By Fire Chief Fred R. LaPoint
I’m going to tell you something that nobody wants to say out loud this time of year: for some of us, the holidays are the hardest damn days of the year.
If you’re reading this in a fire station, a police locker room, an EMS bay, or a veteran’s group – if you’ve spent your career being the one who shows up when everyone else needs help – this is for you. And if you love someone who fits that description, keep reading. You might save their life.
I learned this the hard way. I’m not going to give you all the details, but I’ll tell you this: I know what it’s like to feel completely alone in a room full of people. I know what it’s like when the contrast between how things are “supposed to be” and how they actually are becomes unbearable. And I know what it’s like to think that asking for help means you’ve failed.
I was wrong. And if you’re thinking that right now, you’re wrong too.
Why the Holidays Hit Different
There’s something about this time of year that amplifies everything. The lights, the music, the expectations – they all highlight what’s missing. Maybe it’s:
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The losses that pile up. Every call you’ve been on, every person you couldn’t save, every deployment that changed you. They all seem louder when everyone around you is celebrating.
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The isolation. Working the holiday shift while your family is home. Being physically present but mentally somewhere else. Feeling like nobody understands what you carry.
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The faces you remember. The veteran who didn’t make it home. The brother or sister who took their own life. The civilian who died in your arms. The holidays don’t let you forget.
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The weight of the mask. You’re trained to be strong, to be the solution, to handle whatever comes. But that mask gets heavy, and the holidays are when it feels like it might crack.
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The dangerous comparison. Everyone else seems fine. Everyone else seems to be celebrating. So what’s wrong with you? (Spoiler: Nothing. You’re human. You’ve seen and done things most people can’t imagine. That takes a toll.)
The Signs – What It Actually Looks Like
The clinical definitions don’t help much when you’re checking on a crew member or looking in the mirror. Here’s what it actually looks like when someone’s in trouble:
In yourself:
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You’re going through the motions, but you don’t feel anything
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Sleep isn’t happening, or it’s all you want to do
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You’re drinking more than you used to, or using something to take the edge off
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You’re thinking about not being here anymore – even if it’s just fleeting thoughts
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You’re pulling away from people who care about you
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You’re angrier than usual, or you don’t care about anything
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You’re making plans, getting things in order, saying goodbye in ways that don’t quite make sense
In your brothers and sisters:
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The Joker isn’t joking anymore
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The reliable one isn’t showing up
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They’re giving away gear, possessions, things that matter to them
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They’re saying things like “you won’t have to worry about me much longer” or “I’m just tired of all of it.”
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They’re suddenly at peace after being deeply troubled (this is a critical warning sign)
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They’re isolating, refusing to engage, pushing people away
If you’re seeing these signs in yourself or someone you care about, do not wait. Do not assume it will pass. Do not tell yourself they’re too strong for this to be real.
What to Do Right Now
If you’re struggling:
You don’t have to be in crisis to reach out. You don’t have to have a plan. You don’t have to be “bad enough.” If you’re hurting, that’s enough.
Call or text right now:
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988 – Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (call or text, 24/7)
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Veterans Crisis Line: 988, then press 1 (or text 838255)
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Fire/EMS Helpline: 1-888-731-FIRE (3473) – staffed by firefighters and EMS personnel who get it
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SAMHSA National Helpline: 1-800-662-HELP (4367) – treatment and support services
Other resources:
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Share The Load Program through the National Volunteer Fire Council (NVFC)
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Firefighter Behavioral Health Alliance at www.ffbha.org
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Code Green Campaign for EMS providers
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Your Team Rubicon Greyshirt family – reach out to your team leader, your deployment buddies, anyone in the network
Talk to someone you trust:
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Your department chaplain or peer support team
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Your VA provider or primary care physician
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A brother or sister who’s been through it
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Your family, if you can
I know what you’re thinking: “I don’t want to bother anyone.” “They have their own problems.” “I should be able to handle this.”
Stop. You would drop everything for them if they needed you. Let them do the same for you.
If you’re worried about someone else:
Don’t wait. Don’t assume someone else will handle it. Don’t talk yourself out of it because you might be wrong.
Do this:
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Ask directly. “Are you thinking about killing yourself?” It won’t plant the idea. It might save their life.
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Listen without judgment. Don’t try to fix it. Don’t minimize it. Just listen.
