Category Archives: Journal

First Responders, Journal

When I Put on My Uniform

Posted on by First Responder Project
Police in Uniform
27
May

By Oscar Velez

There is little doubt times are hard for law enforcement officers. But every day, I find more reasons to do this job. To show up. To be present.

The perks are plentiful when you look in the right places. The hug you get from a senior citizen after changing a flat tire on a highway. The smiles of kids when they see your insignias sparkling. The sigh of relief from a parent after you find their missing child. The smile you get from a homeless man when you bring him a burger and a drink. Rescuing a lost puppy wandering the streets. Reaching out to someone in the middle of a crisis. Laughter from a group of kids after you stop to shoot some hoops with them for a few minutes. Saving a life.

When I put on my uniform, I don’t think about who hates me, calls me names, or slanders me. I don’t care that some people will look at me with hate, resentment, suspicion, or distrust. I know it’s possible someone might hurt or even kill me. I have looked into a man’s hateful eyes while he pointed a gun at me. By no means a good feeling.

Some days the hours are long. The calls are endless. I am seldom home for the holidays. I have missed many of my kids’ birthdays. I lost my marriage. Many times I felt things could not get any worse. Tragedy never seems to end. I have seen the worst of the worst in people. The things people do to themselves and each other is sometimes indescribable. Humanity seems to slip away right from our very own grasp.

Then I think of the smiles, the hugs, the kids, the puppy, the homeless man, the person in crisis, the street basketball game, the life saved. I may not make life better for everyone, but I go home every day knowing that I made life better for at least one person.

I have had many jobs in my lifetime. I have worn other uniforms. But none of them have been as rewarding to me, and with as many perks, as when I wear this uniform. And I am grateful every day for the privilege of wearing this uniform. I would not change it for anything.

I am not oblivious to the fact that this job changes you. You can not invest as much time and energy on something and not be somewhat influenced by it. While I realize everyone’s experience is different, this is how being in law enforcement has been for me.

If you find yourself in a fog, if things no longer make sense, or if you feel humanity starting to slip away from you, reach out to someone. There is help.

First Responders, Journal

The Weight of the Badge

Posted on by First Responder Project
The Weight of the Badge
12
May

By Amanda Dozanti

In February 2015, I was awarded the American Legion Heroes Award — officer of the year for 2014. By September 2015, I had succumbed to the job. I was a paranoid, hypervigilant, cynical deputy sheriff who was also completely burned out.

Like many law enforcement officers, I had stopped trusting anyone and everyone around me. Eventually, I did not trust myself and my own judgment. In the month following my resignation, I slept for nearly 16 hours a day for a month straight and learned that I had adrenal fatigue, which was a totally foreign concept.

I felt shame that I thought about giving up — a few times. If I wanted to survive, I had to come to terms with the fact that I also had PTSD and depression. It took a while, but I didn’t believe in folding, so I started healing myself. Subsequently, I decided that I needed to take action to process and grow from the experience.

I found myself diving into things that I had previously loved, like yoga. I went all in and became an instructor. During that time, I also returned to school and got my master’s degree in criminology and victimology. Learning about what your mind and body go through during trauma is incredibly powerful knowledge to have when you are processing such experiences.

I did all this while working full-time as a criminal court victim advocate and planning a wedding. What I thought was me “healing” was really me avoiding. I was piling on responsibility and distraction to keep from telling myself the truth.

As I transitioned from being a hard-core full-time law enforcement officer to a volunteer officer trying to come to terms with my fall from grace, I couldn’t understand why I was still carrying around the weight of the badge. What I learned is that so many of us in emergency services suffer from tremendous pressure, a work-life balance that seems unattainable, and a lack of self-care.

I was able to shift simple things in daily life to reduce hypervigilance, paranoia, and the ever-present fog of years of trauma, but I still felt heavy. It wasn’t until I stared my fear in the eyes and got honest with myself that I felt freedom. I had to be straight-up with the mirror and acknowledge that I had been deeply affected by my experiences, both on and off duty.

