When 6 Years of Elite Training Can't Stop the Freeze: The SWAT Operator Who Lost Her Identity in 3 Seconds

SA October 2022.

A large metropolitan police department.

A warrant service that should have been routine.

Angela Reyes stands at a breach point, waiting for the signal to go.

She has done this hundreds of times as a senior SWAT operator.

With six years on the team, elite training, and countless operations under her belt, her mind knows the drill.

Reach flood clear.

The plan is mapped out in her brain, but her body won't move.

Three seconds, maybe four.

In tactical time, that's in eternity.

The operation goes smoothly.

Nobody gets hurt.

Yet Angela knows something fundamental has broken.

It's not her courage, it's her trust in herself.

One week later, she requests a transfer back to patrol.

Six years of elite tactical work, gone.

And it all traces back to a single moment five months earlier, when her partner suffered multiple gunshot wounds and bled out while she applied pressure to wounds that wouldn't stop bleeding.

What happens when trauma doesn't make you stronger?

When survival becomes its own kind of defeat?

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.

Hi, everyone.

Welcome to Police Speak.

I'm Michael Simpkins, your host for today.

As we explore what happens when the identity you've spent years building gets dismantled in an instant.

When the protective factors that made you successful in your job, such as confidence, tactical thinking, and peer connections, start to break down one by one.

Furthermore, when the culture around you interprets your honest assessment of your limitations as evidence that people like you can't handle the work.

Corporal Angela Reyes of a large metropolitan police department shares her experience of losing her partner, losing her confidence, and ultimately using the career that defined her.

This isn't a story about weakness.

It's a story about the neurobiology of trauma and the courage it takes to admit when you're no longer mission ready.

If you're not in a place to hear this today, we understand.

Before we get into October 2022, it's important to reflect on who Angela Reyes truly was.

The events of that day didn't just take a life.

They tore apart an identity that had been forged over many years.

Angela dedicated Nine years to patrol work before setting her sights on SWAT selection.

She was patient, committed, and poured her heart into her training, ensuring she was fully prepared for the challenges ahead.

Unbeknownst to her, she was cultivating what researchers refer to as protective resilience, a profound layering of skills and confidence that would equip her to face the next level of her journey.

I knew I'd be scrutinized more than the guys.

I wanted to make damn sure I was ready.

The scrutiny Angela faced wasn't just paranoia.

It was a reality.

She was one of only three women to ever make it onto the PD SWAT team.

What's interesting about this awareness is that Angela's ability to recognize the challenges she would encounter and to mentally prepare for them before fully experiencing the emotional impact is a crucial skill that helps officers survive in high stress environments.

The brain functions more effectively when it can predict and plan, even for difficult situations.

The SWAT selection process aims to identify individuals who can perform well when their amygdala, the brain's threat detector, is activated.

This includes rigorous physical fitness tests that push candidates to their limits, tactical scenarios designed to induce stress, shooting qualifications, and psychological evaluations.

Even after passing all these assessments, there is a probationary period where candidates must demonstrate their abilities every single day.

I worked my ass off and I was good.

Really good.

She wasn't just good, she excelled.

With six years on the team and hundreds of high risk operations under her belt, including warrants, barricaded subjects and active shooter responses, Angela was far from someone who just barely made it through selection.

She was an operator who had developed strong protective factors, a clear sense of purpose in her work, the ability to stay composed under pressure, effective technical problem solving skills, persistence in the face of challenges, strong peer connections, and the physical conditioning to support it all in resilience.

Research officers performing at this level typically score in the above average to high resilience range, which corresponds to a score of 70% to 85% or higher on protective factors.

That's where Angela stood before October 2022.

She also had a partner, Travis McKenna.

They had worked together for eight years on the same entry team.

That kind of partnership transcends the professional.

It becomes neurological.

When you repeatedly entrust your life to someone, your nervous systems learn to co regulate.

If Travis stays calm, Angela stays calm.

This mutual regulation becomes a fundamental part of how they both function in high stress situations.

Travis was that guy everyone wanted on their team.

A solid operator, calm under pressure, with a good sense of humor.

He used to give me shit about being taller than him, he was five' nine, I'm five' ten in boots.

That detail matters in a male dominated environment where physical presence is often equated with capability.

Travis joked about Angela being taller.

He treated her as an equal partner.

And this kind of acceptance fosters a sense of psychological safety.

