“When are they going to get over this?” Someone asked me this recently, referring to our firefighter-paramedics and a tragic incident that shook our community to its core. That question made it clear how important it is to keep speaking up about what this work demands from the people who answer those calls.
What Trauma Really Does
Have you ever wondered if you’re a cold person because nothing seems to affect you? I know I have, and so have some of my closest friends. In this profession, it can feel like an occupational hazard. Over time, I realized it’s not about being cold, it’s about how we’ve learned to cope.
As first responders, we’re trained to face the unimaginable. We rush toward danger when others retreat. Yet, sometimes a tragedy leaves a mark no amount of training can erase. I’ve been involved in countless traumatic events both as a firefighter-paramedic and a news photographer covering gruesome scenes on a nightly basis. For years, nothing truly affected me until something finally did. The incident that changed me wasn’t even the worst thing I’d ever seen—it just hit far too close to home.
The Responsibility of Leadership
In the emergency services, we pride ourselves on our ability to help others. It’s why we do this work: to bring comfort, save lives, and make a difference. In our relentless focus on serving the public, we often overlook the well-being of our own. Leaders get consumed by managing the crisis in front of them and forget about the emotional wreckage it leaves behind. Crisis leadership isn’t just about managing the moment; it’s about guiding your people through the aftermath and setting the tone for how your organization heals. Crisis leadership is about building resiliency, ensuring our teams have the strength to endure the job’s hardest days and still find purpose in the work.
That has to change.
Supporting our first responders isn’t just about providing counseling after a traumatic call. It’s about fostering a culture where mental health is prioritized every day. It’s about normalizing conversations around stress and trauma, equipping our teams with tools to process what they’ve experienced, and ensuring every firefighter knows they are never alone.
You must build unbreakable trust with your people so they can come to you about anything, knowing you’ll do whatever it takes to help them and their families. That’s not a nice-to-have. It’s a responsibility. We owe it to OUR teams who dedicate their lives to protecting others to ensure they feel supported, heard, and valued.
Taking Action—Not Just Talking About It
After the incident that rocked our department, we knew words weren’t enough. So, we did what mattered.
In addition to formal debriefings, we set up meals at the firehouse—just casual, no-pressure gatherings. Food on the table, chairs pulled up, and an open invitation to show up, eat, and be surrounded by people who understood without needing to say a word.
We recognized that our families were suffering, too. Our loved ones carry a unique kind of worry for us, and most of the time, they’re left on the outside trying to make sense of what we bring home. So, we hosted a family night. A safe space where spouses, kids, and significant others could connect, ask questions, and learn about the resources available to them.
When the state police interviewed us about the triple murder of three children under the age of five, they told me I wouldn’t need to be in court. I told them to summons me anyway. I needed to be there to stand beside our people as they were asked to relive one of the darkest days of their lives. Leadership isn’t about rank or title. It’s about showing up when it matters most.
Team building became one of my top priorities in the months that followed and throughout the year. Our Honor Guard offered a sense of purpose and pride when it was needed most. The department took a trip to Gillette Stadium, where Patriots owner Bob Kraft spoke about leadership through tragedy and gave our members a much-needed mental break, which included time throwing footballs on the field (1). Our Honor Guard and firefighters spent a night at a Bruins game, connecting with the players and each other. A paintball outing gave everyone a chance to blow off steam, while a new gym at the station provided a healthy, physical outlet for stress and trauma. To support growth beyond the firehouse, we secured grant funding to deliver advanced leadership development and hands-on training opportunities, making sure our people were prepared, mentally, emotionally, and operationally, for whatever came next.
Those things may seem small from the outside but for us, they were lifelines. They gave us moments to laugh, reconnect, and remember that while this job can take so much from us, it can also give us a brotherhood and sisterhood like no other.
What It Meant
None of it erased what happened. It reminded everyone that no one had to carry the weight alone. We aren’t a softer generation of firefighters—we’re a smarter one. We’re putting in the work today so maybe, just maybe, we can enjoy our retirements. Maybe we won’t spend our futures crushed under the weight of a career filled with things no one should have to see.
There are great resources out there. And the hardest step is making the first call.
The Hardest Lesson I Learned
Getting help isn’t weakness it’s strength. I didn’t learn that on my own. One of my firefighter-paramedics saw what was happening with me and said something that changed my entire perspective.
I was hesitant, worried about the stigma, and afraid that seeking help would be seen as a weakness. I said I couldn’t get help because I am the chief. This firefighter looked me in the eye, knowing I was the chief, and said, “Or, you can show people how strong you are by getting help.”
That conversation gave me the courage to call On-Site, a peer support and mental health service specifically for first responders located in Massachusetts. It wasn’t an easy call to make, but it turned out to be one of the most important decisions of my career and my personal life. It allowed me to speak openly, process what I was carrying, and start setting an example for the people who were looking to me for strength.
I’ve always believed everything happens for a reason. That road taught me a lot about mental health and gave me a deeper understanding of what it truly means to be emotionally impacted by a traumatic incident. It prepared me to help not only my team but others going through difficult situations.
It’s Not Just the Big Calls
While large-scale tragedies often draw attention to the mental health struggles of first responders, it’s important to remember that it’s not always the high-profile incidents that leave the deepest scars. Sometimes it’s the cumulative weight of smaller, relentless calls: the overdose you responded to alone, the family you couldn’t save, or the face of a patient that reminds you of your own child. It can be the anniversary of a difficult event, the unexpected loss of a colleague, or even personal struggles outside the job that bleed into the uniform. Crisis leadership means recognizing these quieter battles. Make space for conversations, offering support without waiting for someone to ask, and remind your people that no pain is too small or insignificant to matter. Because in this line of work, it all adds up.
Final Truth
I’m not a trained clinician. I don’t pretend to be one on TV. What I am is someone who has lived through traumatic events within our department. That experience gave me the perspective to share what we did, what helped, and what made a difference so others don’t have to navigate it alone.
The reality is they won’t just “get over it.” Healing isn’t about forgetting. It’s about learning to carry the weight in a way that doesn’t break you. Our job isn’t to push our people to move on. It’s to stand beside them as they move forward.
This article was originally published in Firefighter Nation.
