911 Communication Operators- The First, First Responder

By Suzz Sandalwood| A closer look at the 911 communications profession and the realities of living in the shadows of other first responders

Written by Suzz Sandalwood | Seeking Veritas Columnist | Sankarsingh-Gonsalves Productions

Last week, I introduced you to a fictional character named Lisa, who was a representation of a 911 Communication’s Operator. Lisa was also a police spouse. Her story isn’t extraordinary. It is all too ordinary, and that’s precisely the problem. This week, I want to explore what brings people into this line of work, and, more importantly, what it takes to stay without losing oneself in the process.

The call to serve, and the reality that follows

Many 911 Communication Operators will tell you they took the job to help people. That answer sounds simple, almost cliché, but there’s truth in it. There’s something very human about wanting to be the calm in someone else’s chaos. To be needed, to be trusted, to be the first voice that says, “I’ve got you.”

But that noble call often meets a brutal reality: distressing calls, long shifts, mandatory overtime, inadequate staffing, and a public that largely has no idea what 911 Communication Operators actually do.

There’s a myth that these jobs are administrative, or somehow emotionally detached. But if you’ve ever sat in a comms room during a call where a child is choking, or a woman is whispering from a locked bathroom, or a teenager has just found his father’s body, you’d know better. The dissonance between the unseen labour and the public narrative is one of the first things that begins to wear people down. And perhaps most cruelly, there's often no follow-up. No closure. A 911 Communications Operator can spend 15 minutes keeping someone alive over the phone and never find out what happened. The caller’s emergency ends. The operator's doesn't. It gets replaced by the next one and the next one.

A brief history: The profession that grew in the shadows

911 communications as a profession didn’t evolve with the same visibility as policing, firefighting, or EMS. In fact, many early 911 communications operators were seen as clerical support, mostly women, tasked with routing calls and taking notes. But the work has changed. Modern operators are crisis workers, mental health responders, grief holders, de-escalators, and tech navigators all at once. They must listen for the things that aren’t being said. They must triage multiple emergencies in a single moment. They are, in every sense of the word, frontline.

Yet the recognition hasn’t fully caught up.

Some jurisdictions still don’t classify 911 Communication Operators as first responders. They aren’t given the same access to trauma-informed support, or even the same protections under presumptive PTSD legislation in some places. It’s a historical oversight, but also a current failing. And it begs the question: If the system doesn’t see you, how long can you keep showing up?

What it takes to stay: a quiet armour

Staying in this job requires more than skill. It requires the careful crafting of emotional balance that is both protective and porous. You must learn to take in enough to be effective, but not so much that it breaks you open. Communications Operators often talk about “compartmentalizing,” but let’s not romanticize that. It’s a defense mechanism, a necessary one, but one with a cost. When emotions are packed away too often and for too long, they don’t disappear. They show up elsewhere: in fractured sleep, in addiction, in distant relationships, in digestive issues, in the body’s quiet revolt. Sound familiar? I’ve talked about this being a common theme in other articles. No matter where your role aligns in the first responder community, if you are dealing with crisis situations, you will be impacted.

It takes discipline to survive this job. But it also takes softness. That’s the paradox. The most balanced communication operators I know are the ones who’ve found a way to stay open-hearted without breaking. They care deeply, but also know how to step back and return to themselves and put themselves first. That kind of balance isn’t natural. It has to be learned. And, ideally, supported.

The cost of being unseen

Here’s where we need to be honest. While police, fire, and paramedic roles are legally recognized as first responder positions with built-in access to mental health supports, critical incident debriefings, and even presumptive PTSD coverage in many jurisdictions, 911 operators are still sometimes left out of these frameworks entirely. This exclusion isn’t just bureaucratic. It’s philosophical. It reflects a hierarchy of visibility. The people who show up on scene are given hero status. The people who take the first call? They are too often reduced to footnotes.

But let’s be clear: 911 Communication Operators are the first, first responders. Just because they are not at the scene doesn’t mean they are not in the trauma. They are inside it, in real time, with no buffer. They hear the gunshots. They hear the screams. They hear the silence that comes after and then they answer the next call. The harm isn’t always immediate. Sometimes it’s cumulative. We see this in moral injury, the feeling that you are part of a system that doesn't support the very values you’re trying to uphold. When operators feel responsible for outcomes they can’t control, like a delayed response, or an untraceable call, it erodes their sense of efficacy and identity.

That erosion doesn’t happen overnight. But it happens.

So why do they stay?

……..many stay because, despite everything, they are proud of the work they do.

This is the question I keep returning to. Why if the hours are brutal, and the risks are high, do people stay? For some, it’s because they’ve built community inside the comms room that are like family. For others, it’s about a sense of duty to community. Sometimes it’s because they believe that no one else will care the way they do, and sometimes they are right. Sometimes when people call in, communication operators are the only one that an individual has had that has shown compassion and understanding. Others stay for more personal reasons. They find purpose in the unknown. They find healing in the rhythm of being useful.

Many stay because they are proud of the work they do. Some go back to their why they wanted to be in this profession in the first place; to make a difference. 911 Communications Operators know how to remain composed during calls. They know what it means to show up, again and again.

And that’s what makes this profession beautiful and heartbreaking; they believe in what they are doing, even if at times no one else sees it.

Next Week in 911 Community

Next week in the 911 community, I’m exploring the critical 5 to 10-year mark on the job, where surviving, shifts into the need for true resilience. This is the point where you're no longer the new recruit, but still a long way from the seasoned veteran with years of experience. The cumulative stress starts to weigh heavier, and for many, their sense of purpose or connection to the work begins to change.

Why is this phase so pivotal? What makes this specific window of time more vulnerable than other stages in a first responder’s career? Understanding this crucial period is key to supporting first responders in ways that prevent burnout and foster lasting resilience. Stay tuned…..

About the Author: Suzz Sandalwood is an RSW/MSW Therapist, Advanced Certified Clinical Trauma and Addiction Specialist and a Certified Grief Counsellor. She has extensive professional and personal experience in first responder, addiction, and grief communities. | Connect with the author: https://suzzsandalwood.com

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