Psychological safety is one of the strongest protective factors against trauma.

When you know your team has your back, your brain can concentrate on the mission instead of remaining alert for social threats.

Travis had a wife and two children in middle school, and he was three years away from retirement.

He had been doing tactical work for 12 years.

We'll get to how that happened, but first we need to understand what Travis represented in Angela's protective factor matrix.

He wasn't just her tactical partner.

He was proof that she belonged, that she was good enough, and that her judgment was sound.

When Travis died, it wasn't just grief that Angela experienced.

It was the loss of a cornerstone in the psychological infrastructure that allowed her to perform dangerous work with confidence.

October 15, 2022.

High risk warrant service for a murder suspect considered armed and dangerous.

Intelligence indicated the suspect might be wearing body armor and had multiple firearms in the residence, necessitating tactical planning and a prepared team.

Angela described the preparation as textbook.

They had detailed building diagrams, identified breach points, assigned roles, and conducted rehearsals.

Her brain was performing as trained.

Her prefrontal cortex was mapping out the operation, anticipating contingencies and preparing response patterns.

Everything was planned by the book.

Angela was designated as the entry team member in position two, while Travis was in position one, the first to breach the door.

We'd done this exact type of operation dozens of times.

The intel was good.

The plan was solid.

On paper, everything was right.

On paper.

They made entry with a ram, creating a dynamic breach.

It was the kind of operation they had executed hundreds of times.

However, the suspect was ready and waiting, positioned defensively with a clear line of file.

Armed with an AR15 and protected by body armor, he opened fire before they could fully cross the threshold.

Travis took multiple rounds.

Center mass, couple in the legs.

His vest stopped, too.

But.

When your partner gets shot in front of you, several things happen in your brain.

The amygdala takes control, effectively hijacking the prefrontal cortex.

This means that your thinking brain essentially goes offline.

Your nervous system becomes flooded with cortisol and adrenaline, leading to symptoms like tunnel vision and a distorted sense of time.

Additionally, your memory becomes fragmented because the hippocampus struggles to encode information.

When overwhelmed by stress hormones.

This response is not a sign of weakness.

It's a matter of neurobiology, your survival instinct takes over because its primary job is to keep you alive, not to help you form perfect memories or make rational decisions.

Despite this chaos, the Angela's training kicked in.

Years of practiced motor patterns stored in the cerebellum, the part of the brain responsible for automatic movements, prompted her to act.

She returned fire and managed to get Travis out of harm's way.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team addressed the suspect while Angela began providing medical treatment.

Chest seals, tourniquet.

Talking to Travis, telling him to stay with me, but I could see.

I could see it was bad.

The hippocampus is attempting to process the situation While the amygdala is screaming danger.

Angela's hands are performing the medical procedures.

Still, her mind is in turmoil.

Part of her is focused on treatment, while another part already understands that this injury is likely fatal.

Eight minutes until EMS arrived.

Travis had sustained a gunshot wound to the femoral artery.

The tourniquet was unable to control the bleeding due to the location of the injury.

He passed away before they could get him into the ambulance.

I stayed with him the whole time.

The suspect had barricaded himself, leading to a four hour standoff.

An officer lost his life, and his partner had to witness the event covered in his blood.

It's important to understand that Angela's brain was recording this experience in fragments.

Just as smell, sound and touch are encoded separately during moments of high stress, these fragments would later resurface unexpectedly.

A scent, a noise.

And suddenly she would be transported back to that moment.

This isn't a character flaw.

It's how traumatic memories are stored when cortisol floods the hippocampus.

The hours that follow an officer involves shooting involve their own complex procedures.

The scene is secured, detectives arrive, a union representative is present, and statements are taken.

All of this occurs while your limbic system remains in survival mode, leaving your body feeling as if it is still in danger, even when you are objectively safe.

Angela went to the hospital where they had taken Travis.

His wife was there.

His kids were there too.

I had to look them in the eye, knowing I was right there.

And I couldn't save him.

Everyone told her it wasn't her fault.

The sergeant, the lieutenant, the chief, all the standard reassurances.

And rationally, Angela knew they were right.

She'd done everything correctly.

The tactics were sound.

Travis's death wasn't the result of her failure.

But here's what trauma does to the the amygdala doesn't care about rational analysis.

It's looking for threats.

Looking for what?

Could have been prevented, Creating false patterns of causation.

The prefrontal cortex knows it's not your fault.