I wasn’t bulletproof.

When I was able to be vulnerable with myself, I began to trust myself again. Although it took years for me to be honest with the people around me, I was able to truly start healing. First responders are so good at hiding their pain and fear from those around them, and even themselves. The wild part is that the majority of first responders are all feeling the heaviness of their shift work.

We need to turn up the conversation around first responders and mental wellness!

 

Amanda Dozanti is the creator of Life Saver Wellness. You can learn more about her work by visiting  https://www.lifesaverwellness.com/

First Responders, Journal

Human

Posted on by First Responder Project
Human Eye
18
Mar

By Captain LaShanna Potts

I was bright-eyed and full of innocence. You know, the average young adult with no life experience who still thought I had it figured out. I had just turned 19, and I wanted to save the world. I really thought I could. I just needed to join my police department, and my superpowers would magically appear to heal the ills of society. Cops, for me, were modern-day superheroes.

Superman has his cape, Wonder Woman has her lasso, and cops have their badges. They run toward danger when others run away. I wanted to be them, dress like them, and help my community just like them. I embarked on this career on Feb. 17, 1997. I was 97-K. I joined my department one year after graduating high school and was the second youngest in my class. In my first week post-graduation, I experienced my first trauma. A violent mental health call came in from the Polish community of my precinct. I was excited, and my adrenaline was pumping. All those months in the academy, I thought I had trained for this moment. We were going to get there and use verbal judo to de-escalate the situation and then be on to the next run — or so I thought.

I can still remember the house. It is funny how some memories stay for a lifetime and others fade. As we walked up to the front steps, we were met with a locked, enclosed porch. We could see into the living room. There they stood. Our eyes were fixated on them, and theirs on us. An older woman was crying, and right behind her stood her son with his arm around her neck.

It was as if time moved in slow motion. We yelled for him to let her go as we began to break down the door to gain access. Our guns were at the ready. Then it happened. He screamed something in his language, and before we could get to him, he stabbed her. We never saw the knife. With one stab wound to the back of her head, she dropped to the floor. He immediately dropped to his knees, with his hands visible and in the air. He was taken into custody. As I reflect on my feelings, I remember wanting to shoot him. Why did he get to live when he had taken her life?

As we were breaking through the door, the reality of what was expected of me became eerily real. This was not a cop movie. We did not get to say “cut” and rewind the tape so that the incident never happens. This was now part of our internal baggage. The subsequent pats on our backs and reassurances that we did everything we could do did not seem enough. She was still dead. I said earlier that I thought cops were superheroes. I still believe this to be true. What I have learned over my 24-year career is that we are also human.

In writing this article, I let my heart guide me. Some may think sharing personal stories comes with risk, and to a degree, that is true. However, what is the cost of not sharing my story, which could potentially help someone else? I make no apologies for my candor. Overall, my 24-year career has been amazing. I would not trade my experiences, good or bad, because they have made me resilient, empathetic, and compassionate. I will continue to shine a light on first responders and their experiences with the hope of preventing another first-responder suicide.

We can no longer suffer in silence. Unchecked trauma kills marriages, destroys careers, takes away happiness, and, sadly for some, their lives. We now know the antidote is not another round at the bar. It is realizing that help is a phone call away. It is recognizing that great cops are still great cops before and after they seek help. Do not ever think that you have to fight alone. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of us willing to stand with you, shoulder to shoulder, who know what you are going through and have made it to the other side of recovery.

The road traveled is not an easy one for us, but nothing worth having usually is. The culture in policing is changing. We are no longer just saying we are our brother’s keeper. We are showing it by putting time and resources into providing help to our first responders who are experiencing trauma. There is no shame in asking for help. The shame is in needing it and not having it. As Lao Tsu said, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.”

 

LaShanna Potts is a captain with the Detroit Police Department. She is currently working on completing her master’s degree at Walden University.

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