6 Hours From a Life-Saving Call and a .40 Caliber Decision

Foreign.

It's 1:39 in the morning.

James Keller is sitting in his truck in his own driveway.

The house is dark.

His wife and two kids are asleep inside.

He's been out here for three hours.

In his right hand is a Glock 40 caliber, a personally owned off duty weapon.

James is a detective.

Fourteen years on the job, seven of those in Special Victims working crimes against children.

He's put away dozens of predators, built cases that got convictions when other detectives couldn't.

But tonight, sitting in his driveway with his off duty weapon, James is trying to decide if he can keep doing this.

Not just the job, everything.

Six hours from now, his peer support officer will get a phone call that changes everything.

Behind every badge, there's a story.

A story of courage, sacrifice, and relentless pursuit of justice.

But there's also a story that often goes untold.

A story of the mental and emotional toll that policing takes on those who answer the call.

Welcome to Police Speak, the podcast that delves into the raw realities of police work and explores the path to resilience.

Each week we'll unpack harrowing police encounters, dissect their psychological impact, and equip you with the tools to safeguard your mental well being.

So turn up the volume and prepare for our next journey.

I'm Michael Simpkins and this is Police Speak.

Real stories from law enforcement about critical incidents, trauma, and the science of resilience.

Today's episode deals with content that some listeners may find child abuse investigations, suicidal ideation, and substance abuse.

If you need to skip this one, we understand this is the story of Detective James Keller, not his real name, and how seven years of investigating crimes against children slowly eroded his ability to function.

It's about cumulative trauma, about the cases that add up, and about the neuroscience behind why some incidents break through our defenses when hundreds of others don't.

James Keller didn't start his career planning to work crimes against children.

Most detectives don't.

It's not the assignment you dream about at the academy.

He came to the department in 2011, worked patrol for five years, third shift in one of the busier districts.

Got comfortable with domestics, bar fights and traffic stops.

After five years, he passed the detective test and was hired.

Went to narcotics first, spent two years doing buy busts and working mid level dealers.

When the Special Victims opening came up in 2018, his lieutenant asked if he was interested.

James was 36, married with two young kids, a four year old daughter and a six year old son.

His lieutenant said that was actually an advantage.

Parents understand things differently, he said.

They can Relate to victims, families.

Build rapport.

James thought about it.

The work would be heavy, but it mattered.

These were kids who needed someone to speak for them.

Someone to build cases so solid that predators couldn't slip through the cracks.

He talked it over with his wife, Sarah.

She was concerned.

She knew the work would be dark.

But James had always been good at compartmentalizing, good at leaving work.

At work, they decided he could handle it.

Looking back now, James remembers his first thought when he accepted the assignment.

I thought I could do this for a few years and then move on.

I didn't plan to stay long enough for it to mess me up.

That was seven years ago.

The first year in Special Victims was manageable.

James worked on sexual assault cases involving adult victims, mostly getting his feet under him, learning the interview techniques and understanding the evidence requirements.

His training officer was a 20 year veteran named Patricia.

She'd worked the unit for eight years.

One day, James asked her how she did it, how she heard these stories day after day without taking them home.

Patricia's advice was simple.

You build walls.

You care about the case, you care about the victim, but you don't let yourself imagine it happening to your own kids.

The moment you do that, you're done.

Jane took that to heart.

He built his walls.

When he'd interview a child victim, he'd focus on the evidence, the facts, the timeline.

He'd be gentle, patient, trauma informed.

But he wouldn't let himself think about his own daughter at home.

Wouldn't make those connections for six years.

It worked.

James was good at the job.

His case clearance rate was one of the highest in the unit.

He had a knack for getting victims to trust him, for building rapport with parents who were barely holding it together.

His lieutenant relied on him for the toughest cases.

When patrol called in a particularly bad situation involving a child, James was often the one who got the call.

I thought I was handling it.

I really did.

I'd go to work, do the investigations, and come home.

I'd see my kids and feel grateful they were safe.

I thought I had it under control, you know?

But here's what James didn't understand.

Trauma doesn't always announce itself.

Sometimes it accumulates.

It builds.

And the human brain has limits on how much it can process before the systems designed to protect us begin to break down.

