A Firefighter’s Journey to Finding Calm in Chaos

BY BEQUI LIVINGSTON

I’ll never forget that fateful day during the summer of 2013 – you know, one of those memorable events that seem to be forever seared into your psyche; you can recall every vivid detail – where you were; who you were with; and what you were wearing. It was as if time stood still, and for a moment it did.

It was Sunday, June 30, 2013. I had just come home from competing in a senior Olympics track and field meet. It was a hot summer day, as are most June days in New Mexico, with a cloudless bright blue sky and, although I was tired, I was upbeat having done well in the competition. I was resting in the living room while my husband was watching the news and both my young adult children were doing whatever young adults do on weekends. I remember that it was late afternoon when my work cell phone rang, which wasn’t unusual since as a wildland fire first responder, I was on call 24/7/365, especially in the middle of wildland fire season in the southwest. When I answered, my fire director was on the other end. It was unusual for him to call me direct. He said, “There’s been an incident on a wildfire in Arizona and we can’t get a hold of one of the crews.” Of course, even though this was not uncommon in this job, it took me by surprise. “I’ll let you know when I hear anything,” he said. I could hear the concern in his voice, the uncertainty of the whereabouts of those firefighters under his command, here in the U.S. Forest Service, Southwestern Region.

It couldn’t have been 10 minutes when my phone rang again, and this time, those dreaded words: “They’re gone, they’re all gone; the whole crew is gone.” Time stood still. As we always do as first responders, I immediately jumped into fight mode, the adrenaline and cortisol pulsing through my veins, my heart beating vigorously, ready to jump into action. “It was the Granite Mountain Hotshot crew from Prescott (AZ) on the Yarnell Hill fire,” he said. “They were in a burn-over and the entire crew is dead, and I need you to assist in putting together an accident investigation team.” The concern in his voice faded to great sadness and heartbreak.

I sprang into action since this incident was also on my watch as the (US Forest Service) regional wildland fire operations health and safety specialist. Any wildfire related injury, accident, incident, illness, or fatality was my responsibility to cover. Even though this tragic incident was not under our jurisdiction, I felt a sense of duty to do everything in my power to support everyone involved. I started my wildland fire career in 1979, as one of the few female firefighters at the time, and worked up the ranks to leadership, eventually landing this job, where I truly felt I could make a difference in the lives, health, safety, and wellness of wildland firefighters and other first responders.

However, I didn’t recognize the tremendous toll this job took on my personal health and wellbeing. All those years I had dedicated to teaching and coaching others how to practice self-care, especially during chaos or cumulative stress, caught up to me at age 58. Looking back to that single event in 2013, I realize that it was just the beginning – the ignition – to the unraveling of my life, which resulted in my diagnosis of complex post-traumatic stress in January 2016. My emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual bucket (or fuel load) was overflowing, and the Yarnell Hill tragedy appeared to be a catalyst and last drop in my emotional bucket. Yet, I held on, ignoring the red flags, distracting myself through busyness and working out, until it no longer worked. It all came crashing down in December 2015, after a series of personal crises after Yarnell Hill. It was as if the universe took me upside the head with a 2×4 saying, “Enough already! It’s time to take care of yourself.”

What had started as smoldering embers was now a raging inferno, and I was desperate to find validation and normalization for what I was experiencing, and to feel safe again. My life as I had known it was unrecognizable. This former elite athlete, personal fitness trainer, integrative health coach, college professor, and wildfire leader had been incinerated to ashes. This place was foreign territory for me to navigate, especially on my own, and it was terrifying. For decades, I had been the strong one, the rock, teaching everyone else about health, wellness, and self-care, even teaching workshops about dealing with traumatic stress. And now, I had become the student and had to find strength and courage in a completely different way.

I was being challenged to find my own sense of calm in my new reality of total chaos, the chaos of complex post-traumatic stress (CPTS), complicated grief (CG), Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, anxiety, and depression. Ironically, as we now know with PTS and CPTS, the tools and modalities that may have worked before no longer worked for me. The friends, family members and members of the wildfire community who used to be there for me and had my back, had all but disappeared into the sunset and I found myself feeling completely alone; this, too, was gut-wrenching. Sadly, in the wildfire community, along with other emergency first responders, the incidence of PTS and CPTS have skyrocketed, yet traumatic stress continues to be in the backwoods of conversation.

