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When people find out I’m a cop or see me in uniform, one of the first things they ask is, “What’s the craziest call you’ve ever had?” I hear it all the time. It’s asked out of curiosity, sure, but I don’t think most people realize what they’re asking. It’s like asking a chef, “What’s the grossest thing you’ve ever found in the kitchen?” or a plumber, “What’s the most horrifying clog you’ve ever dealt with?” Except instead of a hairball or a rogue shrimp, it’s usually something that’ll haunt my dreams for years.
Law enforcement and first responder jobs in general mess with your head in ways most people don’t understand. Stuff that would make a civilian need therapy for a decade just becomes Tuesday for us. We don’t dwell on it. We file the report, finish the shift, and go home. For me, I’ve learned to leave it at work. Is it numbness? Maybe. Is it my way of avoiding the stuff I’ve seen? Possibly. But I don’t bring that baggage home with me. Most of the time, it works. But there are calls I’ll never forget—like that one time I walked in on a guy who tried to juggle chainsaws. Spoiler: he lost. Badly.
Did you know that on average, more officers lose their lives each year to suicide than they do getting killed in the line of duty? Police officers have nearly three times the prevalence of PTSD compared to the general public. Alcoholism is also substantially higher within members of law enforcement than the general public. I would say a staggering majority of these statistics falls back on depression and police officers not getting the appropriate and tailored mental health resources they need. I’ve met police officers who simply refuse these resources because they feel they don’t need them. It’s like refusing a parachute because you’re “pretty sure you can stick the landing.”
But I guess that’s just part of the job. Trauma for us is different. It’s not just something you get over. It’s a picture burned into your brain; something you can’t unsee, no matter how much you want to. It’s like that one embarrassing thing you did in middle school, except instead of tripping in front of your crush, it’s watching a guy try to iron his jeans while still wearing them. (Yes, I tried it once… No, I don’t know why.)
For me, trauma is responding to my first self-inflicted gunshot wound. The victim, 16 years old, was still alive, barely breathing, watching them take their last breath, surrounded by a pool of blood and fragments of their skull and brain. Or an attempted suicide gone wrong when a shotgun blast into the chest doesn’t kill them, and when you arrive on scene, the patient has a sucking chest wound and a hole in their chest that’s bigger than a softball. It’s hearing gunshots over a 911 call, only to show up too late to save an innocent college student who was just playing basketball at a park. It’s knocking on someone’s door to tell them their 16-year-old died in a motorcycle crash, then standing there as they fall apart in front of you, screaming in pure, raw grief. Trauma is watching a gunman hang out the passenger door and fire rounds at your police car with the sole purpose of killing you. And then realizing you left your coffee on the roof of the car. (Priorities, right?)
Those moments? They don’t just go away. They aren’t “crazy calls” to laugh about at a gathering. They’re the kind of stuff that sticks with you forever. So when people complain about petty work problems, it’s hard for me to give a damn. It’s not that their issues don’t matter. They do… but after what I’ve seen, it’s tough to care about office drama or deadlines. Like, Karen, I’m sorry the printer ate your Excel document, but I just watched a guy try to fight a raccoon for a slice of pizza, and the raccoon won. Perspective.
Still, I remind myself that everyone’s perspective is different. Just because I’ve seen hell doesn’t mean someone else’s struggles aren’t real. But when people ask about the “craziest call,” they have no idea what they’re asking. Those calls aren’t fun stories; they’re reminders of the weight we carry in this job. It’s like asking a clown, “What’s the saddest birthday party you’ve ever been to?” Sure, there’s confetti, but there’s also a lot of existential dread.
I’m not looking for recognition or a pat on the back either. I’m not asking for people to thank me or call me a hero. What I do want is for people to form their own opinions about law enforcement. Don’t just go off the headlines, viral YouTube videos, or Netflix documentaries. Yeah, there are bad cops out there. I’ve seen them. I’ve worked with people who had no business wearing a badge. But I’ve also worked with officers who’ve saved countless lives. People who’ve pulled others out of burning cars, stopped active shooters, or talked someone out of the middle of the road and surrendering after they had a gun to their head for over 30 minutes. People who’ve had to take a life to protect someone else and live with that decision every single day. And people who’ve eaten gas station sushi on a dare and lived to tell the tale. (Okay, that last one might just be me.)
People tell me all the time, “For a cop, you’re really cool.” And while I appreciate the sentiment, it always makes me laugh. Most cops are cooler than people think. These are men and women who care, who bust their asses to protect others, and who go home to be moms, dads, partners, and friends, just like everyone else. We’re not all donut-eating robots, despite what the memes say. (Though, full disclosure, I do love a good donut.)
I hear it constantly: “You signed up for this job, so why are you complaining?” And honestly, I used to think that way, too. I grew up in a family that, thank God, didn’t deal with violence, addiction, or neglect. I thought I knew what I was getting into. I thought, How bad can it really be? Spoiler: really bad. Like, “I should’ve been a librarian” bad.
The truth? I had no freaking clue.
Before I even started the police academy, people warned me, “You’re going to see some shit that’ll stick with you.” And they weren’t wrong. I’ve seen things that make you question humanity and if a God truly does exist; things that don’t just fade away when the shift ends. And while I’ve learned to compartmentalize most of it, not everyone can. Some days, I feel like a human filing cabinet, stuffing trauma into drawers labeled “Do Not Open.” Other days, I feel like the filing cabinet got hit by a freight train.
I’ve worked with officers who carry their trauma like a boulder. Officers who can’t talk about the things they’ve seen. I know cops who’ve been on the job for decades but still have nightmares about their “one call.” I had an officer, who was very open about his PTSD, tell me last year that he had a gun to his head and was contemplating suicide because he just couldn’t take it anymore. So when someone asks a first responder, “What’s the craziest call you’ve been on?”—it’s not as innocent or fun as it seems. That question can crack open a door they’ve spent years trying to keep shut. It’s like asking a magician to reveal their secrets. Sure, you might get an answer, but it’s probably not going to be pretty.
If you want to connect with a first responder, don’t ask about the worst thing they’ve seen. Ask them why they do the job, what keeps them going, or what makes it worth it. Ask about the lives they’ve saved or the people they’ve helped. Because there’s more to this job than just trauma and tragedy. There’s also the occasional raccoon fight. And honestly, those are the stories worth telling.
Peace.
For a Thought 
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