away with their house intact but lost their sense of safety, identity, and confidence. On paper, they look “fine.” Internally, they are not.

Recovery systems often unintentionally reinforce this problem. Funding, attention, and services are frequently tied to visible loss. Those whose trauma doesn’t match the checklist can feel invisible.

But trauma doesn’t work on a hierarchy.

Pain is not a competition.
Suffering does not require comparison.
And healing is not something you have to justify.

That young woman in Sarsfield didn’t need to explain herself. She needed the same thing everyone else did, understanding, safety, time and support.

If you survived a disaster and you’re struggling, even if your losses seem small compared to others, your experience is valid.

Feeling okay doesn’t mean you’re ungrateful.
Struggling doesn’t mean you’re weak.
And asking for help doesn’t take it away from someone else.

It doesn’t matter how big or small your disaster or challenge is, if it is impacting your mental health and wellbeing, you are worthy of seeking help.

Compassion is not a finite resource.

If we want communities to truly recover, we must make space for all trauma responses, not just the ones that look dramatic or obvious.

Because sometimes the hardest thing to carry isn’t what you lost.

It’s surviving, and believing you’re allowed to hurt and worthy of support.