Stress Management Strategies of Volunteers in an Anonymous Chat-Based Sexual Assault Hotline

Volunteers Serving Survivors of Sexual Violence

Volunteers in rape crisis centers often report that their support of survivors of sexual assault confers on them significant benefits, such as a sense of satisfaction, enhanced communication skills, feelings of appreciation, and other uplifting emotions (Willems, Drossaert, Miedema, & Bohlmeijer, 2021a). In the same supporting capacity, however, they also encounter considerable challenges. Supporting sexual assault victims can be particularly taxing, as it demands sustained empathetic engagement with survivors who often recount detailed and graphic experiences of sexual violence. Volunteers are repeatedly exposed to stories of profound suffering, helplessness, and injustice, and the accompanying moral responsibility to “be there” for survivors can contribute to emotional exhaustion (Pearlman & Saakvitne, 1995; Willems, Drossaert, Miedema, & Bohlmeijer, 2021a). This ongoing exposure may blur the boundaries between the volunteer’s own emotions and the survivor’s pain. Over time, such cumulative emotional labor can become a chronic stressor, increasing the risk of secondary traumatic stress and vicarious emotional responses that reflect the trauma endured by the survivors they support (Wasco et al., 2002; Willems, Drossaert, Vuijk, & Bohlmeijer, 2021b). Specifically, engaging with trauma survivors can lead to vicarious traumatization, which is characterized by negative shifts in the helper’s internal experience as a result of empathetic involvement with the trauma survivors’ experiences (Jimenez et al., 2021; McNeillie & Rose, 2021; Pearlman & Saakvitne, 1995). Closely related is the concept of compassion fatigue, which refers to the emotional and physical exhaustion that can result from the chronic use of empathy—often reported among those working with sexual trauma survivors—and which may ultimately diminish a helper’s capacity to engage and remain present (Canadian Medical Association, 2020; Craig & Sprang, 2010). Recent qualitative research further underscores that compassion fatigue often emerges when sustained empathic engagement is accompanied by inadequate recovery or emotional boundaries, emphasizing the importance of intentional coping and self-regulation strategies to maintain one’s capacity to help (Ondrejková & Halamová, 2022). This is especially true for rape crisis center volunteers who themselves identify as survivors of sexual assault, because their interaction with callers may trigger memories and experiences of their own trauma (Jenkins et al., 2011; Mihelicova et al., 2019). In this context, survivors’ personal experiences of sexual trauma were found to play a pivotal role in shaping their motivations to volunteer in sexual assault crisis centers, in the challenges they encountered in their volunteer work, and in their own healing process through their support of other survivors (Gupta et al., 2020).

Much remains to be explored regarding the specific experiences, motivations, satisfaction, perceived contributions, and organizational commitment of rape crisis volunteers (Aguirre & Bolton, 2013). Existing research on volunteering in a crisis support hotline highlights the challenges of working in such a demanding environment, including compassion fatigue, feelings of frustration and powerlessness (Canadian Medical Association, 2020; Pollock et al., 2012; Willems, Drossaert, Miedema, & Bohlmeijer, 2021a), increased risks of mental health decline and negative shifts in belief systems (Dunkley & Whelan, 2006; Kitchingman et al., 2017; Willems et al., 2020), and high turnover rates among volunteers (Willems, Drossaert, Vuijk, & Bohlmeijer, 2021b). These findings may shed light on the high dropout rates among volunteers at sexual assault centers. For example, a study conducted in Israel revealed that half of the volunteers at sexual assault and intimate partner violence centers left after completing their training but before they began working in their volunteer roles, while 25% left within one to 18 months of beginning their work. Among the key reasons given for dropping out of the volunteer program were feelings of overwhelm, confusion, and heightened vulnerability (Yanay & Yanay, 2008). Another study on volunteer sustainability in sexual assault support services revealed that the greater the extent of the volunteer’s satisfaction with the volunteering experience, appreciation for the training, and emotional connection to the service, the more likely they were to remain in their roles (Hellman & House, 2006).

