I think that most of the people who believe police violence is impersonal have never experienced it.

The intimacy of being wrapped up, a tangle of bodies as people on the street stop to stare.

The smell of blood and sweat, burning your nose.

The spit in your face from a person yelling, inches from you.

The sound of fast breathing from not just him but your partners too.

The volume of a command, repeated despite the knowledge that there will be no compliance.

The crackle of a Taser cartridge, finally stopping the fight.

The release of adrenaline as you stand around and realize how fast things happen.

The smell on your uniform, in your hair, on your partners, that lingers as a reminder as the aftermath stretches on for hours for an incident that didn't even take minutes.

In some worlds to come home smelling of another man would rock the foundation of a relationship.

In my world, it starts with a text message - I got in a fight but I'm ok.

It is followed with a phone call, speaker phone shut off so the kids don't hear the details. A promise to come home on time.

Another text later, when you're supposed to be there, saying you must come home.  Your place is here tonight for there are small ones that need you.

An embrace at the front door before heading straight to the shower.  Acknowledgement that violence is intimate, and when you are wrapped up in such a violent embrace you will carry the smell of another's fear in your hair, on your uniform.

Until you wash it away and take your place.  Here, at home, because your work out there is done for the day.

Sometimes the most disconcerting part about horrible things, is when the horrible things are not as disconcerting as they should be. 

One woman, manicured and hurried, passing by in the coffee line.  Awkwardly smiling, both of us trying to get our caffeine.

One woman, laughing and happy, asking about others, flourishing in her customer service role and knowing her regulars.

One woman, face swollen, blood everywhere, hair matted with dirt and plants.  Having fought for her life and won.  Living a nightmare, knowing it'll take years for her to ever walk on a trail alone again and she'll never look at a stranger without fear.

One woman, selling out her own children in order to not anger her new lover.  Lying, over and over again, knowing that she is destroying the sacred mother-child relationship but still moving forward.


And this woman, tired, unsure if these other four even consider each other as they walk through the world, happening to intersect with my shift on a sunny day.  Knowing that these four women walk in different worlds, and while what I did didn't matter to most, it mattered to at least one woman today. 

It is a unique place to be when you find yourself at a crossroad of society.  When you go as fast as you can and run and push and see that look of relief when you come into chaos and make it safe.  That is a place that few ever experience.

And then you leave, and maybe you play the radio on the way home, or you log in to social media or check the news inside your safe home.  And it’s there, in front of you, the hate and distrust. The people that would kill you for what you wear and what you stand for. 

When your own friends distrust you and respect you at the same time.  When people spew hate and then pause, and say, oh, but not you!  You must be different because we are friends. 

When I first started I had a ritual to prep my mindset.  Today might be the day, as I put on my gear.  Did I leave home behind and make sure everyone in that little house knows they are loved?  Am I clear headed?  Am I ready?  I’ve found myself in the past months returning to this ritual.  For I think there is another path and I think it will prevail.

For I must tell myself that what I do is worth it.  So much time and stress and fear and adrenaline, it must be worth it.  Time that I’m not home.  Time that is probably changing the very chemistry of my brain and body.  But if I leave, maybe there is someone that won’t be helped.  Maybe there are peers who will feel further hurt.  If I stay, can we work to make us all better?  For this doesn’t have to be either or.  We can respect those trying to do the job right and hold those accountable who are not.  Is this nuance so difficult?  I don’t think it is.  I think it is the right thing and it will continue to be my thing.  

"You can truly grieve for every officer who's been lost in the line of duty in this country, and still be troubled by cases of police overreach. Those two ideas are not mutually exclusive.  You can have great regard for law enforcement and still want them to be held to high standards." - Jon Stewart.