The Hidden Life of a Facilitator

By Arne van Oosterom

Facilitation often looks easy from the outside. A room full of people, energy, sticky notes, good vibes, some structure, and someone calmly guiding the process. But what most people don’t see is the part that happens afterwards. When the room is empty again. When you’re back in the car. Or alone in a hotel room.

We recently had Alwin Put on the podcast, a great facilitator and writer. One of the first things he said stuck with me. He described how much he loves working with groups—and then immediately admitted how exhausted he feels after a session. Like, completely drained. I know exactly what he means.

It’s something we rarely talk about, but I think many facilitators feel it. That strange combination of being completely present all day, and then just… done. Not tired like you’ve had a long day at the office. But tired in a way that goes deeper. It’s emotional. It’s physical. Sometimes even spiritual.

And it’s not because we don’t like people. We love people. It’s literally our job. We spend the whole day holding space, guiding energy, helping people connect, think, decide, and move. That takes something out of you.

For me, it sometimes gets a bit absurd. I’ll be with groups of people all day, talking, laughing, facilitating like it’s nothing. But then I get home, and the doorbell rings. My wife will look at me and say, “You’ve been with people all day, and now you don’t want to answer the door?”

And she’s right. I don’t.

I’ll freeze. I’ll whisper, “Who is it?” and hope they go away. Not because I don’t like them. But because I just can’t be “on” anymore.

It’s a strange paradox. Many facilitators are introverts. We’re tuned into group dynamics. We read the room. We sense when someone’s holding back. That sensitivity is our strength—but it’s also what makes it so exhausting. It’s the hidden part of the work.

Alwin called it the facilitator’s hangover. It made us laugh, but it’s real. And it’s something we should talk about more. Because if we don’t, people will think something’s wrong with them when they feel this way. It’s not. It’s part of the job.

And yes, there’s joy in it too. When it works—when the group clicks, when something shifts, when someone finds the words they didn’t know they had—it’s beautiful. It’s what keeps us doing it.

But here’s the thing: the work doesn’t end when the session ends. The silent part—the recovery, the walk, the quiet meal, the time alone—is part of the work too. So if you’re a facilitator reading this and you’ve ever avoided the doorbell, or skipped dinner, or just needed a day to stare at the wall… you’re not alone.

It’s not a weakness. It’s part of the craft.

Let’s just be honest about that.