Stop The Threat - Stop The Stigma

08/14/2026

Thank you Behavioral Health News for publishing Stop The Threat - Stop The Stigma Founder Captain Adam Meyers, CPS mental health journey.

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A police captain shares his journey through PTSD, addiction, and recovery after a fatal incident, breaking the stigma around mental health.

08/14/2026

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The authors examine the prevalence of acute traumatic dissociative responses in a group of 115 law enforcement officers involved in critical incidents. Law enforcement officers were retrospectively surveyed for the presence of dissociative symptoms at the time of the critical incident, as well as fo...

08/14/2026

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OBJECTIVE: The assumed relationship between dissociation and symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) was examined. METHOD: From a group of police officers who had experienced a traumatic event, the authors assessed the chronic dissociative ...

08/14/2026

The image provides a powerful way to understand what can happen to the mind and body after trauma. While the graphic uses the language of different parts of the brain, it is important to understand that this is a simplified visual representation rather than a literal map showing that one entire brain hemisphere is responsible for normal life while the other is responsible for trauma. The deeper message is about how people can continue functioning on the outside while carrying an entirely different internal experience after trauma.

For law enforcement officers, this concept can be especially meaningful.

Officers are trained to function when other people are overwhelmed. We respond to shootings, serious crashes, domestic violence, child-related calls, suicides, deaths, threats, and other traumatic situations. We learn to control our emotions, make decisions quickly, and continue doing the job. We go from a critical incident to writing a report, answering the phone, talking with our families, or coming back to work for the next shift.

Sometimes, however, the body and mind don't simply move on because the call is over.

The image's contrast between the going on with normal life part and the traumatized part represents something many officers may recognize. One part of us can continue going to work, wearing the uniform, answering calls, laughing with coworkers, raising a family, and appearing completely fine. At the same time, another part of us may remain on alert, remembering what happened, scanning for danger, reacting to reminders, struggling with emotions, or carrying memories that don't feel like they belong in everyday life.

I understand this personally. I was involved in a critical incident in which I used deadly force against a person armed with a hatchet inside a crowded department store. That person died as a result of the incident.

At the time, I did what many law enforcement officers are trained to do, I kept functioning.

I went back to work. I continued being a police officer and was promoted to the police departments first detective. I continued taking care of responsibilities. From the outside, it could look like I had handled the incident and moved forward.

Internally, however, I was carrying something I didn't understand.

For years, I experienced the effects of that incident almost every day without having the words to explain what was happening inside me. I now understand that a significant part of what I was experiencing was moral injury, the profound emotional and psychological impact that can occur when an experience violates, challenges, or changes our deeply held beliefs about ourselves, our responsibilities, and what it means to do the right thing.

I also learned that surviving a critical incident isn't necessarily the same thing as healing from it.

The five survival responses shown in this image: fight, flight, freeze, submit, and cry for help, are important because trauma doesn't always look the way people expect it to look.

For an officer, fight might appear as anger, irritability, aggression, or becoming constantly defensive.

Flight might look like avoidance, withdrawing from people, working excessively, or using unhealthy behaviors to escape uncomfortable thoughts and feelings.

Freeze can look like shutting down, feeling emotionally numb, becoming overwhelmed, or being unable to explain what is happening internally.

Submit can appear as shame, depression, people pleasing, or believing that your needs don't matter.

And cry for help doesn't always look like literally asking someone for help. Sometimes it appears indirectly through changes in behavior, relationships, work performance, substance use, isolation, or simply repeatedly saying, “I'm fine,” when you're anything but fine.

That is one of the reasons officer wellness matters so much to me today.

I have spent more than two decades in law enforcement, beginning my career in 2001.

My experiences have changed how I view the badge. Being strong doesn't mean never being affected. Being a good officer doesn't mean you never struggle. And asking for help doesn't make someone weak or unfit to wear the uniform.

In fact, sometimes the strongest thing an officer can do is recognize that the person behind the badge needs support, too.

That is also why I created Stop The Threat – Stop The Stigma. My goal is to help law enforcement officers understand that mental health is not separate from the profession, it is part of taking care of the people who dedicate their lives to protecting others.

The image ultimately reminds us of something incredibly important: The behaviors we sometimes judge may actually be survival responses.

Healing begins when we stop asking, “What's wrong with you?” and start asking, “What happened to you, what are you carrying, and what do you need?”

Officers shouldn't have to wait until they are in crisis before they are allowed to seek support.

We need a culture where talking about trauma is normal, peer support is encouraged, professional help is respected, and officers understand that taking care of their mental health is just as important as maintaining their physical fitness, fi****ms proficiency, or tactical skills.

I spent years believing I had to carry everything myself. I eventually learned that I didn't and that is the message I want every officer, dispatcher, firefighter, first responder, veteran, and family member to hear:

You can be strong and still be hurting.
You can be courageous and still be afraid.
You can wear the uniform and still need help and you don't have to suffer in silence.

