08/17/2026
Copied from FB elsewhere
Sharing this here because it's important and so well said. Written by a friend and solid human.
I know this isn't usually a serious page. But I wanted to share this here, as I don't believe we are doing a great job of reinforcing this with our younger providers.
A few months ago I had the opportunity to speak with some younger aspiring ems/medical providers. During a short Q&A, the question of "what's the hardest part of your job" was asked.
In the moment, without much thought I gave a very superficial, non committal, throw away answer every ems provider has told to satisfy the question.
But, that question has been on my mind and what is the true hardest part of an EMS providers job? Below, I have written my interpretation of the past 17 years of Fire and EMS. This includes messages for current, past, and loved ones of first responders. If you fall into any of those categories, please take the time to read.
"There’s something people need to understand about EMS providers, especially when it comes to personal relationships. We can be difficult to understand.
We can seem distant when we actually care deeply. We can go quiet instead of talking. We can make jokes at completely inappropriate times. We can struggle to explain what’s going on inside our heads. Sometimes we need space, and other times we desperately need someone close, but have absolutely no idea how to ask for it.
There’s a reason. We spend our careers witnessing preventable tragedies, devastating injuries, and sudden death. We stand in living rooms, bedrooms, highways, fields, and emergency departments while families experience the worst moment of their lives.
We hear the screaming. We watch people beg us to save someone we already know we can't save. We tell parents their child is gone. We work on people who remind us of our spouses, our parents, our friends, and our kids. And then dispatch gives us another call.
There isn't always time to process it. There isn't always a counselor waiting at the station. Sometimes there isn't even time to sit down.
You clear the call. Clean the truck. Finish the report. Maybe make a dark joke with your partner. And go again.
Then eventually you go home. That's where things get complicated. Because the uniform comes off, but the experiences don't.
Sometimes the person who spends an entire shift taking care of strangers has very little emotional energy left for the people they love most.
Sometimes "I'm fine" really means, "I don't know how to explain what is happening in my head." Sometimes silence isn't anger. Sometimes distance isn't a lack of love. Sometimes humor is how we learned to survive things that weren't funny.
And sometimes we're guarded because we've spent years learning just how quickly everything or everyone we love can disappear. None of that gives us permission to treat the people we love poorly.
Trauma isn't an excuse to neglect a relationship, shut people out forever, refuse help, or hurt someone who is trying to love us. We still have a responsibility to communicate, heal, apologize, grow, and show up. But understanding where some of these behaviors come from matters.
If you love an EMS provider, understand that beneath the sarcasm, stubbornness, independence, dark humor, and occasional emotional walls is often someone who feels things much more deeply than they know how to say.
And to my fellow EMS providers, The people who love you shouldn't always have to guess. Tell them when you're struggling. Let them in. Say "I love you" while you still have the opportunity. Ask for help before you're drowning. Because we've seen enough sudden endings to know better than anyone that tomorrow isn't guaranteed.
We spend our careers fighting to give strangers another chance at life. Don't forget to give yourself, and the people who love you, a chance at one too."
