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MY POV -
“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation.” — Audre Lorde
We talk a lot about policing in this country, about body cams, implicit bias training, accountability, and civilian oversight. But rarely do we ask a more human, more radical question: Who is caring for those sworn to care for others?
As a domestic violence and suicide prevention counselor in Rochester, NY, I’ve worked alongside police officers at their best and their most broken. I’ve witnessed what happens when burnout goes unchecked: missed warning signs, emotional detachment, failed trauma calls. Not out of malice, but depletion.
I’ve also seen officers resist corruption, protect survivors, and challenge systemic racism from within. Their courage is often unsung and unsustained. That’s why I make this case: officer wellness is not a fringe issue. It is a cornerstone of real justice.
When I shared an early draft of this piece with a sergeant in Washington State, his feedback struck a nerve:
“You’re making the case for wellness to improve performance, but not to preserve our humanity.”
He was right. Too often, wellness is framed in terms of liability prevention or public relations, another tool to manage risk. That framing implies that officers only matter when they’re useful. That their humanity is conditional.
The Hidden Crisis Behind the Badge
Policing is emotionally grueling work. Research from John Violanti and Timothy Steege shows officers are more than twice as likely to die by suicide than in the line of duty. Rates of PTSD, substance abuse, and moral injury are alarmingly high.
The sergeant I spoke to described it this way:
“It’s lying awake at night knowing I just got lucky that one call...
It’s holding someone dying on the side of the road...
Lifting a dead infant out of a septic tank...
Watching the same suicidal subject until they’re actually dead…
All while shouldering the misconduct of every officer, everywhere, every time.”
This is what breaking looks like. And unless we address it, reform will never be enough.
A Survivor’s Perspective: When Officers Are Well, Survivors Are Seen
Danielle Churly, a survivor advocate in Greater Toronto and leader in anti-human trafficking work, says officer wellness has everything to do with survivor justice.
“The officers I worked with had balance. They showed up. They were consistent. One detective in particular really saw me—not just the case.”
She still updates him about her life.
“You don’t show up for survivors like that unless you’ve invested in your own self care.”
But Danielle also names privilege.
“As a white woman, I was believed. My case went through the courts. I was heard. That’s not always true for women of color, Indigenous women or Two-Spirit people.”
Wellness without equity is just another layer of systemic harm.
A Sheriff’s Deputy Speaks
Chaunte Ford, a sheriff’s deputy in the Minneapolis area with 13 years of law enforcement experience, specializes in community engagement and mentoring youth.
She believes in routine psychological evaluations—every five years, and after any major critical incident.
“I had nightmares for a long time after one particular incident. Paid mental health days shouldn’t be a luxury.”
Ford uses the confidential counseling services her department provides, but wishes there were more soundproof spaces to ensure privacy. She also teaches officers breathing techniques they can use in real time.
“We need to say it’s OKAY to talk to someone. We need to model that for each other.”
Her message is clear:
“Most of us care deeply. But to serve our communities well, we have to be supported, too.”
The Culture That Resists
Ted Forsyth, a long-time community organizer and sociology PhD candidate at Syracuse University, points to a deeper barrier:
“The culture of policing won’t allow this. The Locust Club [Rochester, NY's police union], for example, claims to protect officers, but would never advocate for embedded wellness programs.”
Forsyth argues the problem isn’t just resources, it’s the historical DNA of American policing:
“Julian Go’s Policing Empire lays it bare: policing in the U.S. is a colonial, militarized project. It wasn’t designed to promote well-being. It was built to maintain control.”
Wellness that threatens that foundation isn’t just resisted, it’s erased.
He also points to the work of Sgt. Eric Weaver, an early trainer in emotionally disturbed persons response before CIT (Crisis Intervention Team) programs became standard.
Weaver’s approach focused on officers’ internal wellness. He was ahead of his time. But the culture around him was the same: emotionally shut down, suspicious of softness.
The Weight of Public Scrutiny
Captain Frank Umbrino of the Rochester Police Department adds another dimension: political fallout.
“The biggest cause of emotional stress isn’t the job, it’s what follows the job. The public backlash, the headlines, the assumption of guilt before facts emerge.”
After 30 years in law enforcement, he insists:
“We must acknowledge the problem before we can solve it. That includes being honest about how second-guessing and politicizing critical incidents affect officers who are trying to do their jobs.”
He supports accountability—“dirty cops must be held accountable”—but cautions against blanket condemnation that contributes to isolation and despair.
“We can’t prevent every tragedy. But we can minimize the damage done by sensationalized criticism.”
Structural Barriers and the System Itself
Dr. Brian Lovins, a national expert on criminal justice reform, explains the inertia baked into institutions:
“Systems are built to sustain themselves. They’re resistant to change—even when they’re failing.”
He cites the cycle: 70% of people released from prison are rearrested within five years. Officers interact with this daily, with little support.
“We can’t have unhealthy officers working in an unhealthy system and expect healthy outcomes.”
Dr. Craig Waleed, an educator and formerly incarcerated person, underscores the moral dimension:
“Officers who are emotionally dysregulated can’t serve with justice. That’s not an excuse—it’s a reality.”
Waleed calls for nothing less than a cultural transformation:
“We must abolish the stoic, suppressive culture of policing. Officer wellness must be proactive, embedded, and culturally relevant.”
Because, as he says:
“Unhealed people in positions of power are dangerous.”
A Corrections Perspective
Scott Frakes, former Director of Nebraska’s Department of Correctional Services, has spent decades advancing wellness in carceral institutions. For him, physical space is part of the solution:
“We teach criminal justice workers to wall off emotion—no tears, no hugs. But that wall is starting to crack. Wellness begins with design: light, quiet, safety.”
What Real Wellness Looks Like
If we want policing that is humane, for officers, survivors, and the public, we must institutionalize wellness, not treat it as an afterthought. That includes:
- Trauma-informed clinicians embedded in every department
- Mandatory mental health screenings (hiring, annually, and post-critical incidents)
- Peer support and confidential counseling without career penalties
- Paid mental health leave
- Family-inclusive support and resources
- Ongoing training in emotional regulation, trauma, and moral injury
- Transparent oversight to ensure these efforts aren’t performative
- Calming physical environments that prioritize mental health
Chief Matthew Markham of Columbia Heights, MN, says it plainly:
“The best training includes EQ and hardiness assessments, tools that build bounce-back. You can’t fake resilience.”
Why This Matters
I’m not on the side of abolition, not because I don’t understand its appeal, but because I struggle to imagine its implementation across a country as vast and fractured as ours. I respect those building systems of community safety without police, and I honor their courage.
But I also believe, as James Baldwin wrote:
“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”
We must face this: Policing is traumatizing work. And unless we transform the emotional and structural conditions of that work, even the most progressive reforms will fail.
Because wellness is not indulgence.
It is survival.
For officers.
For survivors.
For communities.
For us all.
(George Cassidy Payne is a writer, social ethicist, and suicide prevention counselor. He is a frequent contributor to City Watch LA.)