While the studies above provide pioneering insights into the experiences and motivations of sexual assault survivors who volunteer to support others, it is important to note that not all rape crisis center volunteers have a history of sexual trauma. Moreover, a significant gap exists in our understanding of how rape crisis center volunteers, with or without a history of sexual trauma, manage job-related stress. Existing research on crisis hotlines highlights the importance of self-compassion and effective training (Willems, Drossaert, Vuijk, & Bohlmeijer, 2021b), but the specific coping strategies used by rape crisis center volunteers remain underexplored. Therefore, this study examines how chat-based hotline volunteers navigate and manage the stress associated with their roles.

In line with existing literature that highlights both the benefits and challenges of volunteering with sexual assault survivors, this study draws on the Job Demands–Resources (JD-R) model to better understand how volunteers manage the stress and demands inherent in this work. The JD-R framework offers a useful lens through which to examine the balance between the emotional toll of the work—such as exposure to trauma narratives and the risk of secondary traumatic stress—and the personal and organizational resources available to mitigate these effects (Bakker & Demerouti, 2017). According to the model, job demands—defined as aspects of a role that require sustained physical, emotional, or cognitive effort—can lead to exhaustion and burnout if not adequately countered by resources that promote resilience, engagement, and well-being (Bakker & Demerouti, 2017). Resources such as supervision, peer support, personal coping strategies, and perceived meaningfulness of the work have been found to buffer stress and enhance motivation among volunteers (Bakker et al., 2014; Huynh et al., 2012). This framework is especially relevant in trauma-related volunteer contexts, where ongoing exposure to distressing material may require intentional efforts to sustain psychological health and commitment. By exploring how chat-based hotline volunteers navigate and manage the stress associated with their roles, this research contributes to a deeper understanding of the unique challenges faced by rape crisis center volunteers in anonymous, text-based environments. These insights may help inform practices aimed at reducing the risk of vicarious traumatization and preventing volunteer dropout.

Participants

Participants were volunteers in the Kolmila anonymized chat-based hotline, which supports victims of sexual assault and trauma. All chat volunteers operate the hotline from their personal computers at home and receive professional training and ongoing support from the service. This begins with an extensive training period that includes education about sexual trauma, supporting survivors, understanding the chat-based platform, and practicing assistance within this framework. After completing the initial training, volunteers participate in monthly practical and emotional supervision sessions, group meetings, and ongoing learning opportunities. In addition, the service operates several WhatsApp groups that allow volunteers to seek advice, share experiences, and support one another. Participants were purposively selected to the point of saturation (Patton, 2014) based on the following inclusion criteria: (a) participants were over 18 years of age (the legal age of maturity in Israel); (b) participants were actively engaged as volunteers on the Kolmila chat hotline; and (c) participants had a minimum of one year of volunteer experience, which we considered to be a prerequisite to facilitate reflective processes. A maximum variation sampling strategy (Patton, 2014) was employed to ensure a broad representation of participants across several dimensions, including age, gender, familial status, academic background, professional experience in supporting sexual trauma survivors, and years of volunteering. While both sexual trauma survivors and non-survivors were sought, participant disclosure of this status was voluntary.

The final sample comprised 30 Jewish Israeli females and 1 male. Participants’ ages ranged from 28 to 69 years, with a mean age of 52, and the majority were in their 50s and 60s. All but three participants were in committed relationships and had children. Professionally, the sample was diverse, encompassing a wide range of occupational categories, including white-collar professions (e.g., law, engineering, marketing, architecture), social services (e.g., social work), administrative roles, and creative fields (e.g., music, arts). The average number of years of experience on the hotline was four.

Procedure

Ethical approval was obtained from the authors’ institutional review board. Following approval, contact was made with the national manager of the Kolmila chat-based service (part of the Association of Rape Crisis Centers in Israel, ARCCI), who assisted in participant recruitment. Kolmila volunteers were informed about the study and invited to discuss it further. The names and contact details of those interested were shared with the researchers, and research assistants held initial phone conversations to provide additional information and answer questions. To ensure ethical integrity, participation decisions were kept confidential from the organization’s contact person and others within ARCCI, protecting participants from potential power dynamics. Participation was emphasized as voluntary and anonymous.