In August 2018 I was forced to retire after more than 30 years in service to first responders, Mother Earth and all her inhabitants; this was primarily due to my CPTS and inability to work in such a stressful, trauma filled and demanding environment. As it turns out, it was a blessing because it provided me the time and dedication to focus on my health and wellbeing and embark on my personal healing journey.

I had done such a great job all my life of suppressing my grief, trauma, and dark emotions rather than allowing them to happen naturally and organically. As I now see it, the cumulative stress from unhealed childhood trauma and wildland fire trauma over the decades was just too much for my sensitive nervous system and soul to endure. Like my overburdened and stressed nervous system, the decades of forest fuel buildup and mismanagement – and not allowing wildfire to burn naturally and organically – has led to a very injured and vulnerable ecosystem that is now a tinder box just waiting for the next ignition source to complete the cycle of life.

Yet, I have learned so much these past seven years and despite the suffering, I would not change it. I truly believe that the universe took me upside the head, forcing me onto this healing journey because, knowing my stubbornness, I would not have done it on my own. I’ve learned that in most cases it takes a crisis to finally come to terms and heal our wounds. Whether a chronic illness, mental health condition, divorce, addictions, or other traumatic event, we often do not choose this path on our own. I liken it to the grace of God: there are just too many synchronicities and weird, unexplainable events that have happened and have no real explanation, that have really opened my eyes and caused me to believe in something much greater than myself.

I have also come to realize that CPTS and PTS are not disorders, they are not diseases, and they do not require a label; they are simply injuries to the sensitive nervous system, which was designed specifically to keep us safe and from harm. As first responders, our nervous systems have been on overdrive for years, if not decades. And with that, comes a plethora of issues that manifest physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. Along with my CPTS, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, an auto-immune disorder through which the thyroid gland attacks itself. I see this as another injury caused by traumatic stress and toxicity endured for decades. Understanding what I now know about the thyroid gland, no wonder this happened after a lifetime of suppressing my voice and not speaking my truth. If truth be told, not many people wanted to hear what I had to say, starting with my father. Sadly, this is commonplace in many childhoods, particularly among first responders and women. Sadly, this is where many of these traumatic stress events start – in childhood.

I also recognize that as a wildland firefighter, I was subjected to numerous toxins during my career. As wildland firefighters, we do not wear breathing apparatus (like structural firefighters), only an occasional bandana to keep out the big chunks, as I refer to the particulate matter that we continuously inhale. I liken wildland fire fighting to being as close to war as you can come: we are fighting a battle with an enemy over which we have no control. Oftentimes, while on the fireline, you can’t see or hear the enemy until it comes roaring down upon you with incredible power and velocity. We work hours, days, weeks, and months without adequate rest, while our stress hormones continue to flood our bodies, keeping us in a state of survival stress. And now, with so many fires in the wildland urban interface (where the houses and wildlands coexist), as firefighters, we have no idea what we are inhaling – the toxins and the chemicals. Our lungs ache and burn, our throats scratchy and sore, our eyes watery and bloodshot, and our bodies achy and exhausted. We also know that so many of our illnesses and diseases originate at the cellular level and need to be addressed at the cellular level to truly get to the root cause. Epigenetics teaches us that we are all genetically predisposed to some illnesses, yet those same genes require some event to turn the gene to the on position before it manifests into something worse. Yet, here we are as wildland firefighters providing the perfect storm for our genes to respond – traumatic stress and toxins. When I was diagnosed, most of my friends, family and wildland community disappeared, other than a handful of friends who were dealing with their own traumatic stress and could relate. At the time, it was gut-wrenching, because I needed support desperately. I reached out to many of the wildland fire supporters, only to not hear a word, be invalidated, or not get what I needed. I even begged my own agency to help me file worker’s compensation and get help, yet no one would help me. I now recognize that at the time, my agency and wildland community had no idea how to support me. Even though they talked the talk, my pleas for help fell on deaf ears. Even my temporary supervisor wanted to put me on a performance improvement plan. What the heck?! I now see that most people do not have the capacity to hold safe and sacred space for those of us dealing with trauma and grief; it’s too scary for most people and I think they think it may be contagious. People are so afraid of feeling their feelings, especially all the dark emotions that come with our job. The fear, grief, anxiety, despair, hopelessness, and helplessness are terrifying. Yet, my friends, I’ll share one of my favorite quotes: “The only way out is through!”– through the darkness of feeling all your feelings that accompany the grief and the trauma. We are not taught or encouraged to feel our feelings, allowing grief and trauma to surface. Instead, we are told to pull up our bootstraps, and to toughen up. “There’s no place for crying in wildland fire” I was once told by a fire boss after witnessing the remains of a fox den that had been incinerated by a wildfire. By not dealing with our emotions, we are circumventing our greatest gift and key to healing. As we know, all first responders, like veterans, deal with traumatic stress and grief. We learn to compartmentalize our stuff, to turn a blind eye and hold back our tears. But please believe me when I say this: Your trauma and grief will catch up to you. It may not be until you are on your death bed, but it will happen. I know.

