To the RV Tech Who Fixes Everything Except Himself/Herself

A letter to the industry...

There’s a certain kind of person who ends up doing this work.

He’s (or she's) the one people call when something breaks. The one who can walk into a mess of wires, hoses, leaks, or failures and somehow see a path through it. The one who doesn’t flinch when everyone else panics. The one who keeps moving even when he’s exhausted — because someone else needs him to.

He’s the man who can diagnose a refrigerator by sound alone, who can feel a bad ground connection before he even opens the panel. He’s the guy who’ll crawl under a fifth wheel in freezing weather without complaining, because he knows the family waiting inside just wants heat, or hot water, or safety.

He’s the tech who quietly carries more weight than anyone realizes.

And if you’re reading this…there’s a good chance you’re one of them.

This letter is for you — the RV tech who fixes everything except himself.

You’re Not Imagining It: This Job Asks a Lot of You

The hours are long. The weather rarely cooperates. The systems don’t care whether you slept well last night.

You’re expected to know electrical theory, propane safety, plumbing diagnostics, refrigeration mechanics, roof repair, slide-out geometry, hydraulic systems, customer communication, time management, and a thousand other things.

You’re asked to crawl, climb, kneel, lift, haul, troubleshoot, and explain — sometimes all in the same hour.

People see your skill. They see the fix. They see the invoice. They see the relief when their rig finally works again.

They don’t see the toll.

The mental load, the emotional load. The moments when the pressure sits on your shoulders heavier than you let anyone know. The quiet frustration when a job doesn’t go as planned and the way you push through the day even when your body is begging for rest.

Most techs won’t say any of this out loud.

But they feel it. And you feel it too.

You Carry a Lot — More Than You Let On

There’s a unique kind of burnout that comes from being the person everyone relies on to solve problems.

Because once people know you’re capable…they expect you always to be capable.

You walk into every appointment already carrying the weight of the customer’s stress — their vacation on the line, their budget stretched, their worries building. You absorb that before you ever pick up a tool.

And maybe, if you’re honest, work has become the place where you hide from the parts of your life that feel harder to face. Fixing a furnace is easier than fixing loneliness. Troubleshooting a slide-out is easier than troubleshooting your own heartbreak. Replacing a water pump is easier than repairing parts of yourself that feel worn thin.

So you keep going. Because that’s who you are and because stopping isn’t something you were ever taught how to do.

But here’s the thing no one ever tells you:

You deserve the same care you give to everything else.

You’re Allowed to Be Human

Maybe you were raised to believe that exhaustion is normal, that silence is strength, that asking for help means weakness.

But none of that is true.

You’re allowed to:

Take a day off without guilt. Say you’re tired. Admit when you’re overwhelmed. Want something better. Choose rest. Choose yourself.

You’re allowed to have dreams that don’t revolve around work.

You’re allowed to build a life that feels good, not just functional.

And you’re allowed to feel the things you never had time to feel — grief, hope, longing, disappointment, pride, love, loneliness, desire, relief.

You’re a technician, yes.

But you’re also a human being with a heart that has stories and scars and chapters still unfolding.

You’re allowed to have dreams that don’t revolve around work. You’re allowed to build a life that feels good, not just functional. And you’re allowed to feel the things you never had time to feel — grief, hope, longing, disappointment, pride, love, loneliness, desire, relief.

If You’re Feeling Burned Out Lately… You’re Not Alone

Maybe you haven’t said it to anyone and you think you should “just push through.” Maybe you’ve been taking care of everyone else for so long that you don’t remember what it feels like to take care of yourself.

Burnout doesn’t look like giving up.

Burnout looks like:

• fixing rigs long after your hands are numb

• eating lunch in your van between jobs

• working through injuries because you don’t have time to heal

• feeling like you’re behind even when you’re giving everything

• caring so much that it drains you instead of fuels you

The work demands a lot. But your worth is not tied to productivity.

You matter because of who you are — not just what you repair.

You Don’t Have to Be a Machine

Even the best tech takes breaks.

The best inspectors take time to breathe.

The best problem-solvers step back when their mind gets tangled.

The RV industry will always need you — but the people who care about you need you healthy, steady, alive, present.

Rest is not a luxury. It’s maintenance. Just like the rigs you work on.

If you wouldn’t ignore a failing bearing…don’t ignore the signs in yourself.

If you wouldn’t run a water pump dry…don’t run yourself dry either.

If you wouldn’t leave a propane leak unresolved…don’t leave your own stress unattended.

Your systems matter too.

The Truth Most Techs Never Hear

You are needed.

You are appreciated.

You are more than your work.

You carry more than people see and you deserve to feel supported — not just useful.

What you do protects families, keeps people warm, keeps them safe, keeps them moving forward.

But beyond all of that…

You’re allowed to want a life that feels whole.

You’re allowed to heal the parts of yourself you’ve ignored and you’re allowed to build a future that feels steady.

You’re allowed to find joy again — in whatever form it comes.

This industry doesn’t thrive because of rigs, it thrives because of people like you.

People who care, show up, and fix what's broken...even when they’re a little broken too.

Take care of yourself out there.

Your work matters.

And so do you.

— Wishing you strength, clarity, and quiet moments of peace on the road ahead.