Between February and May 2024, individual in-depth, semi-structured interviews were conducted at participants’ preferred locations; most took place via Zoom and lasted approximately 90 min. To facilitate open discussion, an interview guide informed by theoretical and empirical literature on sexual violence and hotline volunteering was used. Interviews began with a rapport-building conversation, followed by questions such as: “Can you describe a typical shift? What are your thoughts and feelings about chats with service users? How have your experiences evolved over time? What challenges do you face, and how do you manage them?” (See Appendix A for more details).

Using a conversational, flexible approach, interviewers adapted questions based on participants’ responses. Each interview ended on a positive or empowering note, as recommended by Mahat-Shamir et al. (2019). All interviews were audio-recorded and transcribed verbatim.

Data Analysis

The interview data were analyzed using Braun and Clarke’s (2006) six-phase framework for thematic analysis, which provides a structured yet flexible approach to identifying, analyzing, and reporting patterns in qualitative data. Each theme was developed to address key aspects of the research question concerning volunteers’ stress management.

In phase I (familiarization), both researchers read each interview multiple times and noted initial impressions related to stress-management strategies. In phase II (code generation), they independently coded relevant data segments and compiled them in Word documents. In phase III (searching for themes), the researchers met to compare codes—most overlapped, though some differed in terminology or specificity. They then collaboratively refined the codes and organized them into preliminary themes. Phase IV (reviewing themes) involved refining these themes for internal consistency and eliminating irrelevant patterns. In phase V (defining and naming themes), the themes were organized into coherent narratives, and their labels were clarified. In the final phase, the first author drafted the research report, constructing a clear and logical summary supported by illustrative quotes from the interviews.

Rigor

To ensure the trustworthiness of the findings, the analysis followed Braun and Clarke’s (2006) 15-point checklist for thematic analysis, as recommended by Nowell et al. (2017). From the study’s conceptualization to the final report, the researchers used a triangulation strategy involving written exchanges, phone calls, and in-person meetings. The three authors each contributed distinct academic and professional expertise in sexual trauma and volunteering, as well as different levels of involvement with rape crisis centers. Through ongoing discussions, they shaped the theoretical framework, generated reflective insights, and supported the development of codes and themes. The report presents a detailed and coherent account of the findings, with justifications for theoretical and methodological choices integrated throughout to ensure transparency and rigor (for further reading please see on researcher triangulation see Nowell et al., 2017).

Ethical Considerations

Ethical considerations were integrated throughout the research process, from planning to publication. Participants received detailed verbal and written information about the study’s purpose, interview process, and data use. Informed consent was obtained, and participant confidentiality and well-being were prioritized. Given the small number of Kolmila volunteers in Israel, care was taken to preserve anonymity by including only essential information in parentheses following direct quotes. This approach provides context while maintaining participant privacy and ensuring ethical standards in the presentation of findings.

The Challenge: Emotional Intensity and Anonymity in Chat-based Support

The challenges volunteers face are inherent to the nature of the chat-based service, which involves two distinct aspects: (a) addressing sexual trauma and (b) providing support through anonymized online written communication. The intersection of these two dimensions compounds the challenge, as the anonymized, text-based format of the interactions with service users often intensifies the sensitive and sometimes distressing content associated with the sexual trauma related by the user. All participants in this study reported that the anonymity provided by the text-based communication enabled service users to share candid, yet often more distressing and at times graphically explicit, accounts of their sexually traumatic experiences and associated suffering, as illustrated by the following quote: “In writing, she [service user] is completely anonymous, which allows her to be genuine. It’s very real—she’s brutally honest. Everything feels like a punch in the stomach” (Participant 28, 3ex ¹ ). This same anonymity also permitted users to adopt demeaning pseudonyms and to abruptly disengage from or within conversations, leaving volunteers uncertain about the outcome, as the volunteers were unable to ascertain whether they had provided effective support or to assess the service user's mental state.

