After washing his hands, he splashed cool water on his face and raised his head, meeting his own gaze in the bathroom mirror. He was scruffy. He always felt more like himself when he could see the salt and pepper of his beard. Having been a cop for the last 22 years — narcotics, homicide and patrol — he had been in many bathrooms, none of which you would ever want to step into if you had a choice. The bathroom he was in today, however, was not that. First, everything from the floor to the ceiling was made of marble. There were bedazzled frames in a variety of soft, easy-on-the-eye colors — what elevator music might look like if it looked like anything. The organization that brought him out to speak had packed the auditorium with over 700 first responders. He could hear the ruckus; the banter and the laughter were booming. “This is going to be a good one,” he thought to himself. He felt a tinge of guilt as he had this thought. A “good” event usually meant tears. A “good” event meant making people uncomfortable. A “good” event meant being on the phone for hours with someone who was on the brink of killing themselves earlier in the day. Still, as he headed out of the bathroom and toward the auditorium, he knew the 700-plus people in that room needed to hear his message. With every step he took toward the stage, he felt lighter, and that was freeing.

After the chief introduced him and they shook hands, he took the mic, peered into the crowd and the three-hour presentation began. “It was May 18, 2021, when I made the decision to kill myself. Unfortunately, and this is what I thought at the time, I couldn’t even do that right…”

Why empathy matters

Empathy: the act of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts and experience of another.

There are two types of empathy, cognitive and affective. Cognitive empathy refers to one’s ability to logically understand how and why someone would think and feel a certain way in a certain situation. Affective empathy, on the other hand, refers to one’s ability to share the feelings of others, though they may differ from our own feelings. In the world of policing, empathy is a tool that is essential for performing your duties.

You need empathy to read a room.

You need empathy to get inside the mind of a suspect.

You need empathy to intentionally and expertly help a buddy who isn’t OK.

Most cops like to stick with cognitive empathy, and for good reason. In law enforcement, most of us are, or become, very cerebral, structured and linear. Give me a problem, let me look at the totality of the circumstances and I will prescribe you a solution. Reconstruction of a fatal TC. Were the elements of the crime met or not? These are generally very black-and-white concepts, and no emotion is required to understand the problem.

But what about when you are doing death notifications? Or talking with a terrified mother about her missing 11-year-old child with autism? What about when a buddy calls you in the middle of the night and says, “Man, I just can’t do it anymore … she walked out again.” It’s a bit more difficult (and at times, inappropriate) to be unemotional and present as a thinking, problem-solving machine. Sometimes the job, whether we are dealing with the public or peer-supporting our people, demands our humanity.

Showing our humanity (affective empathy) can make us feel vulnerable. The vulnerability is uncomfortable, to say the least, especially if you don’t feel you are in control of your emotions. At times, being vulnerable, even when appropriate, can make us feel broken because we get so used to seeing people as problems. Emotions become novel, so that when it’s “normal” or “expected” that we would feel something, we panic and default to Something must be wrong with me.

Whether or not you are “officially” on a peer support team or are just that guy or gal people go to, I present to you a cautionary tale. Don’t be the guy who drowns while you’re holding everyone else above water.

Who does the “go-to guy” go to?

In my time being a police psychologist, I have conducted 40 or more critical incident stress debriefs for various organizations. Typically, I’ll have an agency peer support member in the debrief with me to assist with managing the room, engaging in peer-to-peer conversation and overseeing the ever-important job of bringing snacks and coffee. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve had a peer support member say all the right things in the debrief for everyone else — “Hey, man, it’s OK not to be OK,” “Therapy isn’t for folks who are weak, it’s the hard thing to do,” “We’ve all been there, you’re not alone” — and then not apply any of this for themselves.

As first responders, it is woven into the fabric of who you are to help people, and helping your own people is no different. If, however, helping your own people is how you avoid your problems, how you avoid caring for yourself and how you avoid raising your own hand when you need help … empathy has backfired. 

Now you’re burning the candle at both ends. Burnt out. You’ve established yourself as the “go-to” for all things peer support, and now you’re dealing with not only your own marriage problems, but everyone else’s too … and you can’t get off the hamster wheel. Ego and pride have gotten the best of you. The mission is righteous, but you will fail the people you are trying to help if you don’t take care of you. And, in my humble opinion, peer support is a zero-fail mission. They are called peer support teams for a reason: it takes a village.   

He had learned that the hard way. After years of being the go-to guy, he recognized the dark place he was in and got help. And this was how he paid it forward. As he walked offstage, there was thunderous applause. He took a deep breath and allowed gratitude to wash over him. In a few minutes, the event would end and he would be off to the side, talking to the folks who were hanging around hoping to get a few minutes of his time. He had, in fact, delivered, and thankfully, this was not his first rodeo.

Prior to today’s event, he worked out. He FaceTimed with his kids. He ate a good breakfast and journaled for a few minutes before walking into the bathroom that should have had a rope and a doorman by the looks of it. He gave himself a limit: he would hang around for about an hour, and after that he was going to call it a day. He had grand plans that evening and didn’t want to be late for doing jack shit. This is how he took care of himself. He bookended his presentation with what worked for him — not with what everyone else needed. And if tonight was the night when that phone rang and he needed to talk someone off a ledge, he would be ready. Because he learned his lessons. Because he had found his path. Because his mission was still taking care of others, and he had learned how to do that without dire personal collateral damage … and everyone he was taking care of was better for it.