From Trauma to Addiction: The Hidden Struggle of First Responders

By Suzz Sandalwood | There is a complex relationship between trauma and addiction in first responder communities that is not being discussed enough.

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

Image Courtesy of Getty

Lost, dark and cold, I left my home,

Into the empty streets I began to roam.

Wind freezing through and through,

Stopping my life, beginning anew.

Not aware of faces, places or time,

Nowhere to go, not even a dime.

What are the lessons I’m supposed to learn?

Don’t have a home where I feel safe to return.

(Suzz Sandalwood- age 15)

The dual struggle of marriage and addiction

“Even though I understood the three C's, I didn't cause it, I can't control it, and I can't cure it, it didn’t make it any easier.”

I married a first responder who was newly sober, but what I didn’t expect was that alcohol wasn’t the only addiction he would struggle with. While he managed to stay sober after multiple attempts, new addictions crept in and took alcohol’s place. He could not stay addiction-free even though he was eventually free from alcohol. His other addiction struggles continued throughout our relationship, and when they did, it wasn’t just him facing it, it was the both of us. This brought up an overwhelming sense of powerlessness that I had never anticipated.

Even though I understood the three C's of, I didn't cause it, I can't control it, and I can't cure it, it didn’t make it any easier. I was often left grappling with trying to figure out how to maintain boundaries and take care of myself when the person in front of me was caught in the throes of destructive behaviour. For a long time, I struggled with feelings of guilt and frustration, as though I should be able to fix it. But the truth was, I couldn’t. At times I tried to ignore the elephant in the room. I tried to pretend like everything was fine but it wasn’t. I knew that his addictions were an attempt to find ease and comfort and I also knew that behind his addiction was a lot of unexpressed pain. I understood that there were things he carried in his mind that would not let him rest. I understood that sometimes what you see and experience can be so awful that you just want relief. I understood all of it because I was 16 years sober when we met.

This article is part one of two.

While part one of this article includes some deeply personal reflections, it also touches on common themes that many, including first responders, can experience when it comes to post-trauma addiction. The themes of identity crises, overwhelming shame, the need to numb pain, feelings of powerlessness, and the addiction cycle are experiences that many people, including first responders, can go through as they navigate the aftermath of trauma. I’ll explore how these common threads can manifest in addiction, both in my own life and in the lives of those who are often viewed as untouchable to pain in these next two articles.

My story: The journey from addiction to recovery

Hi, my name is Suzz and I am a recovered alcoholic. I have introduced myself that way thousands of times over the last thirty years since I found my way out of that bottomless pit of despair, of addiction. My story is the tragic tale of a child and teen who had seen and experienced a lot of things no child or teen should. I grew up in an alcoholic home where my dad told me my mom couldn’t handle her liquor because of her “Indian blood.” My mother attempted suicide in front of me twice, she had a long history of addiction and mental illness, and I had an unwanted front row seat to all of it.

In times of pain, familiar patterns and learned behaviours emerged, like my mother before my coping was paired with alcohol. It was easily accessible in my home, in the homes of my friends, and quickly became a seductive solution for me. Witnessing my mother cut her wrists in front of me was the final straw. I left home for the last time, I was 15 years old.

In the beginning, alcohol was almost a relief for me. It helped to numb everything I wanted to forget. It helped me sleep at night when I had nightmares. It became a way to escape the unbearable weight of painful memories, overwhelming emotions, and the world that felt too scary. But I found myself having an existential identity crisis when I was not able to control my own alcohol consumption. I feared becoming the very thing I didn’t want to, the mirror image of my mother, spiraling deeper into a life of destruction. Unhealed trauma can feel like it is always with you. When I could not seem to escape it, when the things I could not unsee in my mind felt like a constant, unshakable presence, alcohol was able to create distance from the chaos inside for me; at least for a little while.

The pain, the shame, the anxiety all seemed to dissipate in those moments of intoxication. The world became less terrifying, and there was a calming of the mind. It was the only life line I knew then and I suppose the only one my mother knew as well; intergenerational trauma and addiction goes very far back in my family history and for a while I bought into the narrative that this was just our story.

Alcohol only provided a temporary escape and over time it stopped offering the same comfort. Instead, it deepened the void within me and made it harder to forget the very things I was trying to. Alcohol then became less of a comfort and more of a trap; a trap that would hold me for a few years, leaving me with an overwhelming emptiness and constant state of anxiety and yet I could not stop.

Alcohol transitioned to becoming the thing that amplified the pain. I tried to stop drinking and failed and it deepened the shame until one day an intern at a teen parent organization I frequented took me aside and asked me a question that no one had ever asked. They didn’t ask the usual, judgmental question of “What is wrong with you?” Instead, they asked, “What happened to you?” That simple question, framed with compassion and understanding, unlocked something within me. It was as if the world had paused for a moment, and for the first time, someone saw me not as a failure, not as a broken person, but as someone who had suffered.

