The Missing Piece in Justice Reform: Officer Wellness

Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation.
— Audre Lorde

We rarely speak of the emotional cost of policing. We should.

Conversations about police reform typically orbit accountability, body cams, implicit bias training, and civilian oversight. These are essential. But if we want reform that endures—reform that humanizes everyone it touches—we must begin with a deeper, more radical question:

Who is caring for those sworn to care for others?

As a former domestic violence counselor and current suicide prevention counselor in Rochester, NY, I’ve worked alongside officers at their best and their most broken. I’ve seen what happens when burnout goes unchecked: rushed assessments, botched trauma calls, emotional shutdown. Not from malice, but from depletion. I’ve also seen officers rise above: resisting corruption, protecting survivors, challenging discrimination from within. Their courage is often unsung—and unsustained.

That’s why I make this case: officer wellness is not a fringe issue. It is a central pillar of public safety and moral responsibility.

When I shared an early draft of this essay with a sergeant in Washington State, his response pierced through:

“You’re making the case for wellness to improve their performance, but not to preserve their humanity.”

He was right. Too often, wellness is framed as a productivity tool—just another means to reduce liability or improve optics. But that reinforces the notion that officers matter only when they perform well. That their worth is transactional. That they are machines needing tuning—not human beings carrying unbearable loads.

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The Hidden Crisis Behind the Badge

Policing is linked to high rates of PTSD, substance abuse, and suicide. Officers are 54% more likely to die by suicide than the general population—and more than twice as likely to die by suicide than in the line of duty.

These aren’t just statistics. They’re people, partners, parents. That same Washington sergeant is one of them—a suicide survivor who now mentors others through their darkness.

“It’s lying awake at night knowing I simply got lucky…
It’s holding someone dying on the side of the road…
Lifting a dead infant out of a septic tank…
Going to the same suicidal subject until they’re actually dead…
All while shouldering the misconduct of every officer, everywhere, every time.”

This is what breaking looks like. And it’s why reform must begin not just with policy—but with restoration: of dignity, of safety, of the right to feel.

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A Sheriff’s Deputy Speaks: “We Must Be Supported”

Chaunte Ford, a sheriff’s deputy in the Greater Minneapolis area, has 13 years of law enforcement experience. Specializing in community engagement and youth mentoring, she brings practical insight into what wellness must look like:

“I was involved in a major critical incident and had nightmares for a long time after.”

She advocates for routine psychological evaluations every five years—and immediately after critical incidents. Paid mental health days, she says, are essential.

“Today, I had extra hours and took the day off. I needed it. I’ll be refreshed for tomorrow. This idea should be offered to all officers.”

Her department offers confidential counseling, which she uses. She also promotes proactive tools like breathing techniques and wants safe, private spaces for reflection.

“We need to say it’s OKAY to talk to someone.”

Her love for the job is clear—but so is her plea:

“The majority of us truly care about our communities. We’re called to run into danger. To do that, we must be healthy.”

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A Survivor’s Perspective: “They Showed Up”

Danielle Churly, a survivor advocate near Toronto, has worked closely with officers in anti-human trafficking efforts. She’s seen firsthand how officer wellness impacts survivors.

“The officers I worked with had a healthy work-life balance. They showed up motivated. They showed up for me.”

One detective still stands out:

“He pursued my case with empathy. I still update him on my life. You don’t show up like that unless you’ve invested in self-care.”

Danielle, who is white, also acknowledges her privilege in being seen and heard:

“As a white woman, my case went through. That’s not always true for Indigenous women, Two-Spirit people, and others who are systematically ignored.”

Her story underscores a truth: when officers are well, survivors have a chance to heal. When wellness is absent, harm echoes in both directions.

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The Culture That Won’t Allow It

Ted Forsyth, a community organizer and PhD candidate in sociology, believes the road to wellness is blocked by culture itself.