Let me explain what was happening to James neurologically, even during those years when he thought he was fine.

Every time James worked a case involving a child victim, his brain had to process information that fundamentally violated his sense of how the World should work.

A biologically wired to protect children.

It's not just cultural, it's evolutionary.

When we encounter evidence of harm to children, especially severe harm, our brain's threat detection systems go into overdrive.

The amygdala, your brain's alarm system, flags this as critical information.

It's supposed to.

That's its job.

But with repeated exposure, case after case, year after year, the amygdala becomes hyperactive.

It starts treating everything as a potential threat.

This is the beginning of hypervigilance.

At the same time, James's hippocampus, the brain structure responsible for processing memories and placing them in their proper context, was becoming overwhelmed.

With each case, there were more images, more interviews, more details that needed to be processed and filed away.

The hippocampus does its best, but it has limits.

Meanwhile, James's prefrontal cortexthe part of his brain responsible for executive function, emotional regulation, and maintaining those walls Patricia had told him to build was working overtime every day for six years.

Think of it like this.

If your job required you to sprint up a flight of stairs every day, your body would adapt.

You'd get stronger.

But if your job required you to sprint up that same flight of stairs 40 times a day, every day, with no recovery time, eventually something would give.

Muscles would tear, tendons would fail.

Your cardiovascular system would show strain.

The brain works the same way.

James's neural systems for processing trauma and maintaining emotional regulation were sprinting up those stairs multiple times a day.

And they were getting tired.

This is where the PR6 model's health domain becomes critical and why it's the foundation for everything else.

But we'll come back to that.

In early March, James caught a case that would change everything.

A young girl.

Father was the suspect.

Severe abuse over an extended period.

The details don't matter.

For the story, James specifically asked that we not go into the specifics.

And we're honoring that.

What matters is what happened to James's brain when he took the call.

He worked hundreds of similar cases.

Hundreds.

He knew the protocols, knew how to maintain professional distance, knew how to build the walls.

But this time, something was different.

I walked into that interview room and looked at this little girl, and all I could see was my daughter.

And every wall I'd spent six years building just evaporated.

This is a crucial moment to understand.

James didn't consciously decide to stop compartmentalizing.

He didn't choose to make the connection between the victim and his own child.

What happened was neurobiological.

Remember those brain systems we talked about?

The amygdala the hippocampus, the prefrontal cortex.

They'd been working overtime for six years.

They were exhausted.

And when James walked into that room and saw a child who reminded him of his daughter, his brain's threat detection system didn't just activate.

It locked on the amygdala sent out a massive alarm signal.

This is your child.

This could happen to your family.

The hippocampus, already overwhelmed with thousands of similar cases, couldn't properly contextualize this one as separate from James's personal life.

And the prefrontal cortex, exhausted from years of maintaining emotional regulation, couldn't override the connection.

The walls didn't just crack, they collapsed.

James got through the investigation.

This is important to understand.

He did his job.

He conducted the interviews properly.

He collected the evidence.

He coordinated with child services.

He built an airtight case.

On paper, James Keller was functioning perfectly.

His lieutenant saw no problems.

His case file was solid.

Eventually, the father was convicted.

James got another commendation.

But inside, everything was falling apart.

I couldn't look at my daughter.

Every time she'd run up to give me a hug when I got home, I'd see the victim's face.

I'd see the injuries.

I'd see what had been done to that little girl.

And then I'd see my own daughter.

And I couldn't separate them anymore.

This is what trauma does.

When the brain's processing systems are overwhelmed, the hippocampus loses its ability to organize memories properly.

Past and present start to blur.

Traumatic images intrude at inappropriate times.

The brain can't distinguish between this happened to someone else, and this is an immediate threat to my family.

James started having panic attacks.

Full blown physiological panic responses.

His heart would race.

He'd break out in a cold sweat.

Sometimes, when his daughter would touch him, he'd have to excuse himself and sit in his truck until his breathing normalized.

His wife noticed immediately.

You're different, she said.

What happened?

James couldn't explain it.

He told her it was just a hard case.

He'd seen hard cases before.

He'd be fine.

But he wasn't fine.

Within two weeks, James stopped sleeping.

More than three or four hours a night.

