Most of us came up in the fire service thinking that the higher you climb, the better it gets. We would have more control. More approval. More satisfaction. And, at some point, we quietly told ourselves that, “Once I make chief, this will all feel worth it.”
And then, the day finally comes. You get the badge, the car and the office with your name on the door. Unfortunately, after that initial badging ceremony and the first couple of months of living in Camelot, you start to realize that life at the top isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. You may even feel extreme anxiety and loneliness, and some days, anger and resentment are the dominant emotions.
Arthur Brooks often lectures about the high anxiety experienced by CEOs in the corporate world. New CEOs frequently discover that the job they chased so hard is emotionally brutal, and many of them don’t actually like work itself. How often does this happen for fire chiefs? I can only speak to my own experience.
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When your brain becomes your most significant fire
Most chiefs I know can handle chaos on the fireground. They grew up in it. They know what to do when the building is on fire, or even when a company calls a mayday. Our training and experience kick in, and we can really shine in the fireground chaos. But the reality is that the hardest fires to fight as the fire chief aren’t in buildings — they’re in your own head.
Anxiety, when you boil it down, is unfocused fear. Your limbic system, especially your amygdala, is built to constantly scan for threats and keep you alive. It’s our primitive brain, and that fundamental wiring doesn’t know the difference between a car fire and a council meeting, between a mayday and a sudden text from the city manager that says, “Call me.”
Your brain fires off the same basic alarm: Something is wrong. Get ready to fight, run or freeze.
At the company officer level, that surge is often tied to a specific event. You’re staring at the building and facing a complicated decision. You’re making the stretch. You’re committing to the roof. Your fear has a clear target and a short shelf life. Predictable, planned actions and expected outcomes.
At the chief’s level, the fear spreads out and can last a long time. It’s no longer about one building, a phone call or a counseling session. It’s about the subsequent lawsuit, the next labor dispute, the upcoming budget cut, the dreaded, “We need you in the mayor’s office ASAP,” the ongoing social media storm, and worst of all, the never-ending fear of the next line-of-duty death. That’s how anxiety becomes chronic. Your amygdala keeps scanning for threat, but the danger is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. You live in a state of continuous high alert, even at home, even on your “day off.” The phone on the nightstand becomes a little black box of dread. Left alone, that pattern doesn’t make you more effective. It just wears you down physically and mentally and can lead to dire consequences.
Leadership loneliness in the fire service
The top job is lonely. When you put that fifth bugle on, you don’t just take a new assignment. You lose your first tribe. You’re not at the kitchen table anymore. You’re not part of the shift banter and craziness. Conversations change when you walk into the room. People edit themselves. It’s not purposeful, and they’re not wrong to do it — it’s human nature. However, the emotional distance is real. You no longer belong, and it is not a good feeling.
You also carry information you can’t share. Budget reductions, whistleblowers, internal affairs, and service complaints are all complicated when they involve someone you’ve known for years. However, even if you don’t know them, the decisions that you are ordered to make can affect people’s careers, families and sometimes their safety.
You can’t vent down. You can’t vent sideways. And when you vent up to a city manager or HR director, you often have to worry about how it will be interpreted. So you end up holding a tremendous amount inside. That isolation, mixed with the chronic anxiety that comes with constant threat scanning, creates a dangerous feedback loop. It wears you thin in ways that don’t show up on performance evaluations or those wellness posters we are so proud of — they don’t apply to you.
The doom loop: When anxiety and loneliness start feeding each other
When the limbic system stays in overdrive for too long, it changes the way you see the world. You start reacting instead of leading. A simple email feels like a warning shot to your personality. A routine question from a council member or a department member feels like an accusation. You replay conversations long after everyone else has moved on — you lose sleep thinking about it. Trust shrinks, and your circle gets smaller. And then, without really noticing it, you tighten your grip on everything around you because it feels like the only safe move. At the same time, the loneliness of the position removes the standard pressure-release valves. You hesitate to share what’s bothering you. You don’t want your spouse to worry. You don’t want your deputy chief to think you’re off balance. You don’t want firefighters to see you struggle. You retreat into your own head at the exact moment you most need connection.
This is the spiral that sinks leaders — not operational failures, not tactical missteps, but the quiet erosion of internal stability that happens out of sight and in your head.
A fire chief’s way out
No checklist fixes this. There are no “three quick tips for reducing mental angst and anxiety” blogs that will do the trick. What works is deeper, slower, more thoughtful — and more in line with the complexity of our world. We need to shift our mental model and evaluate those things that we don’t like to talk about or do.
Shift 1: Redefining the job
Many chiefs entered the role believing it would be the pinnacle of their career — the moment where chaos finally settled, and the impact felt clean and satisfying. In reality, the chief’s role is not a destination. It’s temporary stewardship. The badge and the office are only temporary. The title is not a crown or lifetime appointment. Stewardship is our oath to protect the community and our people, manage the organization, and do the best that we can with the resources we are provided.
Remember, you are the caretaker of a legacy organization that existed long before you, and it will continue to exist long after you. This mindset can immediately reduce pressure. You no longer have to perfect anything. You only have to shepherd it — and ideally leave it better than you found it. This is a hard lesson to learn, but it is critical for your health.
Shift 2: Reconnecting, but with meaning
Anxiety is loudest when purpose is ignored or simply quiet. It’s critical to determine why you became a firefighter in the first place. Carve out time every week to teach, mentor or read so you can light up that limbic system and build resilience and peace. Walk the bay or kitchen without an agenda. Meet with people during training and not during conflict. Let the department’s mission talk louder than the noise in your head. You need to enjoy the time you have by finding your purpose. We have a very short time on earth, and a single bad diagnosis can drastically shorten it. Please don’t wait — find your meaning and work to advance it.
Shift 3: Creative and contemplative work
Command-level leadership cannot be all about email, budgets, conflicts and crises. That’s a match to a gasoline-drenched limbic system. You must deliberately carve out time for deep thinking — strategic planning, reading, writing and problem-solving. This is a neurological countermeasure against reactivity — an act that builds creativity while helping you strengthen your purpose.
Shift 4: Engineered connection
It’s critical to build a circle of intention around you. This circle could include a peer chief in another state who you trust, a clinician who understands the fire service, a chaplain, a mentor, someone who can hear the unfiltered version of your thoughts without judging your competence or threatening your livelihood. Actual human connection quiets the amygdala for most people. Isolation feeds it.
Shift 5: Modeling healthy leadership
Leadership carries weight. When you talk openly with your officers about managing uncertainty, making imperfect decisions, carrying emotional load and asking for help, you permit them to be human when their turn comes. Model healthy leadership for the next generation. You are not only managing your own anxiety; you’re teaching them how to manage theirs.
Shift 6: Courage in the chief’s job looks different
Courage at the chief level isn’t about running into a burning building. It’s about telling the truth — first to yourself. It’s the courage to redesign your work, to reach out before you hit the wall, to create healthier systems for those who follow. It’s about hard conversations and more complex decisions. It’s about speaking truth to power and being OK to walk away when you are unvalued or asked to compromise your values.
The real reward of leadership
If you’re already a fire chief, you know this terrain. If you’re aspiring to be one, none of this is meant to discourage you. The role is incredibly meaningful and critical. It matters. And the fire service needs strong, steady, healthy people at the helm. But the badge and bugles aren’t the reward. Staying grounded, steady, connected — and human! — while leading others through complexity is the reward. And it’s achievable. It just requires deeper work on ourselves, the highest levels of honesty and vulnerability, and a deep understanding of our physical and mental selves.