The limbic system feels guilty anyway.

Doesn't really help, you know, because Travis is still dead and I'm still here.

Survive as Guilt isn't a character flaw.

It's a neurological pattern.

The brain trying to make sense of randomness by creating narratives of control.

If I had done X differently, Y wouldn't have happened.

It's the same cognitive pattern that makes humans good at problem solving turned against itself.

Shock mostly.

Like my brain couldn't process that Travis was gone.

We'd been joking around before the operation, and then two hours later, he's dead.

How do you process that?

And guilt.

Immediate, crushing guilt.

Should I have been position one instead of Travis?

Should I have pulled him back faster?

Could I have stopped the bleeding better?

I know those thoughts are irrational, but they don't feel irrational when you're standing over your partner's body.

The shooting review cleared everyone involved.

The tactics were sound, the decisions were appropriate, and the use of force was justified.

The suspect was charged with capital murder of a police officer.

Everything was handled according to protocol, but Travis still died.

The team tried to support Angela.

They reached out, checked in, and honored him with a full funeral service.

However, there is a culture in tactical units, you, Honor.

Your fallen comrades, grieve at the appropriate times, and then gear up to return to work.

That's simply what operators do.

Angela passed her psychological evaluation and her fitness test.

She was cleared for full duty.

But I wasn't.

Okay.

What Angela couldn't articulate at the time, what most officers struggle to express, is that certain protective factors were already beginning to break down.

Her confidence in her tactical decision making was shaken.

Her sense of control over outcomes felt shattered.

Her ability to manage her emotions was compromised.

Her physical stress response was stuck in high gear.

While she was being assessed for her job performance, no one was evaluating whether the psychological foundation that had enabled her to excel in her role was still intact.

It wasn't a.

We will take a brief break.

When we return, Angela will attempt to return to the work that had defined her for six years, only to discover that trauma doesn't care about your qualifications.

Welcome back to Police Speak.

Before the break, we discussed a SWAT operation that claimed the life of Officer Travis McKenna and left Angela raise with wounds that wouldn't stop bleeding.

Although she was cleared to return to duty, the operator who came back was not the same person who had walked into that warrant service.

This segment explores what occurs when protective factors begin to Break down one by one when your brain's survival system prevents you from performing work that once felt second nature.

After her mandatory leave period, Angela returned to swat.

She had been cleared psychologically, physically and operationally.

On paper, she was ready.

However, operations don't happen on paper.

They occur in real time with real consequences.

While your amygdala decides whether to keep your prefrontal cortex online or take over completely.

I thought I could just put it in a box, compartmentalize, like we always do.

But every operation felt different.

How was it different?

Before Travis died, Angela was operating in what resilience researchers describe as the high resilience zone, achieving 85% or higher on protective factors.

She trusted her training, made split second decisions without hesitation, and had a clear sense of purpose.

Protect the community and the team she managed.

Her emotions under stress, persisted through challenges and maintained strong peer connections and took care of her physical health.

After Travis died, those protective factors began to erode.

Not all at once.

The erosion was gradual.

I couldn't trust my decisions anymore.

Every breach, every entry, I was calculating worst case scenarios.

What if this is another ambush?

What if someone else goes down?

What if I make the wrong call and another teammate dies?

This phenomenon is what researchers refer to as the cognitive aftermath of trauma.

The prefrontal cortex, which manages executive functions such as planning and decision making, begins to second guess itself.

In tactical operations, hesitation can create dangerous situations.

The ability to act decisively without overthinking is crucial for the job.

Angela was losing that ability.

Her brain had learned that negative outcomes can occur even when everything is done correctly, leading her to try to over control inherently uncontrollable situations.

For six months, she forced herself through operations while her heart raced.

She went home each day, replaying every decision she had made.

Her nervous system treated every warrant service as a life or death situation.

Because for her amygdala, it truly was.

Her sleep deteriorated and intrusive memories intensified.

Fragments of that traumatic day surfaced when triggered by sounds, smells, or even the wet of her body armor.

As a result, her connection with her teen began to fray.

She increasingly isolated herself from a resilience perspective.

Angela was slipping from a high level of resilience to into the above average category, possibly even lower.

She remained functional, but her protective factors were diminishing.

Research indicates that once you fall below the 85% threshold of resilience, your vulnerability to depression increases by 5.6 times and the likelihood of experiencing anxiety rises by 4.2 times.