Healing doesn't erase what happened. It helps you learn how to live with what happened without allowing it to define the rest of your life.

By Stop The Threat - Stop The Stigma Founder and Wisconsin Police Captain Adam Meyers, CPS - www.stopthethreatstopthestigma.org

08/13/2026

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It is imperative that officers process their emotions after exposure to these events to avoid long-term mental health issues

08/13/2026

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Use deep breathing techniques to relieve stress and anxiety. Find simple practices to calm your mind, reduce tension, and improve health.

08/13/2026

In law enforcement, critical incidents can push the body and mind into an intense state of high alert. Heart rate increases, muscles tighten, breathing becomes rapid and shallow, and the brain shifts its focus toward immediate survival. In those moments, something as simple as slowing your breathing can make a meaningful difference.

Deep, controlled breathing can help activate the body's relaxation response, reduce physiological stress, and help an officer regain a sense of control. By taking slow, deliberate breaths, officers can create a brief pause between the body's stress response and their next action.

During a Critical Incident:

Deep breathing can help an officer remain focused when everything around them feels chaotic. Controlled breathing may help:

- Reduce excessive physical tension.
- Slow an elevated heart rate once immediate physical demands allow.
- Improve concentration and decision-making.
- Help maintain awareness of surroundings.
- Prevent panic and uncontrolled breathing.
- Create a moment to reset and regain composure.

This doesn't mean an officer should stop breathing normally or deliberately take slow breaths when doing so would interfere with immediate survival or physical exertion. Rather, breathing control is a skill that can be practiced so it becomes easier to access when stress is high.

After the Critical Incident:

The need to breathe doesn't end when the call is over.

After a critical incident, the body may remain in a heightened state even though the immediate danger has passed. Deep, slow breathing can provide a signal that the body can begin moving away from that high-alert state.

Taking several controlled breaths while sitting somewhere safe, talking with a trusted person, completing a debrief, or beginning the transition home can be one small way to help the body and mind begin to settle.

Make It a Daily Practice:

Deep breathing shouldn't be something you only think about after something terrible happens.

Practice when you're calm so the skill is available when you're not.

A few minutes of intentional breathing during the day can become part of an officer's wellness routine. It can be useful before a shift, after a difficult call, during a stressful conversation, before going home, or simply when life starts feeling overwhelming.

The goal isn't to eliminate stress. The goal is to develop the ability to recognize stress and have healthy tools available to respond to it.

Take a breath. Slow down. Reset.

Breathe deep. Stay calm. Stay strong.

For yourself. For your partner. For your family. For your community.

By Stop The Threat - Stop The Stigma Founder and Wisconsin Police Captain Adam Meyers, CPS - www.stopthethreatstopthestigma.org

08/11/2026

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Many officers who experienced trauma in uniform are told to jump right back into the game. Yet that is not always the best idea.

08/11/2026

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First responders need a working understanding of moral injury, what it is and the impact it has on them and their peers.

08/10/2026

Moral Injury: Living with Taking a Life in the Line of Duty - By Stop The Threat - Stop The Stigma Founder and Wisconsin Police Captain Adam Meyers, CPS

For years, I experienced moral injury almost every day without understanding what it was. I didn't know there was a name for what I was feeling. I only knew that something inside of me had changed after the critical incident. I was carrying something I couldn't simply put down at the end of my shift. I thought about what happened. I questioned myself. I struggled with emotions I didn't always understand, and I often wondered why I couldn't just accept what had happened and move forward.

Today, I understand that much of what I was experiencing was moral injury directly connected to taking another person's life in the line of duty.

I was involved in a critical incident inside a crowded Walmart store. An individual was armed with a hatchet, and I made the decision to use deadly force. That person died.

As a police officer with 15 years of experience, I had been trained for situations like this. I understood the responsibility that comes with carrying a firearm and the possibility that one day I might have to use it to protect myself or someone else. I knew, intellectually, that police officers sometimes must make split-second decisions involving life and death. But knowing that possibility in a classroom or during training is completely different from being the person who actually has to make that decision.

There is a difference between understanding that police officers sometimes use deadly force and being the person who takes another human being's life.

I survived that day physically. I walked away from Walmart. I went back to work. I continued answering calls, responding to emergencies, responding to many more critical incidents, and helping other people through some of the worst moments of their lives. From the outside, I probably looked like I was moving forward.

Inside, I was trying to figure out how I was supposed to live with what had happened.

The incident itself lasted only moments, but for me, the experience didn't end when the immediate threat was over. The physical danger ended that day, but the emotional and moral questions continued. I replayed things in my mind. I questioned myself. I wondered about the person who died and thought about their family and their young daughter, I thought about the circumstances and the decisions that had to be made in a matter of seconds. And sometimes, I thought about the fact that I was the person who pulled the trigger.

This is difficult for me to write even today.

I don't say that because I believe I was wrong to protect myself or others. I knew why I made the decision I made. I knew what the circumstances were, and I knew I was responding to an immediate threat. I believed then, and I believe now, that I had to act.