He'd lie awake, replaying the investigation, seeing the victim's face, imagining scenarios where something similar happened to his own children.

His mind would create elaborate, horrifying what if scenarios.

What if someone hurt his daughter?

What if he missed warning signs?

What if his kids weren't as safe as he thought?

This is the vision domain, breaking down one of the six critical areas in the PR6 Resilience Model, vision is about your brain's ability to imagine positive futures and maintain goal directed behavior.

When the hippocampus gets overwhelmed by trauma, it struggles to process anything except threat scenarios.

James's brain literally lost its ability to imagine outcomes where his family stayed safe.

Every future he could envision ended in disaster.

And when you can't see a path forward, when every possible future looks like catastrophe, your motivation to keep fighting evaporates.

Three months after James took that case, he was going to work every day and showing up on time, closing cases.

His lieutenant had no idea anything was wrong.

But at home, his family was watching him disintegrate.

James had stopped sleeping.

Not just sleeping poorly, actually stopped.

Four hours became three, three became two.

Some nights he'd lie awake until 4am, then give up and go sit on the couch in the dark.

My wife would find me at two in the morning, just staring at nothing.

She'd ask if I was okay and I'd say I couldn't sleep.

But the truth was I was afraid to close my eyes.

When I closed my eyes, I saw things I couldn't unsee.

Let me pause here and explain why this matters neurologically.

Because this is where the health domain becomes absolutely critical.

And it's something most resilience training completely misses.

Your brain's ability to heal from trauma, to process difficult experiences, to maintain emotional regulation.

All of that depends on a protein called bdnf.

Brain derived neurotrophic factor.

Think of BDNF like fertilizer for neurons.

It's what allows your brain to build new neural connections, adapt and rewire itself after trauma, literally.

Sleep produces bdnf.

Exercise produces bdnf.

Good nutrition supports BDNF production.

But chronic sleep deprivation, lack of physical activity and poor diet shut down BDNF production almost completely.

Which means when James stopped sleeping, his brain lost access to the most critical resource it needed to heal.

James's brain was trying to recover from severe trauma without the raw materials necessary to do that recovery.

It's like trying to heal a broken bone while simultaneously preventing your body from producing calcium.

The bone can't mitt back together without the building blocks it needs.

But James didn't know this.

Nobody had explained the neuroscience to him.

He thought his sleep problems were just a symptom of stress.

He thought that if he could push through, things would get better.

They got worse.

Within a month of the sleep deprivation starting, James's emotional regulation began to fail.

This is the composure domain.

Breaking down composure in the PR6 model refers to your brain's ability to recognize its own internal state and regulate emotional responses before they spiral out of control.

This occurs through a brain structure known as the insula.

Think of the insula as a dashboard that monitors your body's internal state, including heart rate, breathing, muscle tension, and emotional arousal.

In a healthy brain, the insula sends early warning signals.

You're getting stressed.

Your heart rate is climbing.

You need to regulate.

But when the brain is sleep deprived and flooded with stress hormones, the insula stops functioning properly.

Those early warning signals disappear.

You don't get the notice that you're about to lose control.

You go from 0 to 10 instantly with no awareness that it's happening.

For James, this showed up in ways that terrified him.

I'd be fine one second, and then something would trigger me and I'd explode.

My son would leave his bike in the driveway, something that normally would annoy me, and I'd find myself screaming at him like he'd committed a crime.

Full rage over nothing.

And then two minutes later, I'd feel this crushing shame because I'd just blown up in my 8 year old.

His wife tried to talk to him about it.

This isn't you.

She said something's wrong.

You need help.

Jane, shut her down.

I'm fine.

It's just work stress.

I'll handle it.

This is where cop culture becomes dangerous.

James had been taught that good officers push through, that if you can't handle the job, maybe you don't belong in the job.

So James tried to push through.

He went to work, he conducted investigations, he built cases.

On the outside, he looked functional, but inside his own home, he was becoming someone his family didn't recognize.

Around the four month mark, James started drinking.

Not socially, not a beer with dinner.

He was drinking to self medicate.

It started as one or two beers after work just to take the edge off, you know, something to help me relax, help me sleep.

But one beer became three, three became five.

Within a month.

I was drinking half a bottle of bourbon most nights.