The guys could tell.

My team leader pulled me aside a few times, asked If I was good, I said yes.

I lied.

Why lie?

Because admitting you're not okay in a tactical unit feels like admitting weakness.

And weakness gets you pulled from operations.

Your role in the team, your identity, depends on being operationally ready.

So officers lie.

They compartmentalize.

They push through until they can't.

Five months after Travis died, during another warrant service, there was a different situation and a different suspect, but the same high risk dynamic entry.

Angela is standing at the breach point waiting for the go signal.

Her equipment is ready and her training is in place.

But something inside her mind is saying no.

For maybe three seconds, which is an eternity, I couldn't move.

I was seeing Travis going down, hearing the gunfire, feeling his blood on my hands.

I snapped out of it.

We completed the operation fine.

But I knew.

I knew I was done.

Foreign.

Let's take a moment to explore what happened in Angela's brain during those three seconds.

The amygdala, the smoke detector of the limbic system, recognized a situation as identical to the one where Travis died.

It flooded her system with cortisol.

As a result, her prefrontal cortex went offline while the hippocampus dug up fragmented memories of Travis bleeding out.

Her body entered a freeze response.

Not fight, not flight, but freeze.

The insula, which monitors internal body states, was screaming danger.

Even though she was safe, this reaction is a neurobiological response to trauma, not a failure of character.

Her brain was attempting to protect her by preventing her from entering a situation it had learned was lethal.

However, in tactical operations, a 3 second freeze can get people killed.

The operation went fine.

Nobody got hurt.

But I'd hesitated when my team needed me to move.

For someone who'd spent six years building confidence in my tactical abilities, that moment was unacceptable.

Not to them.

To me.

That assessment, unacceptable to me, reveals something significant.

Angela's problem solving ability remained intact.

She was capable of honestly evaluating her operational readiness.

She wasn't in denial.

She was conducting a clear eyed tactical assessment.

I am no longer mission ready.

What she couldn't see at the time was that this assessment, this brutal honesty about her limitations, was a form of protective resilience.

It just wasn't the kind that enabled her to continue doing tactical work.

One week after that operation, Angela requested a meeting with her lieutenant.

She informed him that she needed to transfer back to patrol.

He tried to dissuade her.

It's normal to struggle after losing a teammate.

Time helps.

The team needs you.

These are all the kinds of things a good lieutenant should say.

But Angela had made her decision.

I couldn't do it anymore.

Not safely.

The team's reaction was mixed.

Some members understood.

Officers who had been through similar situations lost teammates and struggled afterward.

They got it.

However, others did not.

There was talk that I was weak, that I couldn't hack it, that I was using Travis as an excuse because the work was too hard.

Nobody said it to my face, but you hear things.

Male officers often leave SWAT for promotions, family reasons, burnout, or injuries.

Nobody questions whether men as a group can handle tactical work.

But when Angela left, the narrative changed.

One of the other women on the team told me I was setting women back, that I was proving what the old school guys always said, that women can't handle the psychological pressure of tactical work, that I had a responsibility to stick it out because my leaving would make it harder for future women.

Angela had just lost her partner in a traumatic incident.

For six months, she struggled to carry on while dealing with symptoms that affected her ability to perform effectively.

Then another woman told her that she had a duty to sacrifice her mental health in order to make a political statement about gender equality.

That's not support.

That's asking someone to become a liability to their team and potentially put themselves or others in danger to prove that women can handle tactical work.

My trauma wasn't valid because I'm female.

My inability to continue wasn't about watching my friend die.

It was proof that women are weak.

Never mind that male operators leave SWAT all the time for all kinds of reasons, and nobody says they're letting down all men.

Did the pressure cause Angela to question her decision?

No.

It made me angry, but it didn't change my mind.

I knew I couldn't do the job safely anymore.

And in swat, if you can't do the job safely, you're a liability.

I wasn't gonna stay on the team just to prove a point about gender.

That's how people get killed.

Angela's response illustrates cognitive flexibility, the ability to hold competing realities in one's mind simultaneously.

Yes, representation matters.

And yes, personal safety and team safety are even more important.

Angela was able to recognize both truths and make a decision based on operational reality rather than political pressure.

If she had been a male operator leaving SWAT after a traumatic incident, the narrative would have been, that makes sense.

He went through something terrible.

However, because she is a woman, her departure was seen as evidence that women cannot handle tactical work.