“This piece cuts to a real, unspoken nerve. But the culture of policing won’t allow it. The Locust Club [Rochester’s police union], for example, claims to protect officers—but it would never advocate for these changes.”

Forsyth cites Policing Empire by Julian Go, which traces modern American policing to colonial and imperial logics:

“It’s militarized. Extractive. Designed to maintain order—not promote well-being.”

To change the culture, he argues, we must decolonize policing—transform it from what it is into something radically different.

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The Political Weight Behind Emotional Strain

Captain Frank Umbrino of the Rochester Police Department brings a veteran’s insight:

“The biggest cause of emotional issues is the political crap and rhetoric that follows critical incidents. Every officer knows—it could have been them.”

With over 30 years in policing, Umbrino has seen the toll.

“To solve an issue, we must first acknowledge it. Then be honest about the cause—no matter how politically uncomfortable.”

He believes effectiveness requires balance—between warrior and guardian roles—but warns that constant second-guessing wears down the best intentions.

“Accountability is critical. But if society truly cares about officer wellness, the biggest step is minimizing the legitimacy of those building careers on tearing police down.”

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The System Is Designed Not to Care

Dr. Brian Lovins, founder of Justice System Partners, sees structural resistance:

“Systems are built for status quo. They shape people to believe they work—even when they don’t.”

He cites a sobering statistic: 70% of people leaving prison are re-arrested within five years. Yet the system doesn’t change. It recycles.

“We can’t have officers who are unhealthy engaging with a public that is also unhealthy. The system must be restructured so officers can be well.”

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From Both Sides of the Badge

Dr. Craig Waleed—a criminal justice reformer with lived experience inside prisons—offers a searing truth:

“True reform must reckon with the human cost of policing—for those policed and those who police.”

He’s heard from incarcerated men brutalized by emotionally shut-down officers—and from officers unraveling under moral injury.

“When officers are emotionally dysregulated, just service becomes nearly impossible.”

His call is radical and righteous:

“We must abolish the culture of stoicism in policing. Officer wellness must be proactive, embedded, culturally relevant. Make room for healing.”

Because, as he reminds us:

“Unhealed people in positions of power are dangerous.”

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Designing for Wellness in Corrections

Scott Frakes, former director of Nebraska’s Department of Correctional Services, has helped design trauma-informed correctional facilities:

“There are brilliant pockets of wellness in the system, but the work is in its infancy.”

He believes culture change begins with the spaces themselves:

“We must create healthier environments—not just for those incarcerated, but for those who work inside.”

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What Real Wellness Looks Like

If we want a public safety system that works—for everyone—we must invest in the people within it. That means:

• Embedded wellness units, staffed with trauma-informed clinicians
• Mandatory mental health screenings at hiring, annually, and post-incident
• Confidential counseling and peer support without career consequences
• Paid mental health leave, treated as protection, not punishment
• Training in emotional regulation, moral injury, and mindfulness
• Family-centered initiatives, recognizing trauma at home
• Well-designed physical spaces, with natural light, calming tones, and room to breathe
• Independent oversight, ensuring efforts aren’t performative

As Chief Matthew Markham of Columbia Heights, MN, puts it:

“The best training I’ve had included EQ and hardiness assessments. Resiliency matters.”

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Why This Matters

I’m not on the side of abolition—not because I dismiss it, but because I struggle to imagine its realization on a national scale. Policing is deeply entrenched in our systems and psychology. Still, I believe in communities creating safety without it, and I honor those doing that work now.

I understand the heartbreak behind abolitionist demands—the belief that reform is too little, too late.

But I also believe, as James Baldwin wrote:

“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”

We must face this: Policing is traumatizing work. Unless we transform the emotional and structural conditions of that work, all the training in the world will fail.

Criminal justice reform must care about everyone.

Because wellness—real, justice-rooted wellness—isn’t indulgence.

It is survival.
For officers.
For survivors.
For communities.
For our shared humanity.