Behind the Badge, Beyond the Trauma

The transition from civilian to cop doesn’t happen overnight. It starts in the academy and picks up steam during field training. When you’ve seen enough dead bodies, worked a few holidays and plenty of graveyard shifts, used the phonetic alphabet and military time in regular conversation, developed a deep-seeded mistrust of “admin”, memorized two dozen acronyms, heard “my taxes pay your salary” a handful of times and had enough little kids look at you like you’re a superhero, you’re close. One day you’ll realize you’re better at backing into parking spots than you are at pulling in forward like a normal person and that is when the transition will be complete.  My first day at the department was May 26, 2006. I was 35, a solid ten years older than most cadets. The academy would start in four weeks. Until then, I spent days familiarizing myself with agency software and policies, studying city maps and memorizing every street, road and avenue, doing data entry, running errands and lis...

 I think the best place to begin this journey, is at the end. For almost sixteen years I was a police officer at a small agency in a rural Utah town. In September, 2021 my career effectively ended when I was diagnosed with a debilitating cocktail of mental health issues, all tied directly to my work in law enforcement. I was the Chief of Police at the time. When you’re Chief, things roll uphill, not down. You are responsible for every action (or inaction) of every member of your department. It is impossible to escape the responsibilities, even temporarily. Wander out of cell service for a few hours and as soon as your phone finds a bar of service, the notifications pour in. There’s an armed, barricaded subject with a hostage. Another dead body. HR and budget issues, a patrol car down, a citizen bitching because their neighbor parked in front of their house or a mutual aid request from a three-letter federal agency. Middle of the night, holidays, on vacation; it. never. stops. ...