Spanning the Gap Between Research and Reality in Fire
I completed my master’s degree in 1995 and walked out of academia forever, or so I thought.
I spent the following decades working in the health and wellness field and honing my craft. I became a credentialed strength and conditioning specialist and sports nutritionist.
But, in 2001, when the world watched airplanes become weapons, I believed I could make a significant impact on my community, going beyond just helping people develop their physical fitness.
From 2001 to 2004, I gained new skills, including firefighting and emergency medical services (EMS) care.
I hoped to do good and save lives.
But like many public servants, I didn’t start the fire service as a blank slate; I carried the weight of Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs), which didn’t vanish when I put on my uniform.
While the chaos of the job felt like structure and refuge for someone with a chaotic childhood, unresolved issues quickly came to the surface.
Sadly, when I joined the fire service at 33, I had a toxic mix of character flaws that pushed me close to breaking.
I was emotionally immature, struggled to resolve conflict, was more sensitive than most to sleep deprivation, and was the only woman in my department.
Because of my ‘femaleness’, I learned the hard way that I had no margin for error, and I was always ‘handled’ differently.
What I observed in the fire service as a whole was darkness.
An entire workforce was hanging on for dear life while also dealing with trauma and sleep deprivation.
Firefighters witness civilians on their worst days, and those civilians expect problem solvers, scholars, surgeons, plumbers, electricians, mental health counselors, veterinarians, and miracle workers.
I never personally felt safe enough to say, “I’m not OK after experiencing what just happened,” even on the day my lieutenant ran out of a house and handed me a non-breathing pediatric patient. We were halfway to the hospital before I realized the patient was in full rigor, and what we were doing was ‘just for show’ for the family.
I returned to the station, hid, and cried, but I never asked for anyone’s comfort. I put on the stoic mask and kept going.
The hours were long, and the stress was overwhelming; these factors piled up and pushed me into a deep, yet undiagnosed depression.
The fire service is rooted in duty, pride, tradition, and unspoken stoicism; essential qualities on fire and EMS scenes, but these qualities unnecessarily bleed into our personal lives and time off work.
I felt that expressing emotion was a weakness, and asking for help without ‘really’ having a problem seemed like a failure. I sucked it up and ‘handled it’ because I felt that was what was expected.
What I would learn much later is that the greatest killer of our nation’s firefighters isn’t fire. It isn’t even cardiovascular disease. It’s suicide.
But why wasn’t I one of those statistics, one of those over 100 firefighters per year who have no hope and believe that their only option is to take their own life?
What saved my life was two-fold.
A deeply rooted practice of sleep, nutrition, physical fitness, and commitment to robust health, and
a simple human connection and someone else telling their story.
A guest speaker from the Illinois Firefighter Peer Support team shared his authentic, ugly, and unvarnished story with my entire department, and for the first time, I heard someone else express out loud what I was feeling.
I could admit, for the first time, that I wasn’t OK and I needed help. Once on the other side, I reflected on why I wasn’t a statistic.
I believe my health and wellness knowledge, combined with my dedication to sleep, nutrition, and physical activity, saved my life. Each of those components individually improves mental health, and the additive impacts likely kept me from ever considering suicide as an answer.
Here's the dark truth: It’s not just the death, chaos, destruction, and seeing other humans on the very worst of their days.
It’s the expectation that we’ll just handle it.
We’ll handle it on duty and off duty, because that’s just what we do. Is there stigma associated with asking for help? In fact, there is, but not from outside sources. The stigma comes from within.
It’s the tiny voice that screams, “Handle your shit. You’re weak, so suck it up. No one cares, work harder.”
Once my lightbulb turned on, I realized that the fire service is woefully undereducated and unsupported in mental and physical health and wellness.
I realized I had a unique skill set in educating and connecting with firefighters.
I pivoted my business away from the general population and dove headfirst into specializing in the fire service.
In the decade since that pivot, I’ve spoken at innumerable fire departments and fire service events. I have used an evidence-based and personal approach to coaching and educating firefighters, but I soon realized there was a missing link between those doing the vital research and the workforce.
What academia and the fire service need right now is a bridge that connects science and real-world application.
The United States Fire Service has 200 years of tradition, proudly unimpeded by progress. When it comes to firefighter health, wellness, and safety, that’s no longer acceptable.
My goal is to serve as that bridge between academia and the fire service.
