Death Investigation: Not Exactly a 9-to-5 Desk Job
Content note: This episode includes discussions of death, including child and infant deaths, grief, vicarious trauma, and workplace burnout.
Imagine spending your morning calling strangers to tell them someone they love has died. You hang up, take a moment to collect yourself, and then move on to the next call. And the next and and the next and the next. Meanwhile, your coworkers need help, your supervisor has questions, and there are more death scenes waiting for you. For 12 years, this was part of Andrea McGinnis's job as a death investigator. In this episode of The Art of Being a Therapist, hosts Ashley and Morgen talk with Andrea about forensic psychology, death investigation, vicarious trauma, and finding your place in the helping professions.
What does a death investigator actually do?
When most people hear forensic psychology, they think of Criminal Minds, criminal profiling, or high-profile court cases. Andrea's career looked a little different. After earning her master's degree in forensic psychology, she unexpectedly found herself interning at a medical examiner's office. For the first time, she felt like she'd found her place. She went on to spend 12 years investigating deaths, identifying deceased individuals, locating family members, and notifying loved ones. While the technical responsibilities were important, Andrea quickly realized that her psychology training was just as valuable. She knew how to ask difficult questions, listen without judgment, and sit with people experiencing unimaginable grief. Sometimes, that meant spending an hour on the phone with someone who had just received the worst news of their life. She wasn't providing therapy. But she was using many of the same skills therapists rely on every day.
Helping Others Comes at a Cost
Andrea describes the emotional toll of repeatedly witnessing death, particularly the deaths of children and infants. Unlike many traditional therapists, who hear about traumatic experiences through their clients, Andrea encountered trauma firsthand. The sights, sounds, smells, and emotional reactions of grieving families became part of her everyday work. And there wasn't always time to process any of it. She also shares how her experiences as a mother changed the way certain investigations affected her. Eventually, she sought additional support, including EMDR, to help process what she was carrying.
Her story raises an important question: Who takes care of the professionals whose jobs require them to repeatedly witness other people's worst moments? Death investigators aren't always recognized as first responders, and Andrea describes gaps in the support available to them. But the emotional demands of the work don't disappear simply because a job falls outside a particular professional category.
Burnout Isn't Usually About the Work
Despite the emotional intensity, Andrea loved being a death investigator. She found meaning in helping families, training new investigators, and bringing compassion into a field that isn't always associated with it. What ultimately contributed to her decision to leave wasn't simply the exposure to death; it was a toxic supervisory environment. Andrea describes reaching a point where she regularly sat outside her office crying before work. After years of building a career she loved, she realized she couldn't continue in that environment. It's a familiar story across the helping professions. We talk about vicarious trauma, compassion fatigue, and burnout as though they're inevitable consequences of difficult work. But sometimes the greatest source of distress isn't the work itself. It's the environment in which we're expected to do it. You can love your career and still need to leave a workplace that's harming you.
There Isn't Just One Way to Help People
Andrea eventually transitioned into education and began exploring how she could use her experiences to train others. She hopes to bring more trauma-informed approaches into death investigation, helping professionals recognize that compassion and technical competence aren't mutually exclusive. Her story also reminds us that mental health training has value far beyond traditional clinical settings. The ability to listen, build rapport, navigate difficult conversations, and recognize another person's humanity matters in countless professions. And sometimes, finding your place means stepping outside the career you originally imagined.
Andrea, Ashley, and Morgen also discuss grief, professional identity, the importance of supportive supervision, and what it means to provide compassionate care in unexpected settings.
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