I learned that she was a person in addiction recovery and she herself was once on the path to believing that there was no hope for her. She took me to my first AA meeting when I was 20 years old. I had an entire new tribe surround me and show me that I did not have to continue living the story that was passed down to me.

Behaviour is a language

When we struggle with trauma, our behaviors often speak louder than words. In many ways, behavior is a language. It is a way to communicate the things we cannot express. For someone like me, alcohol was the language I used when I couldn’t find the words. It was my way of saying "I’m not okay," even when I didn't fully understand the depth of my own pain. I was speaking in a way that felt safe, even though it was destructive. My drinking wasn’t just about seeking relief, it was a response to trauma, a way to cope with the pain that I couldn’t process or express otherwise. It was like my soul was trying to scream out, but alcohol became the only thing that could soften the noise. While I was given a new design for living in recovery, one that became the foundation of living a life of love and service to others, I never forget where I come from.

However, addiction is not just my story.

Addiction in First Responder Communities

Addiction can touch anyone, regardless of who they are, where they come from, what they have been through or what they do. Including first responders who also see and experience things no human should. They witness things most people can’t even begin to imagine from life-altering tragedies, moments of horror and suffering that no one should ever have to see. There is so much chaos and crisis that can demand every ounce of themselves. And they too they can start to feel that same urge to numb the pain and to push it all down so they can try and survive.

The expectation is that they should be able to handle things because this is just part of the job. But should they? Should they be expected to carry these unimaginable burdens any differently than any other human being? The common belief of "you signed up for this" is often used to justify their suffering, but this mentality fails to recognize that trauma and addiction are not simply occupational hazards, they are deep human wounds that demand healing, not silence.

First responders can experience things so overwhelming, that they begin to fracture a person from the inside out. Alcohol and other forms of unhealthy coping mechanisms can become a way to escape the unbearable weight of it all if there are no resources available or in place. The longer a cycle of reaching for unhealthy ways to self soothe persist, the more insidious addiction becomes. What can start out as a temporary solution to cope with the horrors they witness, can foster a dependency that further isolates them from their families, friends, and even their colleagues. And while the job itself continues to demand everything from them, the emotional and physical toll of addiction can make it harder for them to perform, contributing to a dangerous cycle of self-destructive behavior.

The ripple effect of addiction impacting families

The struggle with addiction doesn’t exist in a vacuum. While someone is struggling with addiction, it carries an emotional weight and pain that can reverberate outwards, touching everyone in their path. Families, particularly, feel this ripple effect. For those who love a first responder dealing with addiction, there is often a deep sense of confusion, powerlessness, and isolation. Addiction can be like a slow-moving storm. At first, it’s subtle, small signs of change, shifts in and moments where things feel off. But over time, as the addiction takes hold, it creates a chasm between loved ones. Family members, unable to understand what’s truly happening may feel isolated or helpless, unsure of how to bridge the widening gap between them and their loved one. They may know something is wrong but can’t pinpoint it, or sometimes they do know but they don’t know how to help.

While people can reach out a hand and guide someone to recovery just as I had done for me, recovery is a personal journey that sometimes requires specialized support, an unflinching commitment and a readiness to heal. When I got sober, I was ready to heal. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t carry the burden for someone else and their pain. Just like there is a powerlessness over addiction, there is a powerlessness over people who are immersed in it.

Watching someone go through addiction can be like living on the edge of a precipice, constantly afraid of falling, but knowing that you have to keep standing, even when everything feels unstable. The impact it has on families is far-reaching: it can lead to emotional exhaustion, burnout, and sometimes complete breakdowns in relationships. As identified in my last article, The Silent Weight - How The First Responder’s Life Shapes Families there is no manual for how to be the family member of someone who supports someone who spends their days stepping into other people’s worst moments. And when issues like addiction or other common effects of this work arise, it can become overwhelming.

The untold stories of First Responders

Many first responders have a story of struggle of addiction, trauma, or both. Sometimes they can think of these stories as things that define them. The reality is that sometimes it does. In my time within both the recovery world and the first responder communities, I have seen first hand how easily that story can take a tragic turn. I've seen individuals who carry their burdens silently until they are crushed by them. I've watched as addiction, unchecked, continues to gnaw at their sense of self until their sense of self is nothing but a shadow of who they once were. And tragically, I’ve witnessed lives lost to addiction or suicide that may have been prevented if only there had been an opportunity to heal, to speak out, to break the silence before it became too much to bear.

Much pain still goes unshared in first responder communities, and some end up finding the only escape they believe is left: an irreversible one. Addiction can be a sad tragic end at times. Some make it out of the addiction grip and some do not but we have to keep asking the question what happened to you? Instead of what is wrong with you? And, perhaps more importantly, maybe we need to ask what more can we do to stop this from happening? Or can we?

Next Week on 911 COMMUNITY

Addiction is a symptom of a much greater problem. Let’s continue to unpack this in my next article where I will talk more about addiction in first responder communities and the importance of reframing from moral failing to a response to a deeper issue.

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 lived experience in first responder, addiction, and grief communities. | Connect with the author: https://suzzsandalwood.com/

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