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Don’t leave them alone if they’re in immediate danger.
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Get help. Call 988 with them. Drive them to the ER if needed. Call their family. Contact their supervisor or peer support team.
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Follow up. Check on them tomorrow, next week, next month. Depression and suicidal thoughts don’t work on a schedule.
Trust your gut. If something feels off, it probably is.
The Truth About Strength
Here’s what I know after more than 40 years in fire service, dozens of disaster deployments, and too many close calls to count:
Asking for help isn’t a weakness. It’s the same courage you’ve shown your entire career.
You’ve run into burning buildings. You’ve gone to places others flee from. You’ve held dying people in your arms and kept working. You’ve deployed to disasters that most people only see on the news.
That same courage – the courage to do the hard thing even when you’re scared – that’s what it takes to ask for help.
Getting support isn’t quitting. It’s not failing. It’s not admitting defeat. It’s making the tactical decision to call for backup when you need it. We do it on the fireground. We do it in the field. We need to do it in our lives.
We Carry It Differently
Someone once asked me if I ever get over it – the calls, the losses, the things you’ve seen that no human should have to see or process.
The honest answer? No. You don’t get over it.
But here’s what I’ve learned: We carry it differently.
The weight doesn’t disappear. The faces don’t fade. The memories of what you’ve seen, what you’ve done, who you couldn’t save – they don’t just go away because time passes or because it’s the holidays or because people expect you to be “over it by now.”
But the way you carry that weight can change.
Right now, it might feel like you’re drowning under it. Like every piece of it is piled on your chest, and you can’t breathe. Like the only way out is to stop carrying it altogether.
That’s the lie depression tells you. That’s the darkness talking.
The truth is this: with help, with time, with support, you learn to distribute that weight differently. You learn to carry it in a way that doesn’t crush you. You learn that you can acknowledge what you’ve seen and done and still find moments of peace. You learn that you can remember the losses without being destroyed by them.
It’s okay to carry it differently. It’s okay to need help figuring out how. It’s okay to admit that the way you’ve been carrying it isn’t working anymore.
We’ve seen things most people will never see. We’ve made decisions most people will never have to make. We’ve held dying people in our arms. We’ve failed despite our best efforts. We’ve succeeded and still lost sleep over what we couldn’t do.
That’s not something you “get over.” That’s something you learn to carry as part of who you are – without letting it destroy who you can become.
Asking for help isn’t about making it go away. It’s about learning to carry it differently so you can keep going.
You Are Not Alone
I mean that. Not as a platitude, not as something people say to make themselves feel better.
You are not alone in what you’re feeling. You’re not alone in the darkness. You’re not alone in thinking nobody understands.
There are thousands of us who’ve been there. Who are there right now. Who made it through and are here to tell you that it gets better. Not perfect. Not easy. But better.
Your family needs you. Your crew needs you. Your community needs you. And more than that, you deserve to be here. You deserve to feel better. You deserve support. You deserve to heal.
The holidays will pass. The darkness will lift. The weight will get lighter. But only if you’re still here.
If you’re in crisis right now: 988. Call or text. Do it now.
If you’re reading this and you’re okay – check on your people. Not just today. Not just during the holidays. All the time. The conversation might be uncomfortable, but planning a funeral is worse.
We take care of each other. That’s what we do. Let’s make sure we’re doing it for ourselves too.
You matter. Your life matters. Don’t let the darkness convince you otherwise.
Fred R. LaPoint
Fire Chief, Stronach Township Fire Department
Team Rubicon Disaster Responder
U.S. Coast Guard Veteran
Someone who’s been there and made it through
If this message resonates with you, please share it. Post it in your station. Send it to someone who needs it. You never know whose life you might save.
Crisis Resources:
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988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (call or text, 24/7)
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Veterans Crisis Line: 988 then press 1, or text 838255
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Fire/EMS Helpline: 1-888-731-FIRE (3473)
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SAMHSA National Helpline: 1-800-662-4357
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Firefighter Behavioral Health Alliance: www.ffbha.org
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Share The Load Program: National Volunteer Fire Council (NVFC)
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Code Green Campaign: for EMS providers
This article first appeared in Behind The Alarm, the newsletter of Fred R. LaPoint, Fire Chief Paramedic of the Stronach Township Fire Department, on December 24, 2025. Read the original.