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.