But knowing that I made the right decision didn't make the death meaningless. A human being still died.

I still had to live with the knowledge that my actions contributed to that person's death. Those two truths can exist at the same time. I could believe that I had to act to protect myself and others while still feeling sadness, guilt, anger, confusion and grief over the fact that another person was dead.

For years, I didn't understand that. For years people would ask me, “Have you forgiven yourself?” I didn’t understand what their question meant, but I do now.

Instead, I thought I was supposed to simply accept it and move on. I was a police officer. I was supposed to be strong. I was supposed to handle difficult things. I was supposed to be the person other people could depend on. So, I didn't talk about what was happening inside of me. I suffered in silence.

Eventually, what I was carrying began affecting other parts of my life. I developed unhealthy ways of coping because I didn't know how to process what I was feeling. Alcohol became one of my many poor coping mechanisms. I drank to escape feelings I didn't know how to confront. There were times I drank and drove. There were times when my thoughts became extremely dark. At one point (at least a dozen times), while intoxicated, I put my duty weapon to my head.

Looking back now, I recognize that I wasn't simply trying to forget one traumatic event. I was trying to escape myself. I was trying to escape the memories, the guilt, the shame, the questions and the emotional weight I had been carrying for years. Six years to be exact.

I didn't understand that I needed to process what had happened. I thought I needed to be tougher. That belief kept me quiet.

In December 2021, during active-shooter training, I experienced a panic attack. That moment eventually led to a psychological assessment diagnosing me with Major Depressive Disorder, PTSD, Acute Stress with Dissociative Features and being unfit for duty. I was approved to take a 90 day leave of absence from work to address my mental health. For the first time, I began confronting things I had avoided for years.

I participated in Psychotherapy, EMDR, Biofeedback, ACT, and DBT. I began learning that what I had experienced wasn't a personal or professional failure. My reactions weren't evidence that I was weak. They were evidence that I was human. That realization changed the way I looked at my experience. I was terminated from that police department when they wouldn't extend my 90 day leave of absence when it expired. I had been employed with that police department for about 14 years.

The critical incident changed me. Taking another person's life, even when you believe it was necessary and justified, can challenge your sense of identity, morality and purpose. For years, I believed that because I was the one who survived, I shouldn't be the one struggling. I was wrong.

Survivors can struggle. Police officers can struggle. People who make the right decision can still grieve. Someone can know they did what they had to do while still being deeply affected by what happened. That is one of the things I wish more people understood about moral injury.

Moral injury isn't necessarily about believing you did something wrong. Sometimes it is about knowing you did what you had to do and still having to live with what happened.

For me, the moral injury was connected to the reality that another human being died because I used deadly force. That fact became part of my life whether I wanted it to or not. I couldn't undo it. I couldn't change it. I couldn't bring that person back. All I could do was decide what I would do with what happened to me.

For years, I tried to bury it. Today, I talk about it. I talk about it because I know there are other police officers who have taken a life in the line of duty and may be struggling with emotions they don't know how to explain. They may be asking themselves questions they are afraid to say out loud. They may feel guilt, shame, anger or grief. They may feel nothing at all and then feel guilty for not feeling something. They may tell everyone, "I'm fine." I know because I was that officer.

My story isn't about regretting protecting people. It is about recognizing the human cost of having to make an irreversible decision.

There is a tendency to look at an officer-involved shooting primarily through the question of whether the use of force was legally justified. That question is important. It has to be answered. But there is another question that doesn't always get asked: “What happens to the officer after they take a life?” For me, the answer was complicated.

I went back to work. I kept serving. I kept putting on the uniform. I kept helping other people. And through all of it, I carried the memory of that day with me. Eventually, that weight became too heavy to carry alone.

Today, I don't believe talking about moral injury dishonors the person who died. It doesn't diminish the reason I used deadly force, and it doesn't change the circumstances of that day. Instead, it acknowledges the humanity of the officer who survived.

I am now able to look back at the critical incident with a greater understanding of myself. I can recognize that I was placed in an extraordinarily difficult situation and made a decision in a moment when action was necessary. I can also acknowledge that the decision changed me.

For years, I experienced moral injury every day without knowing what it was. Now I have a name for it and having a name for it has helped me understand something important. I didn't need to forget what happened. I needed to process it. I needed to talk about it. I needed to understand it. And, perhaps most importantly, I needed to forgive myself for being human.

Surviving a critical incident doesn't mean you walk away from it unchanged. Sometimes the person who survives the incident is the person who continues carrying it long after everyone else has gone home. I know that because I am that person.

Today, I use that experience to help other officers understand something I didn't understand for many years: You can do what you were trained and required to do. You can save lives. You can survive the incident. You can know that you made the right decision, and still need help living with what happened. There is no shame in that. There is humanity in it.

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Photo (Not AI) of Captain Adam Meyers, CPS