Jess’ Story

There was a time when I believed strength meant enduring through whatever came my way without slowing down. Working in wildfire taught me how to push through exhaustion, uncertainty, and fear. It also taught me that there comes a point where surviving isn't worth the cost of a paycheque.

I lost a partner in the mountains at age 20 and then a co-worker died on the fireline when I was 23. I found myself grappling with grief and trying to make sense of a world that felt fragile and unfair. I was trying to make sense of my life and its impermanence.

Stepping away from wildfire was one of the hardest decisions I've ever made. It felt like losing not only a career, but a community and a part of my identity. However, I knew that if I couldn’t show up for myself, I definitely couldn’t show up for my crew. For a long time, I thought moving forward meant finding my way back to who I was. But with time, I have realised that healing has rather been about discovering who I am becoming.

Returning to university as a mature student has been part of that journey. I've found myself asking different questions than I once did; not just about wildfire, but about people, resilience, and the ways that our experiences shape us. I've learned that healing isn't linear. It isn't a destination you arrive at one day. But rather, it is built through small moments of asking for help, making space for rest, reconnecting with my creative practice, and allowing myself to let go of expectations. I am learning to begin again.

One lesson I continue to carry with me is that vulnerability is not a sign of weakness. The moments when I have felt most seen have often been the moments when someone else's honesty reminded me that I wasn't alone. Sitting in a circle with the Kootenay Chapter played a critical role in this unlearning. We rarely know what another person is carrying, and simple acts of compassion and curiosity can have a lasting impact.

I still don't have all the answers. But I've come to believe that hope doesn't require certainty. Sometimes hope is simply choosing to take the next step and trusting the process, even when the path ahead isn't clear.

If sharing my story helps even one person feel a little less isolated, then it is worth telling again and again.