One of the challenges is seeing the nicknames in the chat, like “Totally Lost,” “Slut,” or “Total Loser.” I don’t understand why someone would call themselves that. And sometimes, I’m not even sure if I helped or not. I have no idea who they are—we can’t see them, can’t hear them, nothing. Sometimes, the chat disconnects, and I don’t know if she left on purpose, if her internet dropped, or if someone walked in and she had to hang up. I just don’t know. (Participant 16, 4ex)

Notwithstanding the feelings of fulfillment and high self-efficacy conferred on hotline volunteers who successfully supported users who were in dire need, their exposure to the raw, distressing, and traumatic content relayed by the victims—compounded by the uncertainties and intensities inherent in the anonymity of the written accounts—presented a significant challenge for all volunteers. The following three themes encompass the main strategies participants described for managing these challenges: (a) Institutional and semi-institutional resources, (b) Separation and disconnect, and (c) Blending of boundaries.

Institutional and Semi-institutional Resources

The primary support for managing volunteer stress comprised the institutional and semi-institutional resources offered by the service, as will be described in the following theme. These resources are specifically tailored by the ARCCI to the needs of volunteers working on the chat-based hotline for sexual trauma survivors and are not extended to volunteers on other hotlines. This may explain why all of them perceived these resources not only as helpful but also as deeply nurturing. Accordingly, although they described the kolmila service as a place for volunteering, they also depicted it as a “home”' that was led by caring, responsible figures—a place to which they longed to belong and that embodied a much-valued desire for the common good.

I wanted to be part of this incredible place. The work at the chat-based kolmila service is the hardest in the world, but the people—every woman, man, everyone here—are truly unique. They are wonderful people, full of quality, all about giving, and always wanting to help. This place feels like home. (Participant 30, 5ex)

Framing the service as a nurturing home increases the meaning and value of the resources it offered, thereby ascribing to the service trust in its ability to manage the unique, stress-related challenges associated with the volunteers’' work. One important institutional resource utilized by participants was the service’s vision of support, which was apparent in the strong sense of belonging and identification all volunteers felt toward the organization. This vision defined the boundaries of what constituted “help” in the context of the written, anonymized support of a chat-based hotline, clarifying what was considered “good” help and identifying what fell outside the realm of possibility in this context. The following representative quote illustrates one way in which participants managed their stress by embracing the service’s vision of supporting its users:

There is this pressure of “Wow, what should we do? How do we save her?”. . . But we do not save anyone. If someone shares that she is a sex worker and is scared, you are not going to rescue her on the spot; we are taught that there is no saving. Just be with her, talk to her, listen to her, and see what she needs from you . . . she may write very difficult things, but we read them with empathy. (Participant 26, 7ex)

The service is aware that the anonymity afforded by text-based communication often enables users to share extremely traumatic content. Yet, as illustrated by the quote above, the service’s vision offers a solid and symbolic framework that helps volunteers feel less overwhelmed by their exposure to the written traumatic content and to the sense of distress relayed by the users, which reduces their own sense of helplessness associated with their inability to “save” the users of the service. Nonetheless, this symbolic framework would remain unfulfilled were it not for the practical support provided by the paid staff of the service. Among these institutional resources available to volunteers, participants identified several channels of meaningful support from formal staff members that helped them navigate moments in which they were overwhelmed. All of them reported using these support channels, with the most commonly mentioned being the supervision services offered by the organization.

There is always someone to turn to. We have monthly supervision meetings where we process emotional issues and discuss how to handle certain situations. For more urgent cases or challenges I cannot manage alone, I turn to the coordinators, and if they are unavailable, I reach out to the on-call person . . . These things can happen while I’m chatting with the user . . . Once in a while, the service manager asks us, ‘What would you like? What can we do for you?’—and they follow through. (Participant 23, 8ex)

Participants frequently noted that the “secret” to optimally managing volunteer stress lay in skillfully combining real-time or post-shift institutional emotional support channels with the informational resources available to them, which provided theoretical and practical knowledge about sexual trauma. This balance allowed them to shift fluidly between addressing emotional challenges and dealing with practical problems, ensuring that no major issue was left unaddressed. For example, volunteers receive both practical and emotional supervision that is closely tailored to the realities of text-based support. Supervisors read through each line of the chat—the user’s messages as well as the volunteer’s responses—which enables highly specific guidance. This process helped all volunteers develop and refine their written responses, better understand the emotional tone of the interaction, and adjust to the evolving nature of online trauma disclosures. As one participant explained:

