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The Impact of Being a First Responder: Challenges and Resilience

Posted on by First Responder Project
First responder receiving counseling for mental health support
09
Aug

The Noble Path of First Responders

Being a first responder is a calling that requires courage and dedication. It’s about running toward chaos when others step back. First responders embody strength in vulnerable moments. They write stories of heroism in everyday life. A first responder is a beacon of hope and a guardian of safety. They symbolize unwavering dedication to others’ well-being. However, this noble path has profound effects that evolve over time. However, first responder challenges are numerous and complex, evolving over time and affecting both personal and professional life.

The job’s physical demands can take a toll on a first responder’s body. These include lifting heavy equipment and working in all weather conditions. Long hours and irregular shifts can disrupt sleep patterns. This may lead to fatigue and health issues. The emotional toll can be equally impactful. First responders often face distressing situations. Witnessing accidents and tragic events can lead to emotional exhaustion. Some may experience compassion fatigue and burnout. This strain may cause desensitization or increased irritability.

Exposure to trauma can affect a first responder’s mental health. Conditions like PTSD, anxiety, and depression may develop. Some may struggle to find healthy coping mechanisms. The job’s demands can strain personal relationships. Irregular schedules and emotional stress can affect family life. Communication challenges may lead to feelings of isolation.

Purpose and Adaptation

Despite challenges, the job provides a strong sense of purpose. Many find deep satisfaction in helping others. However, this purpose can become entangled with personal identity. Some first responders may leave the profession due to cumulative effects. Others adapt by seeking support through peer networks or counseling. Stress management techniques can help sustain their careers.

Understanding these impacts is crucial for promoting first responders’ well-being. Providing mental health support and counseling services is essential. Opportunities for debriefing can also help. When we support our heroes, we ensure they continue their journey with strength. Their courage and unwavering spirit define this noble path.

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

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.

First Responders

If you’re reading this, you might feel like an oddball.

Posted on by First Responder Project

You probably keep a weapon on you at all times or within arm’s reach. You compartmentalize your memories and emotions, even if you don’t know what that means. These are learned skills, probably taught by your institution, that help you succeed at your job but fail at life.

You’re not normal as far as the rest of the world is concerned. You are weird, and that should be expected, seeing what you’ve seen, and doing what normal people don’t want to think about. “Normals” find you to be paranoid and call you a conspiracy theorist or prepper, and not in the good sense. You have been taught to trust no one from the outside and possibly be ready to flip the switch, ready to hurt or kill at any moment. Those are not the ingredients for a healthy lifestyle, but they are the mechanisms that help you cope on a daily basis.

You may feel like your friends or significant other resent you for not being carefree like you used to be. You have probably cleared your house in the middle of the night, probably more than once. You probably avoid normal situations while at the same time seeking out confrontation with the ones you care about. You probably eat your emotions or drink too much to avoid them, and you probably lose your temper over dumb shit. All of which you find yourself apologizing for far too often. Lots of apologies to supervisors for losing your shit. Lots of “I’m sorrys” to loved ones for flaking out or losing your cool over superfluous things.

If this speaks to you, YOU ARE NOT ALONE… Your thoughts are normal, and there are a lot of us that feel exactly the same way; we’re just all too proud to talk about it. Too Macho. When you want to talk, please reach out to us at First Responder Project.

First Responders

I hope if you are where I was, you reach out to someone like me who cares.

Posted on by First Responder Project

I had been working homicide and was on-call that week. The house was a wreck. I remember having the thought that I spent more time with the dead between cases, autopsies, and exhuming bodies than I did with the living. My next call was on July 4th.

The victim was shot among 200 partygoers. She died, and people left her for hours until the party was over. She was shot several times; however, nobody seemed to know it because of the number of fireworks. Yes, we did GSR kits on 200 people…FML.

This case was just one of many that reinforced that people are miserable pieces of shit. There is a lady on the ground. Why are you dancing…trampling her body?

