When you’re trained to be the one others rely on in crisis, showing vulnerability can feel like weakness. Yet, as Maya Angelou powerfully stated, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” For first responders, this untold story often carries the weight of countless challenging calls, split-second decisions, and moments that leave lasting impressions.
Vulnerability is about having the courage to acknowledge your human experiences, share your challenges, and remain open to connection even when your instinct is to withdraw. It allows you to be fully present and authentic in your relationships, both professional and personal. For first responders, vulnerability is about recognizing that your protective armor, while necessary in the field, shouldn’t become a permanent barrier to meaningful connections and personal growth.
The Armor You Carry
In Psychology Today, Gregg Levoy says, “Our fear of being vulnerable and our worship of strength—which we inherit in countless ways—are acted out in every arena, from the political to the personal.”
In first response work, this armor becomes second nature. The more difficult calls you witness, the stronger those defenses become, until maintaining that tough exterior feels like part of the job description. This protective shell—built from years of running toward danger while others run away—serves a vital purpose during critical incidents. Your training reinforces it: stay calm, maintain control, push emotions aside to get the job done.
Layer by layer, call by call, you construct this armor meticulously. It protects you from the raw edges of trauma, helps you function in chaos, and keeps you focused when others panic. The armor becomes so familiar that you might not even notice how it changes you—how it affects the way you carry yourself at family dinners, how you respond to your child’s tears, or how you process your own quiet moments of doubt. Like a bulletproof vest, this emotional armor can save your life on the job, but wearing it 24/7 can create a weight that slowly reshapes your entire way of being in the world.
Breaking the Isolation Cycle
When you find yourself retreating—closing the door, withdrawing from colleagues and family—that’s you are closing the door on an opportunity for connection. These moments of isolation, rather than being a sign of weakness, can become doorways to healing if you allow yourself to reach out. They can also become an opportunity for you to help others see how to overcome the same silent struggles they’re having. And if you notice someone who used to be really friendly suddenly withdrawing, it’s okay to reach out to them.
Doug White, speaking on Behind The Shield (Episode 1037), shares a crucial insight from his first responder career: “When someone withdraws and closes their door, that’s our opportunity to create an environment where they can be vulnerable and ask for help.” He emphasizes that when people share their experiences through various platforms, “it opens the door for others to be vulnerable too.“
The Strength in Showing Up Real
“Love without the pretense of invulnerability opens us to deeper love than we can know when we’re armored up,” Levoy writes in Psychology Today. “When you stop distancing yourself from others, there’s more of you available. You bring more of yourself to the table.”
This truth applies particularly to first responder culture. When you’re willing to acknowledge your struggles—whether it’s processing a difficult call or managing personal challenges—you create authentic connections that support true healing in you and in others.
White shares a powerful moment of vulnerability on Behind The Shield, revealing a personal rock bottom: “When I was a single dad, and I was going through paramedic school and a divorce simultaneously, that was the … lowest I’ve ever been.” He explains that sharing this kind of raw truth “initiates a conversation for someone else who’s dying (inside).” The impact of such openness becomes clear when he continues to explain how this vulnerability serves others in crisis – particularly those who might be struggling silently with their own battles.
His transparency transforms a personal low point into a professional tool for helping others. When you share your own struggles, you’re not just unburdening yourself – you’re creating a pathway for colleagues who might be silently carrying similar weights. It shows that reaching out isn’t about admitting defeat; it’s about acknowledging the human experience behind the uniform and creating space for authentic connection and healing.
This kind of vulnerable sharing is particularly powerful because it comes from someone who’s been through the crucible and emerged on the other side. It validates both the struggle and the possibility of moving through it, offering hope while acknowledging the reality of the pain.
Creating Safe Spaces
Leadership in first response services isn’t about maintaining an impenetrable facade. As Nathan Smith reminds us in his article The Vulnerability of Sharing Your Story, “When we are ready – when we’ve grown strong enough to stand in our truth, and open up about our experience – there are people ready to listen.” Your vulnerability as a leader or experienced responder can transform department culture.
White addresses this directly in his podcast appearance, too: “You can’t expect vulnerability from others while staying in your ivory tower. You have to take the first step and share your own struggles.“
Here’s how you can lead with vulnerability while maintaining professional boundaries:
- Start with After-Action Reviews
- Share your own thought process during challenging calls
- Acknowledge moments of uncertainty in your decision-making
- Discuss what you’d do differently, showing that learning is continuous
- Create space for others to share their perspectives without fear of judgment
- Structure Regular Check-Ins
- Schedule one-on-one meetings focused on well-being, not just performance
- Share your own strategies for managing stress
- Discuss personal impact of difficult calls
- Create informal spaces for conversation, like walking meetings or coffee chats
- Model Healthy Boundaries
- Be open about when you’re seeking support
- Share how you balance work and personal life
- Demonstrate when and how you disconnect
- Show that taking time for mental health is a strength, not a weakness
- Create Safe Spaces for Dialogue
- Establish regular team debriefings
- Share your own experiences with professional support
- Normalize discussions about emotional impact
- Maintain confidentiality to build trust
- Practice Gradual Disclosure
- Start with smaller vulnerabilities before sharing bigger ones
- Connect your experiences to current team challenges
- Focus on lessons learned and growth
- Share how past struggles inform your leadership today
Remember: vulnerability in leadership isn’t about unloading your burdens onto your team. It’s about creating an environment where strength includes the ability to acknowledge challenges, seek support, and grow together. When you model this behavior as a leader, you give your team permission to do the same.
The Healing Journey & Moving Forward
Your story, your struggles, and your journey toward healing matter. By embracing vulnerability as part of your strength rather than a contradiction to it, you not only foster your own healing but create space for others to do the same.
“Our stories matter because we matter,” Nathan Smith notes. When you share your experiences—whether through peer support, professional counseling, or informal conversations—you’re not just helping yourself. You’re contributing to a culture shift that could save lives.
Levoy shares a powerful truth: “If you’re willing to reveal your authenticity in all its messy humanity, and find yourself loved anyway, you will then know one of life’s deepest satisfactions: being loved for who you are rather than who you’re pretending to be.“
Remember: showing vulnerability isn’t about breaking down completely—it’s about having the courage to acknowledge that behind the badge, you’re human. And that humanity is your strength, not your weakness.