The practical help we get from the supervision team is very well-suited to the nature of the service, which is online and written, and it keeps improving . . . [because] the online environment keeps changing — the way people write changes, and today, there are more assaults online . . . It’s not easy, but we’re constantly learning how to respond in the most effective way and protect ourselves in the process. (Participant 11, 9ex)

The service is deeply informed by the unique challenges of chat-based support for sexual assault survivors—where communication is text-based, fast-paced, and emotionally intense. This awareness shapes the way supervision and support are provided, ensuring they are tailored to the evolving digital landscape. Within this balance, at least half of the participants relied on the institutional resource of creating “spaces” or taking breaks from volunteering when their work became too overwhelming and the conventional emotional or practical support spaces for venting, processing, or educating proved inadequate. The option of taking a break was considered a legitimate resource that was available to volunteers, and thus, it was viewed as an additional institutional means with which to manage stress rather than as a sign of failure, which the following quote illustrates:

I can say that we are very well cared for, and the volunteers are truly valued. They [service officials] constantly emphasize that if things get tough or stressful, you can take a break, and nothing negative will come of it. They know how to support and enrich us as volunteers, even more so than in other organizations. (Participant 25, 8ex)

This sense of being cared for, both as individuals and as a collective (i.e., within a group of volunteers), also created a shared, semi-institutional space that supported volunteer stress management. All participants reported that they utilized semi-institutional peer support, whether through the informal backing of fellow volunteers or through designated organizational WhatsApp groups that offered a supportive space, all tailored to meet the specific needs and preferences of the volunteers.

I also cope with the help of two very good friends from training; they are my 'buddies' after shifts end. Some conversations can be challenging to navigate, so they serve as my initial support group for tough discussions. Additionally, there is a WhatsApp group for all the volunteers, where questions, answers, and consultations are shared. If I need informative support, I will raise my question there. With about 200 volunteers in the group, I can usually get a prompt response. (Participant 3, 8ex)

Thus, the WhatsApp group functioned as a semi-institutional resource that ensured prompt responses to queries and easy accessibility to a wide range of perspectives and solutions. It also enabled volunteers to effectively manage the psychological demands of their role. Despite the availability of both institutional and semi-institutional resources to help manage the emotional and practical stress faced by volunteers, some distressing material inevitably persisted. Ultimately, because the volunteer work typically occurred in the participants’ homes, the volunteers were usually alone with the service user when confronted with the challenging content and the need to cope with the residual distress they experienced. One interesting strategy that the volunteers used to manage their stress was to separate and disconnect themselves from the distressing context by exploiting various means.

Separation and Disconnect

All participants in this study mentioned that they felt safe and cared for as volunteers at the chat-based hotline for survivors of sexual trauma. However, they also emphasized the importance of self-care in managing the challenging and distressing situations to which they were regularly exposed during their volunteer work. They all expressed an awareness of the “dangers” inherent in their exposure to the written, anonymized, sexually traumatic content, and they frequently described the need to establish boundaries to emotionally distance themselves from the distressing content, as the following participant explains:

One might think that because it is written, it is less intrusive or less real. But it’s the opposite . . . I cannot say that I am not vulnerable—that would be a mistake. However, of course, I need to be cautious . . . Learning when chats are taking a more dangerous tone and what words to use . . . I have learned to stay on heightened alert and set clear boundaries. That is part of it—knowing how to establish boundaries and remain vigilant. So, I am very careful. (Participant 19, 2ex)

In 27 of the narratives, these boundaries were often established as a straightforward “cut”—a definitive, binary separation from the written source of distress, which the participants perceived as a necessary psychological strength. As participant 31 (6ex) explains, “I think it is something in my personality, my ability to make a 'cut' and put things aside . . . to close the computer and just carry on as if nothing happened.” Once a “cut” was made, the distressing material that was isolated from their conscious awareness was often described as having been sent to the guarded dungeons of the unconscious—or, as one participant described it, a “box”:

The distressing material lingers, especially when a service user has placed a lot of emotional weight on you—it is hard to shake off. The truth is, part of the shield or armor I build for myself involves not carrying it with me too much. I acknowledge it is there, but I try to keep it contained in a “box” of what I have done, and I try to leave it there. (Participant 2, 6ex)