The irony is that she had been successfully performing this work for six years.

One traumatic incident which would have impacted any person does not negate six years of competent performance.

However, stereotypes often disregard logic.

I was a SWAT operator.

That was my identity.

That's how I saw myself, how I introduced myself, how I thought about my career.

And then, in one operation, one decision that was actually the smart tactical call that identity was gone.

Identity loss after trauma is one of the least discussed yet most devastating aspects of police work.

Your sense of purpose, one of the strongest protective factors, becomes closely tied to your role.

When that role changes, especially involuntarily, the brain must reconstruct its entire understanding of who you are and what your life means.

Angela wasn't just grieving Travis.

She was grieving herself.

The operator she had been, the future she had envisioned and the team she belonged to, along with the elite status she had earned.

The rational part of my brain knew I'd made the right decision for my safety and the team's safety.

But the emotional part felt like I've given up, like I'd let Travis down, like I'd let down every woman who wants to work tactical operations.

Here's what is happening neurologically.

The prefrontal cortex can analyze the situation rationally, saying this was the right call.

However, the limbic system generates feelings of shame, failure, and loss.

The hippocampus is storing this as a defining life event, while the insula tracks the physical sensations of grief.

The brain does not resolve these conflicts quickly.

It must slowly integrate the rational understanding with the emotional reality, a process that takes time, support, and often professional help to navigate.

We'll take one more brief break, and when we return, we'll explore what recovery looks like when it doesn't mean reverting to who you were.

Rather, it means accepting who you've become.

We'll also discuss the hard won wisdom Angela gained about resilience, identity, and the courage it takes to be honest about your limitations.

Welcome back to Police Speak.

We followed Corporal Angela Reyes to her successful SWAT career and a critical incident that took the life of her teammate, fundamentally changing her professional identity.

Now we explore what resilience looks like when healing doesn't mean returning to who you were.

Instead, it involves building protective factors in a new way.

Three months into her patrol, Angela reached what she describes as her lowest point.

It wasn't a dramatic moment.

There was no crisis, but rather a slow erosion of any sense that her life had meaning.

I get up, go to work, come home, sit on my couch, repeat, I wasn't suicidal, but I also wasn't alive, just existing.

This is what resilience researchers refer to as the below average zone, functioning at 50 to 70%.

In terms of protective factors, she was Operating well enough to go through the motions, but lacked the core elements that make work meaningful.

A sense of purpose, connection with peers, and the belief that she could handle challenges effectively.

What changed?

My sergeant.

Guy named Martinez.

He didn't try to fix me or tell me it would get better.

He just started assigning me to work with rookies.

Said they needed a good training officer.

On the surface, this may seem like a small thing, but neurologically, it provided Angela's brain with something critical.

A sense of purpose beyond herself.

The ventral striatum, the part of the brain that responds to meaningful goals, requires forward focus.

It needs a why.

Mentoring rookies offered Angela a reason to show up that focused on someone else's development rather than solely her own healing.

First time I rode with this kid, probably 23 years old, fresh out of the academy, I realized I knew things he needed to learn.

Not tactical entry stuff, but how to talk to people, how to de escalate, how to not let the job destroy you.

Suddenly, I had something to offer that mattered.

Small steps are how protective factors are rebuilt.

It's not about dramatic interventions or grand gestures, but rather tiny decisions to stay engaged.

Angela began arriving at briefings early.

She started talking to other officers instead of isolating herself, and made an effort to eat properly, again, knowing that rookies notice if their training officer is struggling.

Each small action was retraining her brain, reinforcing the belief you can do hard things, you have value.

This work matters.

Angela began therapy eight months after Travis died.

Instead of just the three mandatory sessions with a department psychologist, she committed to real, ongoing work with a therapist who understands law enforcement trauma.

EMDR helped eye movement desensitization and reprocessing.

Sounds like bullshit, but it actually worked for the intrusive memories.

Emdr eye movement desensitization and reprocessing helps the brain reprocess traumatic memories that have become stuck in the amygdala, allowing them to be processed more effectively.

The technique involves bilateral stimulation, which means moving your eyes back and forth while recalling the trauma.

This process facilitates the integration of fragmented memories into the hippocampus, enabling them to be stored as a coherent narrative rather than as intrusive flashbacks.

It's not magic.

It's neuroscience.

I can talk about Travis now without completely falling apart.