Alcohol and trauma have a complicated relationship in law enforcement.

In some departments, drinking culture is so normalized that it's hard to recognize when social drinking becomes a problem.

Officers often gather after their shift, decompress at the bar, and socialize at events and parties.

But what was happening with James wasn't social drinking.

He was alone, drinking in his garage or his truck.

And drinking to numb out and drinking to make the intrusive thoughts stop.

Here's the problem.

Alcohol temporarily dampens activity in the amygdala and prefrontal cortex in the moment.

It reduces anxiety and helps you feel calmer.

That's why people use it.

That's why it feels like it's working.

But chronic alcohol use does two terrible things to a traumatized brain.

First, it prevents REM sleep, the stage of sleep where BDNF production happens and where traumatic memories get properly processed.

So even though James was passing out from drinking, he wasn't actually getting restorative sleep.

His brain was still starving for bdnf.

Second, alcohol creates a dependency cycle.

Your brain adapts to having alcohol suppress the amygdala.

Then, when you're sober, your amygdala becomes even more hyperactive than before, which means you need more alcohol to achieve the same dampening effect.

The cycle accelerates.

Within three months, James was physically dependent.

He'd wake up shaking, needing a drink to feel normal.

His wife knew.

Of course she knew.

She could smell it on him.

She found the bottles hidden in his truck.

But every time she tried to confront him, James would deflect or minimize.

I kept telling myself that I wasn't an alcoholic.

Nah, I'm just dealing with some stress.

It's temporary.

I'll stop when things calm down.

But things weren't calming down.

Things were getting worse.

Six months after the case, James was barely holding on.

He wasn't sleeping.

He was drinking heavily.

He'd stopped exercising, something he'd done consistently for years.

He gained 25 pounds.

He was having panic attacks multiple times a week.

And he'd started isolating from everyone who cared about him.

This is the collaboration domain, failing the ability to maintain social connections and ask for help when needed.

In law enforcement, this domain is particularly vulnerable because of the culture.

Officers try to be self reliant, to handle things themselves, to not burden others with their problems.

There's also a real fear that admitting struggle will end your career.

But here's what happens neurologically.

When the collaboration domain breaks down, the right prefrontal cortex, which processes social information and helps us read social cues and maintain relationships, becomes impaired.

Under chronic stress, officers don't just choose to isolate.

They lose their ability to read social situations and trust others.

James started avoiding his patrol buddies.

He'd make excuses to skip the gym where he used to work out with his partner.

He stopped going to squad barbecues.

He ate lunch alone.

When his wife would try to talk to him, he'd shut down or pick a fight so he could retreat to his truck.

I told myself they wouldn't understand.

I told myself I was protecting them.

By not burdening them with my problems.

But the truth was, I was scared.

Scared they see how messed up I was.

Scared they think I couldn't do the job anymore.

His wife was losing patience.

They'd been married 12 years.

She'd supported him through his whole career.

But watching him self destruct while refusing help was destroying their relationship.

She gave me an ultimatum back in September.

She told me that either I got help or she was taking the kids to her mother's.

She wasn't bluffin, though.

I could see it in her face.

She was done watching me drink myself to death.

James promised he'd get help.

He swore he'd stop drinking, he'd be better.

But three days later, he was back in his truck at 1:30am Drinking bourbon and seriously considering whether his family would be better off without him.

This is the moment we opened with October 2024.

James was sitting in his truck in the driveway at 1:39am he'd been out there for three hours.

His Glock was in his right hand.

I wasn't actively suicidal.

I didn't have a plan.

I hadn't written a note.

But I was sitting there, you know, thinking if I disappeared, would my family actually be better off?

My kids, they wouldn't have to watch me fall apart.

My wife, she could move on and find someone who wasn't messed up.

The department, they'd move on.

Everyone would move on.

This is what happens when all six resilience domains collapse simultaneously.

James had lost his vision, his ability to imagine a positive future.

His composure was gone.

He was having panic attacks and rage episodes daily.

His tenacity had failed.

He'd stopped fighting, stopped trying.

His reasoning was impaired.

He couldn't see alternatives to his situation.

His collaboration was destroyed.

He'd cut himself off from everyone.

And his health domain, a foundation everything else rests on, had been decimated by sleep deprivation, alcohol abuse, weight gain and complete lack of exercise.