What concerns me is that everyone seems to be jumping on the mental health and trauma bandwagon. Trauma and post-traumatic stress have become buzz words, and for good reasons. In the United States, federal wildland agencies have developed a behavioral health program, along with myriad committees, sub-committees, and other initiatives. Don’t get me wrong; it’s about time this happened. But where were these initiatives when I needed help and support along with my friends and former colleagues who were suffering? I know that to truly understand traumatic stress and grief, and to be a true healer, you must have experienced it yourself. You don’t learn this stuff from books or college courses; you learn it only through experiential learning. Only then can you walk the walk and talk the talk. As I love to say, don’t tell me how to tie my fire boot laces until you’ve walked a mile on the fireline in my footsteps.

Through these past seven years of my healing journey, I have been through four inpatient programs, all of which supposedly specialized in PTS(D), three psychiatrists, two psychologists, 11 therapists, and 23 medications – all of which re-traumatized me and to the tune of about $450,000 out of my own pocket. I have tried most of the professed trauma therapies, including eye movement desensitization and reprocessing, cognitive behavior therapy, dialectical behavior therapy, trans-cranial magnetic stimulation, and Gestalt therapy, along with numerous other modalities, none of which helped, and perplexed all the so-called specialists to the point that they would shame me for not being fixed. It wasn’t until I met my current trauma therapist and started doing very deep, internal healing techniques, at my pace, that I started to heal. This is because my amazing trauma therapist had experienced her own healing journey through complex trauma and grief and found her way through, after years of her own work. This therapist validates me, provides empathy, and hope along with holding safe and sacred space. She never judges me, shames me, or tells me how I need to heal. She sees and hears me, and she loves me just the way I am in all my brokenness, and keeps me safe. She has been guiding me to find my own medicine. For her, I will always be grateful.

I DIDN’T KNOW, WHAT I DIDN’T KNOW, UNTIL I KNEW

BY BEQUI LIVINGSTON

I know what it feels like to have your body ravaged by neurogenic tremors, curled up, in a ball, on the floor, shaking uncontrollably.

I know what it feels like to wake up, in the middle of the night, sweating profusely and terrified from your night terrors.

I know what it feels like to experience sensory overprocessing, known as hypervigilance, where every sound, sight, and smell activates overwhelming sensations.

I know what it feels like to be in a constant fog; nothing makes sense, you can’t make decisions and your pre-frontal cortex (cognitive thinking brain) goes offline.

And I know what it feels like to have suicidal ideations, every day for two years straight. You wake up in despair, not knowing how you’re going to make it through another day, just wanting to end it all.

I know what it feels like to be so depressed that you have no hope of making it through; hopelessness and despair become your constant companion.

I know what it feels like to feel completely alone; no one seems to hear a word you cry, and no one sees the frightened little girl you have regressed into.

I know what it feels like to constantly live in a world of flashbacks, emotional and visual. The simplest words from others, events and experiences cause myriad overwhelming emotions and pictures from the past.

