When To Get the Hell Out- A Responder's Guide to Recognizing Toxicity

I was in a training fire once — It was an old block-wall building that used to be dorm rooms at a university. Concrete, tight hallways, heavy doors — the kind of place where heat has nowhere to go but straight back at you.

They had stacked pallets in one of the rooms and lit them up. Simple enough. But the fire took off faster than anybody expected. One second, we were crawling in, doing what we always do — advance the line, pencil the ceiling, control the burn. The next second, that room went from “warm” to a stingingly, crushing heat in what seemed like a milli-second.

The temperature spiked like someone flipped a switch. We hit pre-flashover conditions. We tried to advance the line in to cool it down, but the line got hung up on something at the doorway. To this day I couldn’t tell you what it snagged on — all I know is that it wouldn’t budge, and we were getting cooked.

I felt the heat burning through my gear. My helmet visor softened, warped, and straight-up melted. The shield went with it. We bailed quick, fast, and in a hurry.

Sometimes the fire tells you the truth:

If you stay one second longer, you’re done.

There’s a point in this life — and definitely in this job — where staying in a toxic workplace or the service all together, becomes more dangerous than walking out the door. Sometimes an unchecked Captain will make your work life a living, breathing nightmare. Nobody teaches that part in fire school. They’ll show you how to pull a line, force a door, or drag a victim.

…but nobody teaches you how to recognize when you’re the one who’s burning up.

And that’s the thing: sometimes the fire isn’t always someone else's. Sometimes it’s in your firehouse. Sometimes it’s in your personal relationships. Sometimes it’s in your chest.

We talk a lot about pushing through. “Embrace the suck,” “Do your job,” “Don’t quit,” all that motivational stuff. But we don’t talk about the other truth — the one every seasoned firefighter, medic, dispatcher, cop, and veteran who’s walked through hell eventually learns:

There’s a right time to get the hell out. And you don’t have to apologize for it.

WHEN THE JOB STARTS TAKING MORE THAN IT GIVES

The fire service is beautiful, brutal, and addictive in its own way. It gives you purpose. Brotherhood. Identity. A front-row seat to life and death. That kind of adrenaline leaves fingerprints on your soul.

But it can also chew through marriages, destroy sleep, twist your nervous system into a pretzel, and leave you numb to your own life.

And here’s the truth no one wants to admit:

If your family is drowning while you’re saving strangers, you’re not a hero — you’re lost.

The job stops being noble when it becomes the excuse you use to avoid your own hurt, your own trauma, your own truth. And sometimes getting out isn’t cowardice — it’s the bravest thing a responder can do. No job is worth your family.

WHEN A RELATIONSHIP ISN’T A RELATIONSHIP ANYMORE

Bad relationships don’t always start bad. They start with good intentions, good hearts, and two people doing the best they can.

But fire service life is pressure. Trauma is pressure. Shift work is pressure. And pressure exposes cracks.

There comes a moment where you realize you’re fighting for something that doesn’t exist anymore. You’re the only one trying. Or your spouse or girlfriend is running around on you, and you are carrying the whole load. Or worse — you’re doing more harm in the relationship than good- sometimes with an addiction, PTSD related symptoms and behaviors.

I have the honor of being a chaplain to firefighters, and I cannot tell you how many times I have seen bad relationships with a toxic spouse/ girlfriend spill over into the firehouse and affect job performance. I have seen erroneous domestic violence charges end a person's career. I have seen good men spend the night in the firehouse because they were afraid to go home. Being with the wrong person can bring you down in a hurry.

That’s when you ask the question:

Is this something God can rebuild, or is this something I was never meant to stay in?

WHEN ADDICTION STARTS SINGING ITS SWEET LIES

Every responder knows the slippery slope. A drink to calm down. A drink to sleep. A drink to feel something. A drink so you don’t feel something.

And then one day the drink becomes the thing you think about more than your kids, your partner, your crew, even your purpose.

Addiction is a siren. It’ll sing to you until you break.

And that’s exactly when you get the hell out — before you lose the parts of you that the job can’t replace.

THE SIGNS IT’S TIME TO GO

You know them already:

• You’re angry all the time.

• You don’t recognize yourself.

• You dread going to shift… or dread going home.

• You don’t laugh anymore.

• You hide behind “I’m fine” because the truth would wreck the room.

• You’re spiritually empty, disconnected, numb.

• You’re staying because it’s familiar — not because it’s healthy.

If a fire was rolling over your head and the room hit flashover conditions, you wouldn’t hesitate — you’d make the call: “We’re getting out.”

So why hesitate with your own life?

THE GUILT — AND HOW TO DROP THAT BAG OF TRICKS

Guilt is a liar.

Guilt tells you:

“You’re quitting.”

“You’re letting everyone down.”

“You’re weak.”

“You should’ve been able to handle more.”

But here’s the spiritual truth:

God never asked you to die on the altar of other people’s expectations.

You’re allowed to walk away from things that are killing you.

You’re allowed to choose peace.

You’re allowed to choose healing.

You’re allowed to save yourself.

Even Jesus walked away from crowds when it was time. Even He said “no more” when necessary. Strength isn’t staying in the fire forever. Strength is knowing when the fire is no longer your fight.

THIS ISN’T ABOUT GIVING UP — IT’S ABOUT GETTING FREE

Leaving doesn’t make you weak.

Leaving doesn’t make you less of a firefighter, medic, dispatcher, or partner.

Leaving just means you finally realized the truth:

Some things you can rebuild. Some things you can’t.

Some fires you fight. Some fires you walk away from.

And some fires were never yours to carry in the first place.

Life is already heavy. Don’t carry what God’s telling you to put down.

And when it’s time to get the hell out…

Do it with your head up.

Do it with your heart open.

Do it with the courage that got you into the service in the first place.

Be safe out there.

-Tom

“And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way, walk in it,’ when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.” -Isaiah 30:21

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