When all six domains fail, the brain quite literally cannot generate hope.

It's not a character flaw.

It's not weakness.

It's neurobiology.

James sat in that truck for three hours, weighing his options.

Around 5:30am, he finally went inside.

Not because he decided to live, just because he was too tired to make a decision.

He went to bed.

His wife was awake.

She didn't say anything.

She just looked at him with this combination of fear and exhaustion.

James closed his eyes and for the first time in six months, he slept for more than two hours.

The next morning, James's peer support officer called.

James didn't know why?

Later he'd find out his wife had reached out, terrified about what she was seeing.

The peer support officer, a veteran named Mike, didn't mess around with small talk.

James, I need you to level with me.

How bad is it?

Something in Mike's voice cut through James's defenses.

Maybe it was exhaustion.

Maybe it was the fact that Mike was a 25 year veteran who'd been through his own crisis years earlier.

Maybe James was just too tired to keep lying.

I told my buddy Mike when he called that next morning that it was bad.

Real bad.

Mike came over that afternoon.

He didn't lecture, didn't give a pep talk.

He just asked practical questions.

When's the last time you slept through the night?

James couldn't remember.

When's the last time you exercised?

Months ago.

How much are you drinking?

James hesitated.

Then half a bottle of bourbon.

Most nights, Mike didn't act shocked or disappointed.

He just nodded.

Okay, here's what we're going to do.

Mike started with a straightforward question.

Can you commit to 30 minutes of cardio three times a week?

James was confused.

I'm falling apart and you want me to exercise?

Yeah, Mike said, I do.

Because everything sits on top of a foundation called the health domain.

And right now, your foundation is collapsing.

We need to stabilize that first.

This approach might seem too simple, too physical.

How can exercise address psychological trauma?

But Mike understood something that most people don't.

You can't think your way out of a body that isn't producing the proteins necessary for brain healing.

Remember bdnf?

Brain derived neurotrophic factor.

The protein that allows your brain to build new connections, to adapt, to heal.

Exercise is the most effective way to boost BDNF production rapidly.

When you engage in cardio for 30 minutes, your BDNF levels increase.

Your brain suddenly has access to the raw materials it needs to start healing.

New neural pathways can form.

The hippocampus can begin to process traumatic memories effectively.

The prefrontal cortex can begin rebuilding its capacity for emotional regulation.

Mike made James commit to three runs a week.

Just 30 minutes.

Nothing intense.

James could walk if he needed to.

Mmm.

That first week, it was something else, man.

Miserable.

Hadn't run in months.

You know, overweight, outta shape, humover.

Real bad.

But Mike, he'd text me every single morning asking if I'd run.

And I tell you, I just didn't want to disappoint him.

So I dragged myself out there and I'd do it.

After two weeks, something shifted.

Jane started sleeping four hours a night instead of two four hours became five.

His wife noticed he seemed less irritable.

The panic attacks decreased from daily to a few times a week.

I didn't feel better, but I felt less terrible, like maybe there was a difference between constantly drowning and occasionally treading water.

One domain improving health started creating ripple effects in the others.

This is how domain interactions work.

They're not independent.

They affect each other.

Like helped him connect with a psychologist who specialized in trauma.

James was skeptical about therapy.

He'd heard the stories.

Officers sitting in some office talking about their feelings while their careers fell apart.

But Dr. Sarah Mitchell wasn't that kind of therapist.

She was a former army psychologist who had worked with combat veterans.

She understood operational stress.

She didn't use derapy speak or try to get James to unpack his trauma.

Instead, she taught an EMDR.

Eye Movement Desensitization and reprocessing.

It's a technique that helps the brain reprocess traumatic memories so they no longer become intrusive.

Here's the simplified neuroscience Traumatic memories get stuck in the amygdala because the hippocampus couldn't process them properly.

They stay in this hyperactive, unprocessed state, which is why they intrude at random times with full emotional intensity.

EMDR uses bilateral stimulation, typically eye movements, to help the hippocampus reprocess these memories and store them away properly.

It sounds weird, and honestly, James thought it was nonsense at first.

But within three sessions, his intrusive thoughts decreased dramatically.