Each participant in this study described having their own “box” into which they deposited distressing content, challenging moments, and feelings of sadness or helplessness. It was interesting that participants spoke of a “box”—as if the transition moved from one box to another: from the physically boxy space of the computer to a similarly boxy space in their minds, almost as if it were wired to detour their consciousness. Typically portrayed as functioning like a safe, these boxes were described by participants as able to maintain such a strict separation between them and the distressing material that nearly all of them reported that they experienced extreme forgetfulness vis-à-vis issues related to their volunteer-related stress. This notion is exemplified in the following quote:

[Chatting with the users] evokes deep sadness—a sorrow for those who live such difficult, unfair lives. I feel an overwhelming wish to lift her out of this situation and embrace her, but we have learned to disconnect, both virtually and emotionally. It means closing the chat and not remembering any of it. There is a lot of forgetting; sometimes, I am even asked about conversations the next day, and I will not remember them. (Participant 12, 3ex)

The psychological need for separation from distressing content and from volunteer-related challenges had such profound impacts on the participants’ psyches that, for half of them, even the act of discussing these topics during the interview, especially if it involved providing concrete examples, could trigger a disconnection. When referring to disconnection, this does not necessarily indicate that participants exhibited distress they were unable to manage. Rather, a pattern was observed in which distressing content was filtered or set apart—even before it fully registered at the level of conscious awareness. For example, in the following quote, a participant was asked generally about service users and the emotional empathy she feels for their pain, but she emotionally disconnected from the conversation, which had been progressing smoothly until that moment: “Um, what have I realized? Um, I do not know what more . . . What more have I realized? Could you repeat the question, maybe?” (Participant 4, 13ex). Other examples included difficulty remembering specific conversations with users or recalling exact details of the interaction or believing that these interactions were not important or interesting enough to mention—or even not ethically permissible to share—during the interview. The various strategies volunteers used to create distance from the written, distressing, and challenging material related to their work were, in fact, supported by the service’s double-anonymized structure. As in other anonymous hotlines, volunteers do not know the identity of the user, and the user does not know them. However, in a chat-based service like this one, there is an additional layer of separation: they do not hear each other’s voices. This lack of vocal interaction may further reduce emotional intensity, making it easier for volunteers to maintain boundaries—ultimately serving as a highly effective buffer that helps them manage stress. The following quote from a participant explains how:

When things feel this distant, it helps me take care of myself . . . we do not know who they are, we can’t even hear their voices, if they cry . . . this, together with the fact that I do not remember any of the conversations means these are not people I am close to—that their pain is not my pain. Of course, I feel their pain because many others share it, and changes must be made in our society to address it. But if I were to see all those faces, it would be much more difficult for me. This way, I am not dwelling on them or their words. (Participant 14, 4ex)

The same participant, like all other volunteers, further explained how these strategies of separation not only helped them effectively manage the emotional distress related to volunteering, but they also enhanced their ability to perform their work, thereby potentially helping the service users navigate their own distress more effectively.

This separation allows me to be fully present with each user in a mode of listening without judgment, being attentive even to the three dots that appear when someone is typing, without sending anything in response. So yes, this approach really protects me from knowing too much.

The separation strategy of “not knowing too much”—including refraining from encouraging users to write more in the chat — also served to maintain emotional distance, or to avoid “identifying too closely” with them. Participants, each in their own way, consistently drew a boundary between themselves and the users, noting they could not fully put themselves in the position of the services users, as demonstrated in the following quote:

I don’t believe one can truly understand the experience; it’s inherently subjective and varied. Each experience is so distinct that it’s difficult to establish a personal connection. It’s more about understanding the general sense of the experience—of keeping a secret, feeling guilt, or shame. (Participant 5, 2ex)

It appeared that the principle of not fully understanding another’s written experience of suffering, of relating to it in only a general and partial sense, protected volunteers from overidentifying with potentially distressing content. Overall, the separation strategies participants described appeared to benefit both their mental well-being and their ability to provide empathic, caring support to users. Notwithstanding the utility of these clearly defined boundaries, participants also spoke of boundary-blending approaches that helped them manage volunteer-related stress.

