Most people still see veterinary work as cuddling puppies all day.
Behind the consultation room door, the reality looks very different.
Across Europe and the US, veterinarians are reporting crushing workloads, hostile clients and disturbing suicide rates. What appears to be a dream job is, for many, a profession shadowed by grief, debt and impossible expectations.
When the dream job turns into a pressure cooker
People usually enter veterinary medicine with one motive: they want to help animals. TV dramas and social media reinforce that picture. The vet is gentle, smiling, surrounded by grateful owners and fluffy patients that always pull through.
Real life rarely matches that script. Modern veterinary practice sits at the tense intersection of advanced medicine, high costs and raw human emotion. Every consultation combines clinical judgement, financial negotiation and the risk of serious conflict.
Studies from Germany and other countries suggest vets face around six times the suicide risk of the general population.
That figure is not a statistical blip. Surveys show:
- Nearly one in five vets report current suicidal thoughts.
- About a third are considered at elevated risk of suicide.
- Almost 30% show clinically relevant symptoms of depression.
Those numbers far exceed rates found in the wider public. And they point to a profession under sustained psychological strain.
Money, medicine and the awkward conversation no one sees
Unlike doctors treating humans in state-funded systems, many small-animal vets must ask for payment directly, face-to-face. The credit card machine sits between veterinarian and client like a silent judge.
When a pet is diagnosed with a serious condition, the vet has to outline tests and treatments and ask, bluntly: can you afford this? That can shatter the illusion of pure, selfless animal care.
Owners often expect every possible procedure to be available, and many assume love for animals should override any financial interest. When confronted with a bill for advanced diagnostics on a cat, a rabbit or even a hamster, resentment can surface fast.
Vets frequently report being treated as if they should work for free “out of animal love”, while still paying staff, rent and drugs.
Repeated arguments over fees are not just awkward. They chip away at a vet’s sense of purpose and dignity. Some are accused of profiteering at the very moment they are trying to relieve suffering.
The pet as family – and the vet as target
Over recent decades, pets have shifted from companions to full family members. For many people living alone, a dog or cat may be the closest emotional bond they have. That makes illness and death especially painful.
Grief often needs a focus. When a vet recommends euthanasia, or when treatment fails, owners may direct their anger at the only person in the room wearing a uniform.
They might say the vet has “given up too early”, or kept the animal alive “too long”, or missed something vital. On social media, such accusations can spread with almost no context. A one-star review can follow a vet for years, even when they did everything medically appropriate.
“When the animal is put down, people are often furious with us. That’s part of their mourning – but it can be brutal to absorb.”
For older practitioners, long relationships with clients can soften some blows. Younger vets, fresh from university and already carrying heavy student debt, are more vulnerable. They may experience their first euthanasia, their first complaint and their first public shaming all within a few months.
The emotional toll of euthanasia
Routine procedure, repeated grief
Putting animals to sleep is meant to be an act of mercy. Yet for vets, it is also an act they must perform with their own hands, again and again. Some weeks pass without a euthanasia. Others may bring several in just a few days.
Each case comes with a story: the elderly client whose dog is their last link to a late partner, the child sobbing on the floor of the consulting room, the family who cannot agree on what to do and argue while the animal struggles to breathe.
In recent years, new pressures have appeared. Some owners film the procedure on their phones. In one case in Germany, a family member streamed the entire euthanasia live to relatives overseas, without warning the vet in advance. For young professionals, the idea of their most painful work circulating online is deeply unsettling.
Easy access to lethal means
One difficult aspect in suicide research is “means access”: people are more likely to die by suicide if they can easily reach highly lethal methods. Vets handle powerful drugs every day and know exactly how they work.
That combination – high distress and practical know-how – makes suicide attempts by veterinarians tragically effective. Many colleagues say they have lost peers where the official story was “car accident”, but everyone locally understood what had really happened.