I know what it feels like to be in a constant state of fight, flight, freeze and shut-down, the nervous system having both the gas and brake pedals on at the same time, oscillating between them like a Bambi bucket on a helicopter long-line.

I know what it feels like to have friends, family and co-workers turn their backs, because they just don’t have the capacity to hold safe and sacred space for your pain.

I also know that this too shall pass, that my nervous system will heal and my heart along with it. And although I may continue to heal for the rest of my life, this too can be a blessing.

I also found great healing through somatic (bodybased) practices, especially trauma sensitive yoga and wisdom healing qigong. Because our sensitive nervous systems are so overwhelmed and injured, much of our unhealed trauma and grief gets stored throughout our bodies, in our muscles, fascia, organs, bones, and cells. Until we start to do somatic movement that help to release that stored energy, we will continue to deal with chronic illness and other related issues. I had been an elite athlete for most of my life, running every day and lifting weights. I now see that it was my safety net, my release valve for all my trauma and grief. However, the obsession became debilitating over time and in 2016, I could no longer run and could barely walk. I had started doing yoga in the 1980s at a local athletic club where I was the assistant manager in the off season, but at the time, I thought yoga was too woo-woo for me. Then in March 2015, a couple of years after the Yarnell Hill fire, my dear friend and I attended trauma sensitive yoga training for first responders. Ironically, she and I had just completed the initial Yarnell Hill staff ride for our national fire operations health and safety committee, of which we were both members. The yoga training was held at the Sedona Yoga Festival which was hosted by one of my good friends and former wildland firefighter with PTS. The session was awesome, yet I did not truly understand the benefits of yoga and somatic movement until a few years later when it became my lifeline. After my retirement in August 2018, my nervous system was still so injured I desperately needed a gentle, and safe somatic practice. I was invited to a local yoga studio whose owner was trauma informed, having a family of military veterans and first responders. It was here that I finally felt safe to do yoga and fall apart on the mat as needed. I started coming to yoga classes daily, and sometimes twice a day because my neurogenic tremors (trauma induced) were so bad, and I needed a safe place to unwind.

It was here that I started to meet the other yoga instructors and learn their trauma stories and started to trust people again. With trauma, two of the biggest things that are essential to healing are feeling safe, and to trust – and this was huge for me. It was here, in the yoga studio that my trauma and grief from my injured nervous system started to unwind and I started to finally feel some relief. It was magical and became my medicine. This inspired me to sink my energy into learning as much about traumatic stress, trauma sensitive yoga and other modalities that might beneficial, and I started working to becoming an expert in the field. I found my purpose again – something entirely different from what I ever expected to see myself doing. I wanted to do whatever I could to help others heal through their trauma and grief, to help them become informed and find their own medicine in a safe and nurturing environment, surrounded by healers and peers, like me, who have done their own deep healing work and know what it feels like to have PTS or CPTS. I wanted to ensure that no one experiences what I experienced after my CPTS unraveling – the heartbreak, the rejection, the betrayal, and abandonment that opened the childhood wounds that so many of us carry. I want to provide a healing environment in which first responders and others with trauma and grief can heal, surrounded by nature, and supported by their peers, where they feel validated and have hope, to ensure they are seen, heard and feel safe and loved just the way they are. Most importantly, I want to share my experience and story, through writing, teaching, and coaching, so that others may find their way through the darkness, while shining my headlamp until their headlamp is lit again and they know they are not alone.

By sharing my story honestly and authentically, I might spark an ember of hope for anyone dealing with traumatic stress. May this story provide wisdom and hope as well for supporters – families, friends and healers who continue to support their loved ones through this healing journey.

Bequi Livingston was the first woman recruited by the New Mexico-based Smokey Bear Hotshots for its elite wildland firefighting crew. She was the Regional Fire Operations Health and Safety Specialist for the U.S. Forest Service in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Livingston is now a certified trauma specialist, trauma sensitive yoga teacher, integrative health coach and personal fitness trainer. Her business, BodySense Wellness, focuses on paying it forward to help wildland firefighters and first responders heal and deal with their traumatic stress.