The Invisible Backpack
Every day, you put on your uniform, check your equipment, and prepare for whatever the shift might bring. But there’s another piece of equipment you carry – one that’s invisible yet just as real. It’s your emotional backpack, and unlike your medical supplies, you can’t just restock it with fresh items after each use.
When Dreams Become Burdens
Let me share something personal. In April 2018, I stepped into what I believed was my dream job – leading public relations for a multi-state EMS agency. The fact that I knew nothing about working on an ambulance didn’t matter; I was eager to learn everything about the world of emergency medical services.
Those first two years were pure magic. My days were filled with purpose – working alongside volunteer fire departments and law enforcement agencies, teaching community classes, watching children’s eyes light up during ambulance tours, and helping people understand what happens when they dial 9-1-1. Every morning brought excitement, a chance to make a difference, to touch lives. I was truly living the dream.
Then 2020 arrived, bringing COVID-19 with it. The community interactions I cherished came to an abrupt halt. Rather than remain idle, I volunteered to assist our human resources department with recruitment. What began as a temporary assignment led to an unexpected revelation when our new Chief Administration Officer uncovered our organization’s greatest challenge: we were losing people faster than we could hire them.
My role shifted to Director of Recruitment and Retention, tasked with understanding the complex dynamics of why people stayed and why they left. The stories I heard during stay interviews and exit interviews painted a stark picture: burnout was widespread, mental health resources were lacking, and families were buckling under the job’s demands.
The solution seemed clear – we needed a Peer Support Team and comprehensive mental health awareness training. As COVID restrictions lifted, I found myself juggling both my original PR role and new recruitment responsibilities, along with this crucial mental health initiative. That’s when the weight began to accumulate.
I transformed into what I now recognize as a “superhero workaholic.” For four months, I maintained my regular work responsibilities while dedicating every spare moment of my personal life to this mission – taking online classes, devouring books, interviewing peer support team leaders, meeting with counselors, and developing what I believed would be a game-changing step in our retention program.
The irony was painful – as I developed training materials about burnout and mental health, I was succumbing to these very issues. My family life crumbled. My husband and I became ships passing in the night. My identity became completely enmeshed with my job, and when bureaucratic roadblocks seemed to prevent the program’s launch, it felt like a personal failure.
The breaking point arrived in my colleague’s office. I can still feel the crushing weight of that moment when I admitted we couldn’t launch the program because I needed a break. I needed to be home with my family. The demands of teaching multiple classes, attending community events across multiple states, and handling public relations issues had become too much. Something had to give.
So I resigned. The awareness training program I’d poured my heart into was packed away in a box, shelved alongside my dreams of making a difference in first responder mental health. Or so I thought at the time.
But sometimes, when one dream ends, another begins. While I had failed to launch the program within my organization, I had gained something invaluable – lived experience. The very burnout that forced me to step away had taught me lessons that no amount of research could provide. I had become the cautionary tale, and in doing so, had gained insights on the dangers of not managing stress, not recognizing the symptoms of burnout, and the damages being a workaholic can cause to a family.
Beyond the Big Calls
Here’s something crucial you need to understand – your duffle bag weight is rarely just about the calls. That’s one of the biggest misconceptions in the first responder field. Yes, the traumatic calls leave their mark, but they’re often not what breaks you. Instead, it’s the accumulation of everything else:
The Home Front
- That argument with your spouse before shift
- Missing another one of your kid’s games
- In-laws who don’t understand why you missed Christmas dinner … again
- The pet turtle you had to bury last week … but you weren’t there to bury it.
The Station Life
- Mandatory overtime when you’re already exhausted
- The colleague who makes every shift harder
- Schedule conflicts that never seem to end
- The promotion you were passed over for
The Personal Battles
- The grief of losing someone close
- Financial stress that keeps you up at night
- The family member who’s sick
- That relationship you’re trying to save
The Final Straw
Remember that saying about the straw that broke the camel’s back? In my case, it wasn’t a traumatic call that led to my breaking point. It was sitting in my colleague’s office, realizing I’d become so focused on helping others manage their emotional weight that I’d forgotten to manage my own.
Breaking the Silence
You’re trained to be the helper, the strong one, the person others lean on. But here’s the truth – carrying all this weight alone isn’t strength. It’s a fast track to breakdown. The real strength lies in recognizing when your backpack is getting too heavy and being willing to talk about it.
A Call to Action
If you recognize yourself in these words, if your backpack feels heavier by the day, know this – you’re not alone. The weight you carry is real, and it’s valid. More importantly, you don’t have to carry it by yourself.
Share your thoughts in the comments below. When did you first realize a weight you were carrying? What made you recognize it was time to lighten the load?