The Struggle of Pride and Fear: My Son Wants to Be a Police Officer
Suzz Sandalwood | The struggle of knowing too much while trying to have hope that the systems will continue to change to support officers in mental wellness.
Written by Suzz Sandalwood | Seeking Veritas Columnist | | Sankarsingh-Gonsalves Productions
A childhood dream
“That might be me some day.” Words my twenty year old son said smiling to me as we passed a police car not long ago. I felt myself take a deeper breath and I didn’t know what to say. I often don’t know what to say when he talks about becoming a police officer.
Why do you want to be a police officer?”
He looked at me. “Do you want the real answer?”
“Yeah. Always.”
“To serve and protect my community. To make a difference.”
I kind of smiled and even rolled my eyes. “That’s a very textbook answer.”
He said . “It’s also true.”
“I know what this job can do. I’ve seen it. I’ve talked to too many people who went in strong, clear-eyed, full of purpose, and came out numb.”
I let that hang in the air for a second, then said maybe more bluntly than I meant to, “you know some people are going to hate you, right? They will hate you just because of what you represent. Some won’t even give you a chance. There are people who’ll think you should be dead.”
I could’ve softened it, and part of me wished I did but I it just came out exactly how it’s been living in me. I’m scared for him.
He shrugged like he’d already thought about it. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re going to see stuff you can’t unsee.”
“I know. I’ll be okay.”
As a therapist I know too much
But here’s the thing, I know what this job can do. I’ve seen it. I’ve talked to too many people who went in strong, clear-eyed, full of purpose, and came out numb. Carved out. I told him about two Sudbury officers I recently talked to, James and Ryan who said something that stuck with me. “It’s not a matter of if the trauma hits, it’s when.”
So I said to him, “It’s not about being fine. It’s about knowing what to do when you’re not fine. Because you won’t always be.”
He said again, “I’ll be okay.”
And I said it again, because I had to, “It’s not about being okay. It’s about not pretending when you’re not.”
He gave me that quiet nod. The one your kid gives you when he knows you’re being serious and he’s trying to take it in, even if he’s not ready to go all the way there with you. I let it go. Didn’t push. Didn’t therapize him.
“It’s life and death, trauma and politics and years of stuff that doesn’t go away just because your shift ends.”
It’s not easy to stay in mom mode when you’ve sat with officers years into the job who can’t sleep, can’t connect, can’t feel much of anything anymore. When you’ve been in relationship with someone before who had the same dream and watched it slowly undo them. When you’ve heard the same stories from too many different mouths. It’s hard not to project all that onto him. He’s not even in, and I’m already trying to read the warning signs. I told him I was proud of him and scared. That was the truest thing I could say. I still see him as that little boy I need to protect.
Improvise, adapt, overcome
Then I asked what part of the job he thinks he’ll be good at.
He said, “talking to people. De-escalating situations. I know how to talk to people and keep things calm.”
I laughed. “So, basically, a therapist.”
He made a face. “No thanks.”
Rude. But also fair. He’s not interested in the aftermath. He wants to be in the moment, helping when things are unfolding, not after the dust settles and honestly, he’s good in crisis. He always has been. Years of pro hockey will do that. He wore the C. He led. He was the guy the team looked to when the pressure was high. He didn’t just play the game, he read it and stayed cool when things got messy. He always adapted on the fly. That’s how he moves in the world. Steady. Intuitive. Grounded. So, I get why this work speaks to him, I really do. But this isn’t a rink. It’s not a game. It’s life and death, trauma and politics and years of stuff that doesn’t go away just because your shift ends.
It’s the stuff no one tells you about. The paperwork. The loneliness. The headlines that make people think they know who you are. The way you start to carry the job in your body, even when you think you’re fine.
What I want is for him to be part of the shift. The ones who get that mental health isn’t something you think about after things fall apart, it’s something you build from the start. I want him to have a real baseline. A therapist. A routine. A plan. I want him to notice the signs early. To know who to call. To not power through when his brain and body are saying, this is too much. I hope that in all our conversations, this is what he holds onto the most.
“I just hope the profession meets him there, with more than a badge and a vague hope that he figures it out.”
He’s not naïve. He’s talked to officers. He’s lived with his stepdad from age 5 to 17, who was a police officer. He knows what this life can look like. He’s walking in with his eyes open and I’m not trying to talk him out of it. That’s not what this is. This is just a mom talking to her grown son, being real about what’s ahead. I want him be happy he made this choice still, years later.
The duality of pride and fear
The reality is, if he gets in, I’ll be proud of course, but I’ll also be holding the truth quietly. This job asks a lot. More than most people can see from the outside but if anyone can do it with his integrity intact, it’s him. I just hope the profession meets him there, with more than a badge and a vague hope that he figures it out. I hope it offers structure. Real support. Something that doesn’t just help him survive, but helps him stay human.
I don’t want him to be the guy who waits ten years before saying, “Something’s not right.” I want him to be part of the culture shift where officers have language for what they’re going through, and the safety to say it out loud. I see the shift in narrative in n my work with first responders now and I hope he will be part of the culture that supports that change. That will give me hope; not that the job will get easier, but that the next generation won’t carry it all alone.
Next in 911 Community
From childhood dream to reality. In the next article I will introduce you to Alex who had wanted to be a first responder from the first time he saw sirens out his kitchen window at the age of four. Now entering his 6th year of policing, he has realized the importance of mental wellness and why the shift to talk about mental health is necessary to survive and thrive in this field.
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About the Author: Suzz Sandalwood is an Advanced Certified Clinical Trauma and Addiction Specialist and a Certified Grief Counsellor and is a former writer for Psych Central. She has extensive professional and lived experience in first responder, addiction, and grief communities | Connect with the author: https://suzzsandalwood.com
