By Chris Tetrault
For as long as I can remember, the outdoors has been my reset button. A fishing rod, a tree stand, a campfire — those were the things that helped me shake off stress and find peace again. Whether it was clearing my head after a long shift, or just needing to breathe after the weight of the world got too heavy, nature was where I found balance.
That reset carried me through my military service and into law enforcement. I thought I was one of the lucky ones — I had a built-in outlet, a healthy way to decompress from a demanding career. But eventually, something changed.
When I became a game warden, the outdoors stopped being my refuge and started becoming my office. The woods, the lakes, the rivers — they were no longer mine to enjoy, they were crime scenes, patrol routes, and long hours on edge. The place I once went to heal now came with radios, reports, and confrontation. Instead of hearing loons call across the lake, I heard only the weight of responsibility.
I knew I was in trouble the day I realized I wasn’t enjoying the very things I used to love. Imagine getting paid to spend your day on the water — something people dream about — and dreading it. I’d launch the boat, look across the lake, and feel nothing but exhaustion and dread. That’s when it hit me: my reset button was broken.
And with it breaking, so was I. The anxiety crept in quietly at first — until it was crippling. My mental health began to unravel in ways I couldn’t ignore. I wasn’t sleeping. I was short with the people I loved. I carried the job home with me long after the shift ended. For the first time in my life, the outdoors — the one place I could always count on — wasn’t helping. That was terrifying.
I kept pushing through like so many of us do, convincing myself I could tough it out. But underneath, the truth was simple: my mental health was suffering. Without an outlet, I felt trapped in a cycle of exhaustion, anxiety, and disconnection. It was humbling, even embarrassing at times, to admit I wasn’t okay. But denial doesn’t heal anyone — and it sure wasn’t healing me.
Stepping away from the job was one of the hardest decisions of my life, but it was also the one that saved me. It gave me space to rediscover the outdoors on my own terms again. Slowly, I remembered what it felt like to laugh around a campfire, to hear silence in the woods without checking my radio, to feel the tension leave my shoulders on the water. It wasn’t instant — healing rarely is — but piece by piece, the outdoors became mine again.
That’s why I believe so deeply in Hometown Hero Outdoors. I know what it’s like to need the outdoors as a reset and to feel like it’s slipping away. I know what it’s like to carry invisible weight, to battle crippling anxiety, and to question if you’ll ever feel peace again. And I know the power of finding it again.
Every time I see a veteran, service member, or first responder out on one of our adventures — when their face softens, their shoulders drop, and the laughter comes easy — I see myself. I see what it looks like when mental health gets a breath of fresh air.
Because no matter how far gone you feel, that reset button is still there. Sometimes you just need the right people, the right moment, and the right mission to help you push it again.
Stay with me as I share more about my journey through life, military service, public service, and ultimately early retirement — and how the outdoors continues to shape and heal along the way.
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Chris Tetrault is the President of Hometown Hero Outdoors, a national nonprofit that provides outdoor recreational therapy opportunities for veterans, service members, and first responders.
