The Loneliness After First Responder Retirement: A Case Study

Suzz Sandalwood| Meet Richard who represents many retired first responders who may find themselves in unpredictable struggle and deep loneliness after leaving the job.

Written by Suzz Sandalwood | Seeking Veritas Columnist | Sankarsingh-Gonsalves Productions

His name is Richard. At least for today.

Richard isn’t a real person, not exactly. He’s a fictional composite built from many real experiences of retired first responders. His story reflects a common but rarely spoken truth: retirement is not always restful. For many, the silence that follows after feels less like peace and more like absence. This case study captures what that can look like and feel like in real time.

Background: A Career That Became a Calling

Richard served over three decades as a frontline first responder. Colleagues described him as dependable, sharp, and unshakable. He trained rookies, ran point on high-risk calls, and carried a mental log of every protocol in the book.

He was also deeply identified with the job. Not in an ego-driven way but in a way that’s common in high-responsibility professions. The job wasn’t just what he did; it was who he was. The rhythms of the work, shift work, the adrenaline, the fast decision-making, the emotional suppression had imprinted themselves on his nervous system.

By the time he was done, Richard wasn’t just leaving work. He was exiting a world he had inhabited and internalized for most of his adult life.

The First Few Weeks: Relief and Disorientation

The first couple of weeks post-retirement felt novel. Richard told himself he should enjoy the slow mornings, the empty calendar. He had a list of projects he had put off for years and now had time for. The congratulations cards were still on the table, the “bucket list” jokes fresh in his ears.

But something was off. He found himself still waking at 5:30 a.m. without an alarm. He'd check the time and feel a low-grade panic, like he was late for something, even when there was nothing scheduled. He couldn’t shake the sense that he was missing something.

The quiet felt foreign.

The Middle Months: Invisible Shifts in Identity

Over time, the novelty wore off. Richard started to feel disconnected, not only from the job but from himself. He didn’t know how to answer the question, “So, what do you do now?” without flinching.

He missed being needed. Not just the status or responsibility, but the constant sense of direction. The decisions that used to fill his day were now replaced by questions that didn’t have answers:
What now? Who am I without the uniform? Do I still matter?

His spouse noticed he was restless. He brushed it off. But the truth was, he was struggling with a very real sense of purposelessness. When your worth has been measured in urgency, in usefulness, in split-second decision-making, slowing down can feel like disappearing.

Psychological and Physiological Markers

Richard began experiencing symptoms he hadn’t dealt with during his career. Fatigue that didn’t lift after sleep. Sudden surges of anxiety. Guilt over doing “nothing.” He felt disconnected from peers who were still working and unsure of where he now belonged.

He described feeling like his body still hadn’t gotten the message that the job was over. Hypervigilance remained. His shoulders were still tense, even while doing mundane tasks. Loud noises made him jump. He couldn’t settle.

What Richard was experiencing wasn’t unusual. This was the delayed activation of a nervous system that had been stuck in survival mode for decades. The job had ended. But his body hadn’t clocked out yet.

The Emotional Undercurrent: Grief

What surprised Richard most was the grief. Not grief for a person, but for the loss of structure, identity, and belonging. He missed the version of himself who was “on.” The version that made sense in a crisis. He felt stripped of that clarity now. He also began to notice emotions surfacing that he had long learned to compartmentalize; losses he never processed, calls that haunted him, the slow erosion of self that came from always being okay for everyone else.

In therapy, Richard named it simply:
"I don't know how to be me without the job."

That statement became the turning point.

Clinical Reflection

From a therapeutic standpoint, Richard was in what we call a "liminal space,” the in-between. He was no longer the role he had lived in for 30 years, but not yet anchored in whatever was next. This stage is often where disorientation shows up strongest.

This isn’t pathological. It’s human.

First responders are conditioned to override their own needs. Retirement removes that structure without replacing the internal blueprint. And when there is no protocol to follow, many find themselves grieving not just what they’ve left behind, but who they’ve had to become to survive it.

What Helped

For Richard, progress didn’t come from “moving on.” It came from learning to name what was happening without judgment. He started therapy not to “fix” himself, but to understand the layers of his experience.

Some of what helped:

• Psychoeducation on the nervous system and trauma-informed retirement

• Exploring identity beyond performance and productivity

• Normalizing grief as part of transition

• Building community with others in the same stage

• Permission to rest without guilt

He didn’t need to be told everything would be great. He needed space to say that it wasn’t.

Conclusion: Why This Story Matters

Richard’s story, though fictional, is heartbreakingly common. Retirement from emergency services is often talked about as a finish line. But for many, it’s just the beginning of a quieter, more invisible journey: the rebuilding of identity, purpose, and connection after years of service.

We need to talk about this more. Not as a crisis to fix, but as a transition to witness. If we want to support our retired first responders, we have to hold space for the truth that life after service isn’t always lightness and leisure.

Sometimes it’s lonely.
Sometimes it’s confusing.
But it is also valid. And worth honoring.

Next Week in 911 COMMUNITY

The last two weeks, we sat with the weight of retirement, the quiet, the grief, the reckoning that can come when the calls stop. Next week, I’m writing to you as the therapist along side first responders. We’re going to talk about the space between struggle and support, the years when the door to therapy is open, but stepping through it feels like too much. Too risky. Too exposed. I will be writing a letter to the ones still in the job. The ones who aren’t okay but can’t open that door to ask for help because it doesn’t always feel safe. The ones that are trying to hold it together but not sure for how much longer.

About the Author: Suzz Sandalwood is an RSW/MSW Therapist, Advanced Certified Clinical Trauma and Addiction Specialist and a Certified Grief Counsellor. She has extensive professional and lived experience in first responder, addiction, and grief communities. | Connect with the author: https://suzzsandalwood.com