In the police academy, I was nicknamed ‘Officer Smiley’ on the very first day. It was a moniker that’d follow me in some form for the next five years.
While my positivity and kindness may have been perceived as weakness, even naivety, by other officers; it saved my life more times than I can count. It continues to do so to this day, long after I’ve left that toxic field.
Us vs. them: Fruit of the poisonous mentality
It’d been a long day of preliminary attempts at indoctrination: exhaustively strict rules and expectations, mind-numbingly dry recitations of local law, and graphic videos of officer-involved shootings overlayed with speeches about being sheepdogs protecting our flock or something.
The obvious intention was to try to scare recruits into quitting early, before things got really real, a tactic that worked on several of my classmates. Looking back, I kind of wish I’d been one of them.
Right around the time we were due to be dismissed for the day, the instructors suddenly burst into the room, screaming. We were ordered to report outside for a brutal physical training session in the August heat.
Like most of the so-called physical training we endured throughout the Academy, the goal wasn’t to make us stronger but to punish, humiliate, and break us down. We were often forced to run in full dress uniforms, including painfully unyielding high gloss shoes (which we’d be punished for scuffing).
Many of us suffered serious injuries as a result of the repeated stress this put on our bodies. Not that the instructors cared; they wanted us angry, hopeless, and obedient without question.
They were trying to turn us into weapons, after all.
Near the end of that first workout (read: hazing session), we were all well and truly demolished. However, one instructor noted that I still wore a smile as I ran lap after lap around the Academy parking lot. Apparently, it was against the dress code.
“What are you grinning’ at, Smiley?” he yelled as I ran by.
My wheezing lungs begged for my inhaler, to which I’d been refused access, “It may be more of a grimace by now, Sir”, I called back between gasps for breath.
As ruthless a part as he was playing at that moment, I could tell he liked that answer. “We’ll see if you’re still smiling by graduation.”
I’d go on to hear a version of that ominous refrain throughout my career as an officer.
Warrior cops: My thin blue last nerve
For the next five years, I’d be dubbed Officer Smiley, Paw Patrol, Barbie, Community Officer Friendly, Hopper, and other such terms of affectionate(ish) mockery.
These names were typically bestowed by officers who’d become embittered by the work. You know, the ones who showed up on calls and needlessly escalated situations with people who were already in crisis, discredited victims, and ‘shitcanned’ reports anytime they thought they could get away with it. The ones who complained whenever they were forced to get their asses out of their patrol car and take action that might actually have a positive impact on the community.
These so-called public servants were unreasonably annoyed by my seemingly nonstop cheer and gentleness, regardless of how much shit hit the fan… And hit the fan it sure did.
No matter how much I worked to model the benefits of understanding over brute force, compassionate treatment over arrest numbers; these officers were certain the job would wipe the smile off my face in time.
But through it all: grisly crime scenes, disorientingly long hours, harassing coworkers, an abusive boyfriend at home, and injuries (physical and mental) from all sides…I kept smiling.
Not because I was happy, mind you. This is not a story about blindly keeping my chin up or loving my job. There were countless days I sobbed in my car on the ride home, the only place I had a luxurious moment of privacy.
No, I smiled because I was stubborn as hell.
Grin and bear it (until you can’t): Toxic by design
The justice system in the U.S. is punitive by nature. I’ve seen for myself the countless ways it favors those in positions of power while unjustly burdening marginalized populations. Over years of trying to function within that system, I gradually accepted that the harm runs far deeper than hiring a few motivated and compassionate officers can heal.
I’d first decided to become an officer after experiencing sexual assault and abuse in college. I had some understanding that the system I was entering was a mess, but believed the right people could make a positive change.
So I worked to understand and meaningfully help my community, even those who didn’t always make the best choices. I tried to remain conscious of my own inherent biases and refused to judge others or take out my experiences on those who didn’t deserve it.
Some days, the world did its best to prove me wrong. I saw acts of such evil and tragedy that I still scream out in the night. More often than not, the evil came from inside my own home (from a manipulative and violent partner who also happened to be a cop).
But there were many moments when my conscious eye for goodness rewarded me with beautiful things I may otherwise have missed. Those glimmers kept me trying. They urged me to stay soft, warm, and kind, and to radiate that toward others so they could do the same.
While the officers who warned that the work would steal my smile were trying to say I’d need to toughen up if I wanted to cut it, what they were unwittingly admitting was that they knew exactly how screwed up policework was. Their cynical warnings were evidence that the system was far more likely to ruin me than I was to fix it from the inside.
Conclusion: All kinds of kind
In the end, my dissenters did ultimately end up being partially correct. After five years, I’d become disillusioned with the idea that I could make a meaningful change from within law enforcement and left the field. But it wasn’t the community I served that made me jaded; it was the corrupt and uncaring nature of law enforcement itself.
I still struggle with feelings of guilt for leaving my community in the hands of those less empathetic officers. But while I couldn’t tolerate the idea of losing myself in order to function within that broken system, that doesn’t mean I’ve given up on making positive change.
Today, I speak out through my writing and continue trying to affect change for the underserved through my full-time work. I’m committed to learning all I can about systemic issues affecting our most vulnerable populations and doing my best to help using my knowledge and experiences.
Four years after escaping both my toxic career and toxic relationship, it’s clear that holding onto my gentle nature has kept me going. That hope remained even after burning out and leaving police-work, fleeing my abuser, wading through crushing debt, being diagnosed with a trauma disorder, and a long search for my lost sense of safety.
Through the many heartbreaks, injustices, and chaos: I’m still smiling.
Update September 22, 2024
Thanks so much to Know Thyself, Heal Thyself for the Boost nomination! I’m so incredibly grateful to be able to share my story with such an engaging audience.
You can check out more of my Boosted and popular work if you fancy: