How Compassion Fatigue is Crushing Disability Allyship
I posted my regular Accessibility Motivation Monday content on LinkedIn earlier this month. It got seven reactions. For me, average is 60-75, and once a month or so, my reactions spike into the hundreds. The post was written in the same voice and on the same topic as I generally write about, which is disability and accessibility. It was a super important post on how the cuts in SNAP benefits will disproportionately impact people with disabilities. However, people are no longer reacting to this type of content. Why? Compassion fatigue is the most likely answer.
Compassion fatigue isn't just a buzz phrase. It’s a documented psychological state where people become emotionally exhausted and detached after repeated exposure to distressing stories, images, or pleas for help. Compassion fatigue shares overlapping characteristics with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) It is most often associated with caregivers, therapists, and frontline workers. However, in today's media environment, compassion fatigue affects far more than professions exposed to trauma. It affects anyone consuming a steady stream of information that provokes a strong emotional response.
Right now, content about the erosion of disability rights and accessibility is part of that emotionally charged stream.
The United States government has rolled back disability-related protections with such regularity that it’s no longer exceptional or shocking; it’s expected. Executive orders have removed accessibility statements from federal websites. Offices responsible for civil rights enforcement are being gutted or moved. Legal protections for disabled students are being diluted or placed under departments with no experience in special education. DEIA programs (the A is for Accessibility) have been targeted and dismantled.
For people with disabilities and their allies, sounding the alarm about these changes feels essential. However, for those who aren’t directly affected, the constant drumbeat of negative news is creating burnout. Not because they don’t care. Because they no longer have the emotional bandwidth to accept any new, bad information. It is human nature to retreat from painful situations as a way to protect our emotional well-being, especially when we feel powerless to change the outcome.
How This Mirrors Disaster Donation Fatigue
After a major hurricane, wildfire, or earthquake, charitable giving spikes. Social media lights up with fundraisers, calls for action, and messages of support. People donate. They share posts. They feel emotionally connected to the tragedy.
But things change drastically in the months that follow. Donations slow to a trickle, and volunteers stop showing up. The same people who were deeply moved when the story first broke have now muted or unfollowed the coverage. Not out of cruelty, but because there’s only so much emotional energy and money to go around.
Now apply that same emotional cycle to disability content.
When a major accessibility lawsuit makes headlines or when a visibly disabled person shares an injustice they have faced, it grabs attention. People react, share, and express outrage. However, many individuals emotionally check out when those stories continue, demonstrating that these injustices are systemic rather than isolated. That makes the emotionally charged issue much more challenging to fix than simply clicking on a link to donate or firing a discriminatory server who kicked out a patron with a service dog.
Compassion Fatigue as a Mental Health Reaction
Emotional withdrawal in the face of overwhelming bad news is a form of neurological self-preservation. Compassion fatigue leads people to shut down to avoid feeling helpless or overwhelmed. If someone doesn’t have the resources, knowledge, or authority to fix the problem, their brain eventually goes into defense mode and says, “Stop engaging.”
In the context of any underrepresented minority, the “stop engaging” message creates dangerous consequences. When allies stop sharing, amplifying, and reacting to news about accessibility rollbacks or discrimination, public pressure vanishes. Policymakers face less scrutiny. Organizations causing harm face fewer reputational risks. But the harm hasn’t disappeared. It has just gone quietly underground.
For disabled people, this silence can feel like abandonment. The content hasn’t changed. The stakes are just as high, if not higher, than ever before. What has changed is the audience’s willingness to publicly express their concerns and provide vocal support.
What Compassion Fatigue Doesn’t Mean
It’s easy to misinterpret compassion fatigue as apathy or a lack of concern. But most people don’t consciously decide to stop caring. They don’t log into LinkedIn or Facebook and say, I think I’ll ignore all the disability news today. The detachment is gradual. Posts once met with concern or curiosity now scroll by without comment. Content warnings cause people to swipe away, not because they’re offensive, but because the reader’s emotional gas tank is running on fumes.
This distinction matters. People experiencing compassion fatigue can be re-engaged. However, this does not happen through guilt, shame, or more alarm bells. Instead, they need manageable action steps and space to emotionally re-regulate.
The Disability Community Can’t Afford to Go Quiet
When compassion fatigue sets in among non-disabled allies, disabled people are left carrying both the harm and the burden of explaining the harm. That’s not sustainable.
The U.S. disability rights movement has always relied on people without disabilities being part of the conversation. Yes, we are the largest minority group in the world, but we are still a minority. We can’t build accessible systems or defend civil rights when we are the only ones advocating. It is easy to ignore marginalized people when others stop showing up to amplify their voices.
So while I understand why people are pulling back, I can’t stop posting. I can’t stop writing. I can’t stop pointing out that ADA enforcement is disappearing or that disabled students are being de-prioritized. I can’t ignore the fact that disabled people will die as the result of Medicaid cutbacks, or starve because they are required to work to get food stamps. For us, this isn’t a news cycle. It’s our everyday reality.
What You Can Do If You’re Feeling Compassion Fatigue
If you’ve felt your empathy wane, you’re not alone. There’s no shame in that. Here are four ways to stay present without burning out:
Rotate input with action: Don’t just read about injustice. Do one small concrete thing a week. Donating, sending feedback to an organization, or showing up to a virtual event all counts.
Use your platform: Even if you don’t have lived experience with disability, your voice matters. Share posts from people who do. Visibility keeps pressure on.
Switch from passive to proactive: Instead of doomscrolling, ask, What can I support today that’s positive? Look for disability-owned businesses or inclusive policies to spotlight.
Give yourself emotional breaks, not permanent silences: It’s okay to pause. Let people know you’re still here, just recharging.
Final Thought
Compassion fatigue is real. So is the rollback of disability rights. The answer isn’t to shut down over an issue you previously cared about. It’s to build resilience and emotional pacing into how we advocate.
If you’ve disengaged, I hope you’ll come back. Not because I need more “likes” on my Accessibility Motivation Monday posts, but because your voice makes the silence less dangerous.
Even if it’s just once a week, please continue to show up. We notice. We remember. We rely on it.
One more reason it may seem allies are missing: The fight for democracy. The current regime is unlikely ever to fully respect the needs and rights of disabled people. Until we replace MAGA republicans in the House and Senate, while stopping them whenever and wherever possible from their cruel actions, I fear that federal activism for disability rights alone will not be enough. When I complain to my representatives about removing Medicaid funding, I include harms to people with disabilities in my argument, while also including the harms to low-income people. When I argue against gutting funds for education, I emphasize the harms done to students with disabilities while also pointing out that vouchers will never cover all the costs needed to be covered for transportation, field trips, school meals, etc., for low-income students. When I talk about the harms being done to immigrants, I will add that for immigrants with disabilities (or other health problems, such as cancer), deportation is even worse than for more able-bodied and healthy individuals. (I forgot to mention that last time.)
Thanks for pointing out the burn-out effect. It's real, and the fight is now everywhere, and areas are related and often intertwined.