Functional, not fine(part 1)

 A: Function

I am very lucky to have the schedule that I do. Working 24 hours on, then 72 hours off, is a pretty good setup for a person like me. I come to work, I do my job, and then I go home. That’s how I have always worked. Show up, handle what needs to be handled, and move on.

But there has been a definite shift over the past several years.

The way I think about what I do has changed. I used to care a lot more than I do now. Lately, I find myself saying, “I just don’t care” more often than I ever thought I would. I used to concern myself with fixing things — righting wrongs, making places better, going the extra mile. Somewhere along the way, that started to fade. I think part of it is simply getting tired of cleaning up other people’s messes. I would push harder, do more, take on extra responsibility — and all that really got me was more work. Eventually, you learn that effort doesn’t always get rewarded; it just gets expected. Now, I let things slide that I never would have before. 

I’ve always believed that I’m good in bad situations. That was something I was confident in. When things were going sideways, I could lock in, handle the problem, and keep moving. That confidence isn’t what it used to be. I used to tell people that when you’re in the heat of a call, you stay all business. You do what needs to be done, and after the call is over, that’s when you have time to think about it — or lose it if you need to. That’s not how it works for me anymore.

Now I find myself doubting before the call. During the call, I’m hyper-focused — locked in tighter than ever. And then after the call is over, I doubt myself again. I replay things. I question decisions. I second-guess things I know, logically, were done the right way.

My thoughts about death have changed, too. There was a time when I believed that if someone was dead when I arrived, they were going to meet Jesus, and that gave me some comfort. It meant something. Now, I don’t feel much of anything. The call ends, paperwork gets done, and it’s on to the next one. Not sadness. Not peace. Just numb.

And here’s the thing — I still function. I show up. I do the job. I go home.

From the outside, nothing looks wrong. But inside, something has shifted. The care is dulled. The confidence is thinner. The meaning isn’t what it used to be. I’m still working. I’m just not fine.

B: The Pattern, Not the Problem

Being emotionally numb has been a long-standing issue for me. I didn’t see it that way for a long time — I just thought I was good at pushing things down and moving on. That was true in both my personal and professional life. When I had a scary call, a stressful call, or a death call, I did what needed to be done, and then I moved on. I didn’t fall apart. I didn’t sit with it. I just kept going. I’ve transported one of my own kids and then went right back to work. I’m not saying I didn’t break down afterward — I did — but I still climbed back on the truck and finished my shift. After a call involving drowned babies, I cleared and went right back in service. I didn’t stop. I didn’t go home. I kept working.

For a long time, I thought that meant I was strong. Or built for this. Or wired differently in a good way. What I realize now is that I wasn’t processing anything — I was postponing it. That worked for a while.

Over the years, though, something else began to show up. Rage. Anger. Fast, sharp reactions that come out of nowhere and disappear just as quickly, leaving me feeling bad about them afterward. I’ve had issues with anger for as long as I can remember, but over the past several years, it has gotten worse. I’m not a violent person. I’ve never hurt anyone physically. But words can sting, and mine do sometimes. I react too quickly. I speak too sharply. I lose gentleness — even in small moments, even at home. And afterward, I know it wasn’t who I wanted to be. 

The thing I’m learning is that anger wasn’t the problem. It was the signal. When you don’t deal with fear, grief, stress, or loss, it doesn’t just disappear. It piles up quietly. And eventually it comes out sideways — usually at the wrong time, at the wrong person, over the smallest thing.

I didn’t become angry overnight. I became numb first.

Numbness looks a lot like control — until it doesn’t.