Blending of Boundaries

The blending of the boundaries between the world of volunteering and everyday life emerged as a prevalent and effective strategy for stress management among study participants, particularly during their real-time written interactions with service users. The fact that the volunteers operate the chat-based support line from their home environment over their personal computers rather than in a designated office setting made this challenge even more prevalent. All participants described the different ways in which they integrated aspects of their everyday lives into their volunteer work to help buffer against the negative effects of the challenges they faced in that work. This strategy is unique to services like this one, where many forms of emotional distancing are made possible precisely because the interaction with users takes place in writing. See, for example, the explanation offered by one participant of his need to blur the lines of separation by blending various aspects of his personal life into his volunteer activity:

Some shifts are so busy, with one conversation after another, that I finish completely exhausted. Most of the time, I work while sitting in my garden, enjoying the fresh air. I read emails, catch up on the news, and respond to messages I haven’t seen all day. When a conversation comes in, I'm fully engaged. I think this helps me; it creates a sense of separation—well, actually, it blurs the separation. (Participant 29, 3ex)

Engaging with users during moments of distress exposed the volunteers to emotionally challenging written content that they often experienced while alone, because their volunteering occurred mainly in their own homes. Consequently, they all found that blending the boundaries between work and home while they were volunteering at the support chat helped them manage volunteer-related stress without compromising the quality of the support that they provided to users or without infringing on their own privacy. Briefly, the different formations of blended boundaries related by the participants centered on merging their volunteer activity with their everyday lives, specifically, blending the traumatic and distressing aspects encountered in their chat conversations with the positive, comforting, and stabilizing elements of their daily lives. A notable example of this blending of boundaries was reflected in the participants’ choices of work locations. Interestingly, nearly all of the participants initially began their volunteering in isolation and behind closed doors. Over time, however, as their exposure to traumatic and distressing content increased, more than half of the volunteers transitioned to conducting their chat-based work from shared spaces within their homes—a shift made possible precisely because the service does not involve spoken interaction. This allowed them to integrate the emotionally demanding written exchanges into the more familiar and safe spaces of daily life.

When I started volunteering, during my first shifts, I would sit in a closed room with just water. It was really hard. After that, I realized I needed to take my computer and sit in the living room, where other people often are, with the TV on. This helps me avoid getting lost in the reality of the sexual trauma and reminds me that there is life happening around me. (Participant 1, 5ex)

The following participant further elaborated on the positive impact of blending her life into the written traumatic spaces associated with her volunteer experiences: “Too much separation feels overwhelming for me. Being able to see normal life amidst the chaos in the chat helps me connect and allows me to engage without falling apart” (Participant 15, 6ex).

Even among those volunteers who continued to work from a designated room in their homes, opportunities for blending boundaries remained accessible to all of them to some extent. For instance, 12 of the participants left the door to the room open for family members to say hello or ask questions, which prevented them from becoming hermetically sealed off from the rest of their house. Participants who worked in more isolated spaces shared other methods of blending boundaries, such as listening to music while chatting with users. For instance, one participant, among with six others, noted that she prefers to block out her surroundings while volunteering by playing music in the background and staying in contact with her partner - practices that would not have been possible if the service were conversational rather than chat-based.

I work from my home office because my children no longer live here. I tend to isolate myself and often use earplugs with music playing to block out any distractions. However, my partner comes in and brings me anything I need. (Participant 8, 5ex)

This approach allowed her to distance herself from the written distressing content by immersing herself in the living world of love and in music while still maintaining a connection with the user. Here too, the fact that the service is chat-based, involving written rather than voice communication, made such practices possible—unlike in phone-based hotlines, where volunteers and users hear each other in real time. Thirteen other participants described how, during particularly challenging chat conversations, they would engage in emotional eating, finding solace in food as a potent source of comfort and to affirm their sense of “being alive”.

It brings up difficult emotions. Depending on the shift, if it's particularly emotionally challenging, I might get up and grab a box of ice cream, as if I need to compensate or energize myself during the conversation. Sometimes, I reach for popcorn, which signals that I’m having an extremely difficult chat with a user. Generally, I manage without emotional compensation, but I do seek support from the kitchen during particularly tough conversations. (Participant 21, 1ex)

In a similar vein, in addition to incorporating food into their volunteer work, at least 10 other participants found comfort in reflecting on nature, watching television, or being in the physical presence of loved ones. This demonstrates how participants crafted their own, unique interpretations of the need for balance between life and trauma. Ultimately, the strategy of blending the realm of everyday life with the harsh, written realities of the sexual trauma, helplessness, and human suffering to which they were exposed during their shifts seemed to help volunteers safeguard themselves against the negative impacts of these encounters while enhancing their ability to effectively support the service users.

