A Firefighter’s Struggle: My Journey Through Burnout and Back

By Ryan Provencher

My journey as a firefighter through burnout and back—where I discovered that recovery is possible and resilience can open the door to thriving on the other side of crisis.

Stress in the Fire Service

Stress and burnout aren’t abstract concepts to me—they’re lived experiences. I’ve hit the breaking point not once, but three times in my career and personal life.

The first came at the end of my paramedic career, when years of high call volume and sleepless nights left me completely drained. The second came during my divorce, the lowest point of my life, when I felt broken in every way—physically, mentally, and emotionally. The third came years later, when administrative pressure and self-imposed expectations as a Training Division Chief pushed me back into burnout.

Each season felt overwhelming in its own way, but each also carried lessons. I don’t share this to dwell on struggle, but to show how burnout is real, recovery is possible, and resilience can create opportunities to thrive on the other side of crisis.

Hitting the wall on the Box

When I stepped into paramedic school, I was equal parts excited and terrified. The training was relentless—long hours, endless skills to master, and the constant stress of being evaluated on life-or-death calls. 

At the same time, I was surrounded by great friends. We laughed, studied, and struggled together, building bonds that carried me through.

After graduating, I was assigned a student of my own immediately. Talk about imposter syndrome—I questioned daily whether I was truly ready. But by year three, I had found my stride. Running calls, solving problems in real time, and seeing the impact on patients and families felt deeply rewarding. 

After five years of nonstop calls and sleepless nights, I hit the wall. The cracks eventually became impossible to ignore. Five years of nonstop calls and sleepless nights caught up with me. The exhaustion was unshakable, and the job I once loved became unsustainable.

Something had to give. I set my sights on the Company Officer test, motivated by the chance to change direction. Nobody wanted that promotion more than I did. When I earned it, the relief was immediate—it was my way out and my way forward.

Being a paramedic was one of the most rewarding seasons of my career. The challenges sharpened my skills, the calls built my confidence, and the responsibility shaped my perspective in ways that have guided every role since. 

But the job came with a price. The trauma, pressure, and relentless pace left scars I still carry. Over time, the stress wore me down, numbed parts of me, and changed who I was. Those years built me in ways I’m grateful for—but they also cost me, in ways that are hard to describe and impossible to ignore.

The Breaking Point at Home

My divorce was the lowest point of my life. Already sidelined by a hip replacement, I was off on sick leave when my marriage ended. I felt broken in every way—physically, mentally, and emotionally.

I grew up in a loving home with two brothers and parents who were married more than 50 years before my father passed away. I had dreamed of building the same kind of life. Watching that dream collapse left me devastated.

My marriage had once been full of joy, connection, and meaning. When it broke down, those were replaced by shame and failure. I leaned on alcohol and self-destructive habits to numb the pain, but nothing worked. I felt lost, depressed, and hopeless.

One day, I decided I couldn’t stay in that hole any longer—I had to start climbing out. I remember telling myself: Over the next six months, I will reclaim my life. It was a decision born of desperation, but it was also the first step toward healing.

I leaned on family and friends, and I returned to focusing on my fitness and health. Piece by piece, I rebuilt what I had lost—my confidence, my independence, and the belief that I could stand on my own two feet again.

Along the way, I rediscovered the friendships that had always been there and the simple joy of having fun again. Laughter, connection, and shared experiences reminded me that life wasn’t just about surviving hard seasons—it was about living fully. 

By summer, I was stronger—physically, mentally, and emotionally—than I had ever been. And not long after, life gave me something I thought I’d lost forever: the chance to build a family. I remarried and helped raise two stepsons, finding a purpose and love I once believed were gone for good.

Burnout Behind the Desk

For years, I felt energized as the Training Division Chief. I was surrounded by great people, supported by leadership, and able to turn vision into action. Early on, it was deeply rewarding. I loved the work, the challenge, and the progress we were making in the department. I was sure this was where I’d finish my career.

But by my seventh year, things began to shift. Budgets, politics, leadership demands, and the weight of my own expectations piled up. The warning signs crept in: fatigue, irritability, detachment, even physical symptoms. I wasn’t the person I wanted to be at work or at home.

By my tenth year, I was overwhelmed, disappointed, and burned out. It felt like my tachometer was stuck at 7,000 RPMs, ready to redline at 9,000 with the slightest push. I even considered early retirement—or stepping down in rank—just to find some relief.

Instead, I made a choice. With encouragement from friends and colleagues, I threw myself into a new challenge: testing for Battalion Chief. It gave me the reset I needed. Nobody was more motivated than I was to earn that promotion, because I knew I didn’t have another option.

That move was exactly what I needed. The new role reignited my energy and gave me space to grow again. It reminded me that sometimes all it takes is a change of scenery to find a fresh start. Real toughness isn’t about grinding yourself into the ground—it’s knowing when to pivot, reset, and focus on what matters most.

Now, as I approach retirement, I see a long and rewarding career I’m proud of and grateful for. In the middle of crisis, it’s hard to believe there’s light on the other side. But time has shown me that even the darkest seasons gave way to better days.

Finding Perspective

As I reflect on these times of crisis, I see a pattern. Every season brought its own mix of fear and uncertainty, struggle and renewal. The details were different, but the rhythm was the same: push to the edge, face the fallout, and find a way forward.

Burnout doesn’t hit all at once—it builds slowly. And recovery isn’t about toughness alone. It takes recognition, humility, and action. What I’ve learned is that the hardest seasons often shape you in ways you can’t see until much later.

The times that nearly broke me also opened the door to something better. Crisis brings challenge. Challenge sparks reflection. Reflection shapes decisions. Decisions fuel action. And action creates the path to a new chapter.

In my next post, I’ll shift from story to strategy—sharing how firefighters can recognize and manage stress before it becomes burnout. Because the goal isn’t just to survive stress—it’s to use it, grow from it, and come out stronger on the other side.