After I began the investigation, it took me to lots of unsavory places and topics, as investigations usually do. The outcome was the lady had HIV, and she was pregnant by a local drug dealer. He gave her HIV and killed her so nobody would know about the baby or the disease.

As a First Responder, the job taught me that there is life, the facade of life, and what everyone wants or thinks life should be. Nobody ever asked if you were OK. We drank, we got divorced, and people said we were salty. But nobody cared why…as long as the suspect was arrested, or in the morgue.

I hope if you are where I was, you reach out to someone like me who cares. You are not alone.

First Responders

When you’re hurting or notice others hurting, reach out.

Posted on by First Responder Project

When you’re hurting or notice others hurting, reach out

I’ve worked in the Fire Department for almost ten years. Those who work directly in this field know the traumatic events of car crashes, stabbings, gunshot wounds, drug overdoses, and suicides. As first responders, we have to respond to people’s darkest times of need. These individuals rely on us to save the day. This alone can be stressful. Knowing that if we can’t help them, who would?

Working the call

Call after call, death after death, it started to take a toll. I never thought it would affect me, or maybe I was just trying to ignore the pain I felt for others, but it was still there. About eight years into the fire service, I started to feel different. I’m sure the sleep deprivation of being at busy fire stations didn’t help, but I also felt the effects from the calls. I started to get anxious, which led to heart palpitations, which suddenly led to fear. I started to fear for my family and loved ones. I always thought something bad would happen to them when I wasn’t around. The fear and anxiety took over my life, and I wanted out.

Something I once loved as a career turned into something I despised. I blamed myself for wanting to get into this career. Everyone I talked to told me this was the best career in the world, but they never told me the other side of the job. I wondered whether they, too, felt these effects–or was I alone?

But you are not alone

I realized I wasn’t alone. I didn’t quit as a firefighter and got motivated to help my fellow colleagues because I knew so many were and are hurting.

First Responders

There are moments when we all know the next decision we make will affect the rest of our lives

Posted on by First Responder Project

There are decisive moments when we all know the next decision we make will affect the rest of our lives. 

My decisive moment came on a stress-free Saturday morning after I had just completed my 7th Combat Deployment. I was at home with my family, and we were going to take the dog to the beach, but instead, we decided last minute to pack up the kids and get some breakfast first. We got in the car and were driving out of the neighborhood when my wife asked, “Where’s Remi?”- our dog.

At that exact moment, I snapped. I was instantaneously transported back to Afghanistan. Back to the night when my Multi-Purpose Canine Bronko was killed by enemy fire and multiple grenades as we were clearing a building.

A Decisive Moment

The explosion collapsed the doorway to the bunker, and I had a standing blackout from the explosion. Just moments later, we were ordered to move out and leave Bronko behind. As we were waiting to board the helicopter, one of the guys asked me, “Where’s Bronko?” That statement created a switch in my head. How dare he not know what happened to Bronko? And three years later, my wife had just flipped that switch back on.

My next decision was to slam the car in reverse and instantly execute a textbook J – turn, basically scaring the living shit out of my wife and kids. All of them were screaming, and I was just executing a subconscious function to return to the house and retrieve my dog. Like nothing had happened. It didn’t even register with me what I had done until my wife screamed at me to pull over.

She pulled the kids from the car and told me to “Fix my shit!” At least, that’s what I thought she said. In reality, all I heard was the “Waa Waa Waa” of Charlie Brown’s Mom as my wife mouthed sharp words at me and stared at me with horror in her eyes. At that moment, I knew I had to get help. That’s the point when I said, “I have done enough. I have to fix my shit. And I can’t do it by myself”.

Take Action

We all know when we reach that point when we should reach out for help. And we also love our jobs. We fear losing our edge. We fear losing the respect of our co-workers when “we can’t handle our shit.” The thing to remember is it takes more courage to ask for help when you need it than it does to cover up the cracks in your armor until the day it gets you or someone you care about killed.

–Reach Out

 

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