I can think about that day without my whole body going into fight or flight mode.

That's progress.

Three years into her patrol now, where does Angela stand on the resilient spectrum?

She describes herself as above average.

Again, maybe 75 to 80% on protective factors, while she isn't where she was before Travis died.

She's not in the danger zone either.

She has a sense of purpose in her work, can regulate her emotions more effectively, is connected with her peers, takes care of her physical health, and persists through difficulties.

The protective factor that is still rebuilding is her confidence in her tactical decision making.

That trust was shattered and has been slow to repair.

I'm a patrol officer.

For a long time, I couldn't say that without feeling diminished.

But I'm working on it.

I'm a good patrol officer.

I'm good with people.

Ideascalate.

Well.

I mentor younger officers.

That matters.

It's different than being a SWAT operator, but it matters.

Through this process, Angela discovered something about herself that might seem counterintuitive.

I learned I'm honest.

It would have been easier to stay on SWAT and pretend I was fine.

Easier to protect my ego, protect the image of women in tactical units.

But I was honest about my limitations.

That takes a different kind of courage than the physical courage SWAT requires.

That's wisdom.

That takes time to develop.

The courage to admit you can't do something is not less significant than facing physical danger.

It's just different.

In some ways, it can be harder, as it requires confronting your own expectations of yourself.

What does Angela wish she had known on day one?

That leaving SWAT wouldn't kill me.

I thought my whole identity was tied up in being a tactical operator.

I thought if I left, I'd be nobody.

But I'm still somebody.

I'm still a good cop.

I'm still helping people, just in a different way.

If Angela could speak to a tactical officer who just lost a teammate, what would she tell them?

Don't rush your healing.

The department will pressure you to get back to work to prove you're okay to move on.

But trauma doesn't work on administrative timelines.

The hippocampus needs time to integrate traumatic memories.

Usually three to six months minimum.

Take the time you need.

Use the resources.

And if you realize you can't do tactical work anymore, that doesn't make you a failure.

It makes you smart.

What advice does she have for women considering specialty units?

Do it if you want to.

Don't let fear stop you.

Don't let anyone tell you women can't handle it.

But also know that if you face trauma and it changes her career path, you're not a representative of your entire gender.

You're an individual.

Your healing matters more than making a political statement.

What insights would she share?

With tactical teams.

You can do everything right and still be traumatized.

Tactical officers have this mindset that good training and professional competence should let you compartmentalize anything.

But that's not how the amygdala works.

That's not how cortisol flooding works.

That's not how traumatic memory formation works.

The team needs to understand that.

Losing your confidence after a critical incident doesn't mean you were never good at the job.

It means your brain is doing exactly what brains do after life threat.

Is Angela having good days now?

Days when she doesn't think about Travis every hour.

Days when she can make tactical decisions without her heart racing.

Days when she hears about a SWAT call and feels nostalgic instead of guilty.

Those days are becoming more common for her.

While she's not back to 85%, this threshold of protective resilience, where risk factors drop dramatically, she is gradually building toward it.

It's a slow process filled with setbacks and a clear understanding of what she can and can't do.

Resilience doesn't mean bouncing back to who you were.

Sometimes resilience means accepting that you've changed and building a new identity that honors both who you were and who you've become.

I'm not the SWAT operator I was before Travis died.

I never will be again.

But I'm learning to be okay with who I am now.

That's its own kind of strength.

This insight isn't just Angela's.

It aligns with the principles of resilient science.

Recovery isn't about returning to a previous baseline.

It's about establishing new protective factors that are relevant to who you are now, not who you used to be.

It involves recognizing that your brain has changed in response to trauma.

And that change isn't a weakness.

It's an adaptation.

Thank you, Angela, for trusting us with your story.

Your candidness about what protective factors broke down, how they were rebuilt, and the realities of that process will surely help countless officers grappling with similar questions.

Thank you for honoring Travis's memory through your sharing, officer.

Travis McKenna's service and sacrifice will not be forgotten.

If you or someone you know is struggling after a critical incident, there are resources available.

The protective factors we've discussed, such as purpose, emotional regulation, problem solving, persistence, connection, and physical health, can all be learned and rebuilt.

Remember, asking for help when you're not mission ready is not a sign of weakness.

It's the smartest tactical decision you can make.

Thank you for listening to Police Speak.

Until next time, keep each other safe.

Foreign.

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

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 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.

Sam.