Heroes Heal Too: The Untold Cost of Courage

When we think about firefighters, most of us picture fearless heroes charging into burning buildings, pulling people to safety, and staying calm in the chaos. What we don’t often see—or talk about—is what happens after the sirens stop.

In a recent episode of the Let's Get Naked podcast, host Ann sat down with Gary, a firefighter with two decades of service, and his wife Wendy. Their conversation opened a window into the unseen toll of PTSD, and how it affects not just first responders, but their families too.

Gary shared something many firefighters feel but rarely say out loud: PTSD doesn’t usually come from one big moment. It builds over time. Every traumatic call adds up—like marbles dropped into a cup—until one day, that cup overflows. For Gary, that moment came after 15 years on the job, during a call that, on the surface, seemed like any other. But something snapped. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop replaying it in his mind, and everything started unraveling.

The hardest part? Admitting it. In the firefighter world, asking for help is often seen as weakness. Gary was no different. He said he would have rather quit than let anyone know he was struggling. That mindset is painfully common—and it’s costing lives. The pressure to “tough it out” keeps many first responders suffering in silence.

Wendy described what that silence looked like from the outside. Their marriage was falling apart, and she didn’t know why. “We were basically living like roommates,” she said. “I thought it was me.” She blamed herself, unaware of the storm her husband was trying to fight alone. This is the reality for many families of first responders—they see the distance, the mood swings, the disconnection, but don’t know what’s causing it.

For Gary, healing began with therapy and a powerful treatment called EMDR. Eventually, he tried ketamine-assisted therapy—a last resort that became a breakthrough. He called it both terrifying and life-changing. In one session, something inside him shifted. “I went in as a fucked up fireman and came out a husband, a father, a brother, a son,” he said. “I just so happened to be trained as a fireman.”

That shift was obvious to Wendy. She saw light in his eyes again. After years of darkness, he was choosing family first—something she had quietly hoped for all along. Together, they began to repair not just their relationship, but their bond with their children too. They had honest conversations, owned up to the past, and started moving forward as a family.

Today, Gary uses his story to help others. He’s on a peer support team, reaching out to fellow firefighters after tough calls. And he doesn’t sugarcoat it. He starts with honesty: “Hey, I had a call that fucked me up too.” That one sentence breaks the silence and lets others know they’re not alone.

The truth is, healing is possible. But it starts with vulnerability. It starts with support. And it starts with recognizing that strength isn’t about keeping it all in—it’s about knowing when to ask for help.

First responders show up for us every day. It’s time we show up for them too.