It didn't make the memories disappear now, but they stopped ambushing me.

I could think about the case without having a panic attack.

You know, that was huge.

As his health domain improved.

Better sleep, exercise, proper nutrition.

His reasoning domain came back online.

He could suddenly see alternatives.

He could think strategically about his career instead of just reacting.

I realized, you know, I could still be a detective.

I could still do important work, just not work involving child victims.

And that.

That didn't make me a bad cop.

Nah, it made me a cop who understood his own limits, you know?

James requested a transfer to the Major Crimes Unit.

Adult cases, homicides, robberies.

Still important work, but without the specific triggers.

His lieutenant approved the transfer without hesitation.

James had been nervous about asking, worried it would look like he couldn't handle the hard stuff.

But his lieutenant just said, seven years in Special Victims is a long tour.

You've done your time.

Time to do something different.

The transfer happened in December.

James is now eight months into his new assignment.

He works cold cases, mostly desk work, investigating unsolved murders.

From years ago.

It's detail oriented work that requires patience and analytical thinking.

It uses his detective skills without the emotional weight of active child abuse investigations.

Man, I miss parts of special victims.

I miss feeling like I was directly protecting kids, But I don't miss what it was doing to me.

And I'm starting to understand that I can't help anyone if I'm messed up.

Recovery isn't linear.

James wants to clarify that he's functional, but he still has hard days.

He still sees a therapist bi weekly.

He still runs three times a week.

Not because he wants to, but because he knows his brain needs it.

His relationship with his daughter has improved, but it's different than before.

He's more careful, more aware of his triggers.

When he starts feeling intrusive thoughts, he has strategies.

Now he can recognize what's happening and take action before it spirals.

My daughter, she gave me a hug last week and I didn't panic.

Nah, I didn't see the victim's face.

I just saw my daughter and whoa, that's progress, ain't it?

That's what recovery looks like.

Small moments where your brain just works the way it's supposed to.

James is also eight months sober.

He stopped drinking altogether when he started recovery.

Attends AA meetings twice a week, Though he doesn't share often, just sits in the back and listens.

But it helps.

It's part of his collaboration domain, Rebuilding being around people who understand addiction.

He won't judge him for struggling.

His marriage survived, but it changed.

Sarah, his wife, is now more protective.

She watches for warning signs.

She asked direct questions.

How much did you sleep?

Did you run this week?

How are you really doing?

She don't fully trust that I'm okay.

And I don't blame her.

She watched me almost die.

Maybe not physically, but in every way that matters.

She's earned the right to be cautious.

But they're working on it.

Couples therapy, open communication.

James is being honest instead of hiding.

It's a different kind of marriage than what they had before, but maybe a more honest one.

James wants other detectives to understand something that nobody told him seven years ago.

This work has a cumulative neurological cost.

It's not about being tough enough or having the right mindset.

It's about understanding that your brain has limits.

That processing trauma requires specific neurobiological resources, including bdnf, proper sleep architecture, and functional stress response systems.

And when you deplete those resources faster than you can regenerate them, you will break.

It's not a matter of if it's.

When, man, I thought I was tough.

Thought I could handle anything.

But what I've learned, see, is that nobody's immune to this stuff.

The buildup of it over time can sneak up on you.

Your brain, it can only take so much before the system's designed to protect you.

They just start failing.

This is exactly what resilience first aid training is designed to address.

RFA teaches officers how to recognize early warning signs in their peers.

The changes that indicate resilience domains are starting to fail.

When James stopped going to the gym, stopped cracking jokes, and started eating lunch alone, those were visible indicators that his health and collaboration domains were declining.

An RFA trained peer would have recognized those signs and intervened.

Not with therapy speak or judgment, just with direct, practical support.

Hey, I noticed you've been off lately.

Want to grab a workout and talk about it?

That early intervention could have prevented months of suffering, could have stopped James before he got to the point of sitting in his truck with a loaded weapon.

Man, I wish my department had RFA training back then, you know, I wish someone had pulled me aside at month three instead of month six.

I wish I'd understood that struggling wasn't weakness.

Nah, it was just my brain telling me it needed help.

For detectives considering assignments and special victims, James has specific advice.

First, understand that this work will change your brain.

That's not speculation.