Beyond the small-animal clinic: stress across the profession
Veterinary medicine is not limited to cats and dogs. There are practitioners working with farm animals, in slaughterhouses, and in government roles overseeing disease control and animal welfare.
| Field | Key stress factors |
|---|---|
| Rural large-animal practice | 24/7 on-call work, physical risk, isolated living, limited cover for holidays or illness |
| Government / public health | Mass culls during disease outbreaks, confronting neglect, bureaucratic pressure |
| Slaughterhouse inspection | Constant exposure to death, responsibility for food safety and welfare compliance |
Public-sector vets may be ordered to supervise the killing of thousands of healthy animals when an infectious disease is detected on a farm. Newly qualified professionals, still idealistic, can find that morally devastating.
Those in slaughterhouses know that animals are arriving for slaughter, not rescue. Their main task is to ensure regulations are followed and the meat is safe. The emotional burden there is different, but the sense of responsibility remains heavy.
Silence, stigma and the push for help
Mental health problems in veterinary circles have long been taboo. In tight-knit rural communities, when a vet dies, people may murmur about a crash or an “unexpected illness”, rather than use the word suicide. Within the profession, many fear that admitting distress could damage their reputation or career.
That culture is slowly shifting. Professional bodies in Germany, the UK and elsewhere have begun talking openly about the numbers. They stress that high suicide rates mean one thing above all: no one struggling is alone.
Helplines and peer-support schemes are emerging, run by vets for vets, to give confidential, judgment-free space to talk.
In northern Germany, a crisis phone line specifically for vets and veterinary nurses has been set up. A pilot crisis-intervention project is also under way: trained colleagues travel to visit those in acute distress at their practice or home.
Often, the solution is not just therapy. Some vets need financial advice because their clinic is failing. Others need coaching on handling aggressive clients, or legal support after a complaint. The new programmes aim to connect them with the right kind of help, rather than offering a one-size-fits-all response.
What future vets need to know before they sign up
Veterinary degrees are notoriously tough. In many countries they require top grades, long hours in lectures and labs, plus unpaid practical placements. Students who make it through are usually intelligent, disciplined and caring. They are not always prepared for the reality of small business management, staff supervision and debt collection.
Senior vets recommend that young people considering this career:
- Build and protect friendships outside the profession.
- Keep at least one regular hobby unrelated to animals or medicine.
- Find a mentor: an older vet who can speak honestly about mistakes and coping strategies.
- Learn basic business and financial skills early.
- Set boundaries on working hours as far as the job allows.
These steps do not remove the pain of euthanasia or the heartbreak of a failed case, but they can make those moments more survivable.
Understanding grief, compassion fatigue and moral stress
Three terms often arise when vets talk about mental strain: grief, compassion fatigue and moral injury.
Grief is not limited to owners. Vets who have cared for an animal for years can feel their own sense of loss when that patient dies. If they move quickly on to the next appointment, that emotion can remain unprocessed.
Compassion fatigue describes the emotional numbness that develops when a person is repeatedly exposed to others’ suffering. A vet might notice they are becoming irritable, detached or strangely cold in the face of yet another emergency. That reaction is a warning sign, not a character flaw.
Moral injury refers to the distress that comes from acting against one’s own values. A classic example is being forced to put down healthy animals during a disease-control operation, or watching an owner decline treatment purely on cost grounds when the vet knows the animal could be saved.
How pet owners can reduce the strain
Small changes in behaviour can make a real difference to veterinary teams. A few practical examples:
- Ask early about likely costs and insurance rather than waiting for a bill at the end.
- Recognise that advanced care for animals uses the same technologies and drugs as human medicine, and will cost money.
- During euthanasia, focus on your animal, not on filming staff or sharing live on social media.
- If you are unhappy, raise concerns calmly and directly before posting public accusations.
- When you feel grateful, say so – a short thank-you email can help counterbalance the daily criticism vets receive.
For many vets, these gestures of respect and understanding can be the thin line between a tolerable bad day and the sense that the job is eating them alive.
The profession is beginning to respond with crisis lines, mentoring schemes and more open conversation. Yet structural pressures – from rising costs to 24/7 expectations – remain. The question is not just why so many vets think about ending their lives, but how societies that rely on their care are prepared to share responsibility for their wellbeing.