Practical Implications

From a practical perspective, rape crisis organizations should foster a strong sense of belonging among their workers by establishing dedicated, comprehensive support systems, such as peer support groups, debriefing sessions, and access to mental health professionals when needed. Training and supervision should normalize and teach effective coping strategies, including boundary setting (e.g., cognitive processing, mindfulness, or relaxation techniques) and boundary blending (e.g., engaging in supportive, familiar environments, like sitting in a safe space or with soothing loved ones, without compromising user confidentiality). Based on the participants’ descriptions of their resource balance, supervisors should adopt proactive support strategies by incorporating regular check-ins and tailored feedback that acknowledges each volunteer’s unique coping style.

The implementation of these measures requires adequate funding, which government agencies should provide within the frame of their responsibility to address the urgent societal issue of sexual violence. Additionally, the development of national guidelines on how to support and protect volunteers—including well-being checks and ongoing professional development—could promote greater consistency across crisis centers and ensure that volunteers receive the support they need.

Limitations and Recommendations for Future Research

This study had several limitations. First, the sample comprised predominantly females whose ages ranged from 28 to 69 and who were Israeli and Jewish, which may limit the transferability of the findings to more diverse volunteer populations in terms of age, gender, and religious or cultural background. Male or younger volunteers—who were underrepresented in this study—may prefer different strategies for stress management: for instance, men are generally more likely to engage in problem-focused coping (e.g., planning, active problem–solving), whereas younger generations often turn to digital self-care tools (e.g., mindfulness apps, online peer communities) to regulate their stress (Tamres et al., 2002; Spijkerman et al., 2016). Additionally, cultural context can shape which aspects of chat content volunteers find most distressing. In cultures—or even subcultures—where open discussion of sexual matters is heavily taboo, volunteers may experience heightened discomfort or shame when confronted with graphic trauma narratives; by contrast, in cultures or subcultures with more permissive attitudes toward sexual discourse—such as secular segments in Israel—volunteers may be less affected by explicit descriptions (Triandis & Suh, 2002). Nonetheless, our sample did not include sufficient representation from certain subcultures or religious communities—such as ultra-Orthodox Jews, conservative Muslim groups, or other faith-based populations—where norms around gender, modesty, and sexual disclosure differ markedly. This limits the transferability of our findings to those specific contexts. Furthermore, our findings describe strategies used by the full range of volunteers—those with over ten years of experience as well as those with only one or two years, volunteers who are themselves survivors of sexual trauma, those who know a survivor personally, and those without any direct exposure. It is possible that volunteers with lived experience of sexual trauma may encounter different levels of distress in this context (Gupta et al., 2020) and might employ additional or alternative coping strategies to manage their volunteer-related stress. Second, the interviews were conducted in a single session, potentially overlooking the full spectrum of volunteer experiences or the evolution of coping strategies over time. Additionally, since the study focused on a single, chat-based service in Israel, all of whose participants were from the same organization and received identical guidance and resources, the findings may not be fully transferable to other volunteer settings. The lack of diversity in the type of service and in organizational practices could reduce the study’s applicability to contexts with different support systems or service delivery methods, particularly in other countries.

Considering these limitations, future research should aim to diversify samples by age, gender, and cultural background, as well as varying levels of personal exposure to sexual trauma and levels of experience at the job, to better understand how demographic factors influence coping strategies. Additionally, both qualitative and quantitative longitudinal studies could examine the evolution of these strategies over time while also tracking burnout and vicarious traumatization. Furthermore, the present findings describe the various ways in which volunteers manage stress in their work. Future studies could build on this by examining specific strategies in greater depth, focusing on how each strategy functions and develops in different contexts. Lastly, comparative studies across various service types and international contexts could further assess the broader applicability of these findings in different organizational and cultural settings.