It's neuroscience.

Repeated exposure to child abuse investigations will alter your amygdala sensitivity, stress your hippocampus and exhaust your prefrontal cortex.

Plan for this.

Prepare for it.

Second, protect your health domain like your career depends on it, because it does.

Sleep is non negotiable.

Exercise is non negotiable.

Proper nutrition is non negotiable.

These aren't wellness tips.

They're the neurobiological foundation.

Your brain needs to process trauma without breaking.

This is where high adversity resilience training becomes critical.

Hart specifically prepares officers in high exposure units for the sustained operational stress of assignments like special Victims, SWAT, or homicide.

It teaches you how to maintain all six resilience domains when you're facing accumulated trauma that never stops.

How do you protect your vision domain when you're seeing a worst of humanity every day?

How do you maintain composure when you're conducting your third child abuse interview of the week?

How do you keep your collaboration domain functional when you can't?

Talk about your tastes outside work?

Hart addresses these specific challenges before they break people.

It's not resilience training for after a critical incident.

It's preparation for sustained exposure to trauma.

If Departments are going to keep asking detectives to work these cases.

They need to give them the tools to survive it.

Heart training, mandatory peer support, check ins, rotation policy.

So nobody stays in high trauma assignments too long.

Because right now we're just throwing people into these units and hoping they don't break.

And a lot of them do.

James wants listeners to know that asking for help isn't the end of your career.

I was terrified that if I admitted I was struggling, I'd lose everything.

You know, my job, my reputation, my identity as a detective.

But what actually happened, it was the opposite.

Asking for help, that gave me my career back.

It gave me my family back.

It gave me a future I couldn't see while I was just sitting in that truck.

He's still a detective, still doing meaningful work and still making a difference, just in a way that doesn't destroy him in the process.

The cases I work now, the cold cases, these families, they've been waiting years for answers.

Decades sometimes.

But the work, it still matters.

I still get to use my skills.

I still get to make a difference.

And, well, I just get to sleep at night too.

Recovery is ongoing.

James still sees Dr. Mitchell, still runs three times a week, still goes to AA meetings, still has hard days.

But he's alive, he's functional, he's present for his family, he's working a job he can sustain.

That's what recovery looks like in real life.

Just small, consistent practices that give your brain what it needs to heal.

Sleep, exercise therapy, peer support, honest conversations, protecting the health domain so the other domains have something to build on.

Insert quote here.

James Keller's story illustrates something critical about trauma in law enforcement.

Sometimes it's the accumulation of trauma that gets us the weight that adds up over years until our neurobiological systems can't carry it anymore.

The PR6 resilience model gives us a framework for understanding this collapse.

Six domains that all need to remain vision, composure, tenacity, reasoning, collaboration, and health.

When one domain fails, it affects the others.

When multiple domains fail simultaneously, recovery becomes exponentially harder.

But recovery is possible.

James's story shows us that when we address the health domain, firstsleep, exercise, nutrition, the fundamentals that allow BDNF production and neuroplasticity, the other domains can begin to rebuild.

It's not fast, it's not easy, but it's neurologically possible.

If you are a law enforcement officer working in a high trauma assignment, special victims, homicide, swat, child crimes, consider whether your department offers resilience, first aid or high adversity.

Resilience training.

These programs teach the science behind what James experienced.

They teach early intervention strategies.

They teach how to recognize when your resilience domains are starting to fail and what to do about it before you hit crisis.

If you're struggling right now, resources are available in the show Notes.

I'm Michael Simpkins.

Thank you for listening to Police Speak.

If you know an officer who needs to hear this, please share it.

Real stories, Real science.

Real hope for recovery.

Thank you for tuning in to another episode of Police spe.

We hope you found today's story and insights valuable.

We aim to inform, educate and inspire through the stories we share.

Do you have a powerful story from your time on duty that you'd like to share?

Perhaps a moment that tested your resilience or left a lasting impact?

Sharing your experiences can help fellow officers learn and strengthen their resilience.

Your story could make a real difference in some someone else's life.

Please visit the link in the show notes and complete the form.

We'll keep your information confidential and work with you to ensure your story is told in a way that feels comfortable and meaningful to you.

Together, we can build a stronger, healthier law enforcement community.