There's a term that's become popular in librarian circles—"Vocational Awe"—which refers to the tendency to assume benevolence and correctness in an industry because of how generally (and assumedly) positive that industry's motivations, intentions, and outcomes are.
This concept was popularized by PhD student, librarian, and game designer Fobazi Etterh, who coined it to refer to a sort of ambivalence she feels (and other librarians seem to feel) about the work they do.
In essence: they're able to contribute substantially to the well-being of their patrons (and arguably society as a whole) by providing access and support, acceptance and third-places (environments in which to exist beyond one's work and one's home), but they're also underpaid, overworked, abused and villainized (by those within the library system and patrons), and thus simultaneously celebrated and taken advantage of, heralded as do-gooders, but also put in a position where they must often suffer, personally, to do the beneficial things they do.
This leads to situations in which folks working in this industry must either adopt the label "librarian" as a sort of identity-defining term, incorporating these expectations and burdens into their lives, and figuring out ways to make it through (mostly) psychologically and physically intact, or they're derided as insufficiently morally pure and weeded out—unable to make the lack of sufficient pay, lack of proper support, and lack of positive valence from a substantial portion of the population (and the politicians who sometimes rile that population up against them) work over the long-term.
Librarians are told they must be passionate about their work, must endure the slings and arrows cast at them because, well, that's just part of the job—if you can't cope, you're not cut-out to be a librarian.
This leaves out the fact that those downsides needn’t shape a librarian's reality: they're the consequence of issues within the system, within the politics that shape the system, and within the broader culture that makes some people think they can abuse public servants of this kind.
The idea that librarians must suffer to do their jobs is a convenient story told to those doing the suffering and those who cause the suffering, then, and enabled in part by the "awe" evoked by the work they do.
If that awe disappeared, there's a chance we could have real-deal conversations about these flaws and maybe even address them. But until said awe is tempered and seen for what it is, those conversations are unlikely to be productive (or held in the first place).
This term can be useful beyond the realm of libraries, too, as it arguably applies to anyone who does work that is beneficial and celebrated in some way, but which also loads up those doing such work with burdens that aren’t inherent to the work (merely the consequence of badly thought out, antique, or insufficiently supported industry infrastructure).
Front-line workers (including grocery store employees and folks who do various sorts of public maintenance work) who were told they couldn't stay home during the pandemic were lauded and cheered during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, while also being forced to put themselves in physical danger for low pay.
Doctors and nurses and other medical staff are likely to work under similar conditions on a regular basis: their compensation seldom aligning with the extreme hours, stress, and other (lifestyle-defining) pressures they face.
This same sort of awe is often injected into other workplaces as well, with CEOs and founders trying to get employees to see themselves as part of something larger, something worth sacrificing for—which can be broadly beneficial in the sense that it allows workers to feel like they're part of something big and important, something beyond themselves, but potentially damaging in that it can also fuel pressure to work nights and weekends, implicitly requiring they set aside their own preferences, needs, and even general well-being in favor of what's best for the company (putting their at-work "family" over their actual, at-home family).
It may be possible to strike a balance between embracing the idea of doing important work and wringing oneself out in support of that work, but it's a tricky line to walk, especially since many of us don't have a solid sense of what we need to sustain our health (physical and psychological) and our financial foundation (but even those of us who do may find it tricky to voice these shortcomings in contexts where we’re told it’s normal and good to sacrifice ourselves in support of a larger cause).