15 October 2025
My Turning Point: From Funeral Director to Forest Dweller
In June of 2025, I was fired from my new position at a funeral home. Only two months prior, April 2025, I graduated from mortuary school and proudly became a licensed funeral director. I had worked myself to the bone during my internship the year before. All the while swallowing a growing, horrendous feeling when performing embalmings, managing major burnout and drowning my brain in cheap bottles of wine each night. I escaped, for one week that year, to Algonquin National Park for a solo backpacking trip. I was the happiest and most peaceful I had been in years. My internship ended when I graduated. I was lucky to find a job at a different funeral parlour closer to home. I was excited for things to change. Within a few months, however, I found myself crushed with burnout and was suddenly fired. Losing that job became a turning point. I realized I had been pursuing a career that was damaging to me. I began to examine my stress breaking point, which led to the firing, and eventually found my new direction away from funeral service.
Burnout is the mental exhaustion someone feels when they have worked too hard for too long. I knew I was getting burnt out during my internship. I felt things get heavier, felt my energy deplete quicker, but I did not hit my breaking point until the week before my final day as an intern. A phenomenon I observed during my time in the funeral industry, is that tragedies come in batches. Weeks or months would go by where the only families in the funeral home were those whose loved one lived a long, happy life and died peacefully in their sleep. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a week would come with tragedy after tragedy. My last week was one of those weeks. A college student, my age, took his own life by setting himself on fire. His body was etched with the most horrific emotion I had ever seen. Frozen in time, in the black soot of his face, was pure terror. Seeing him pushed me to a new low. Supporting his family completely broke me. That is the weight I carried to my new position.
I began my new job in April and was fired by late June. I came to work early that Monday morning, grogily performing my opening duties. Then, the owner stopped me suddenly. Firing me on the spot, casually citing my lack of experience but not explaining further. That Monday changed my life forever. A week later, disappointed, jobless and confused, I took a long drive back to Algonquin. It felt like the only place on Earth where I could be at peace. As the highway turned from city to endless forest, I reflected on the burnout, my drinking, and how I acted towards my loved ones. I realized, finally, that the funeral industry had turned me into a tired, weeping, alcoholic monster. I did not recognize myself, and I needed a change. Parking my car in a lot overlooking Arrowhead Lake, I made a list on the back of a receipt of the things I love doing: feeling useful, helping others and sharing knowledge. I drove home that day with a new determination to leave the funeral industry.
When I got back from Algonquin, my partner said something so obvious that I was shocked I had never realized it before. He said, “Every time you get stressed, you end up in the forest.” It was true. Since as long as I can remember, the outdoors has been my security blanket. I turned my attention back to that passion. I finally asked myself how I could do what I love while being in nature. After all the turmoil, I had a new trajectory. Instantly, a burden was lifted.
Since reaching my burnout breaking point and my subsequent firing, my life has completely turned around. Through continued growth and a new sense of purpose, I am now pursuing school credits so that I can study environmental science at University. In hindsight, I am incredibly grateful to have realized so early on that pursuing a career in funeral directing was not for me.
Burnout is the mental exhaustion someone feels when they have worked too hard for too long. I knew I was getting burnt out during my internship. I felt things get heavier, felt my energy deplete quicker, but I did not hit my breaking point until the week before my final day as an intern. A phenomenon I observed during my time in the funeral industry, is that tragedies come in batches. Weeks or months would go by where the only families in the funeral home were those whose loved one lived a long, happy life and died peacefully in their sleep. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a week would come with tragedy after tragedy. My last week was one of those weeks. A college student, my age, took his own life by setting himself on fire. His body was etched with the most horrific emotion I had ever seen. Frozen in time, in the black soot of his face, was pure terror. Seeing him pushed me to a new low. Supporting his family completely broke me. That is the weight I carried to my new position.
I began my new job in April and was fired by late June. I came to work early that Monday morning, grogily performing my opening duties. Then, the owner stopped me suddenly. Firing me on the spot, casually citing my lack of experience but not explaining further. That Monday changed my life forever. A week later, disappointed, jobless and confused, I took a long drive back to Algonquin. It felt like the only place on Earth where I could be at peace. As the highway turned from city to endless forest, I reflected on the burnout, my drinking, and how I acted towards my loved ones. I realized, finally, that the funeral industry had turned me into a tired, weeping, alcoholic monster. I did not recognize myself, and I needed a change. Parking my car in a lot overlooking Arrowhead Lake, I made a list on the back of a receipt of the things I love doing: feeling useful, helping others and sharing knowledge. I drove home that day with a new determination to leave the funeral industry.
When I got back from Algonquin, my partner said something so obvious that I was shocked I had never realized it before. He said, “Every time you get stressed, you end up in the forest.” It was true. Since as long as I can remember, the outdoors has been my security blanket. I turned my attention back to that passion. I finally asked myself how I could do what I love while being in nature. After all the turmoil, I had a new trajectory. Instantly, a burden was lifted.
Since reaching my burnout breaking point and my subsequent firing, my life has completely turned around. Through continued growth and a new sense of purpose, I am now pursuing school credits so that I can study environmental science at University. In hindsight, I am incredibly grateful to have realized so early on that pursuing a career in funeral directing was not for me.
