Ken Beyer can’t think of a day in the past few months when his phone didn’t flutter with calls, text messages and emails from a police department, a sheriff’s office, or a fire station seeking help for an employee.
A patrol officer threatening to kill himself with his service weapon before roll call. A veteran firefighter drowning in vodka until he collapses. A deputy overdosing on fentanyl in his squad car.
“It’s the worst that I’ve seen in my career,” said Beyer, co-founder and CEO of Harbor of Grace Enhanced Recovery Center, a private mental health and substance use recovery and treatment center for first responders in the waterfront Maryland town of Havre de Grace.
Established in 2015, Harbor of Grace is one of only six treatment centers in the U.S. approved by the Fraternal Order of Police, the world’s largest organization of law enforcement officers.
Public safety is a profession plagued by high rates of mental health and addiction problems. Considering the unrelenting pressures on first responders, the treatment centers, Beyer said, can’t keep up with the demand.
Specialized recovery facilities such as Harbor of Grace focus on treating law enforcement officers, firefighters, emergency medical technicians and dispatchers — people who regularly encounter violence and death at work.
In the past two years, Beyer said, the number of police officers admitted for treatment at his facility alone has more than tripled. Other treatment centers for first responders reported a similar spike in patients.
A shortage of officers
Anger at police and policing practices soared after a Minneapolis officer murdered George Floyd in 2020, and it put additional strain on officers’ mental health, said Dr. Brian Lerner, a psychiatrist and the medical director at Harbor of Grace.
“Officers feel disparaged by the public and often,” he said, “they also feel unsupported by their agencies.”
The poor state of many officers’ mental health, combined with low morale, has contributed to an exodus of police across the country that has left departments understaffed and the remaining officers overworked and exhausted.
Atlanta, Seattle, Phoenix and Dallas are hit particularly hard by officer shortages.
“That’s creating enormous stress on the system,” said Jennifer Prohaska, a clinical psychologist in Kansas City, Kansas, who focuses on helping law enforcement personnel.
Even before the most recent stressors, rates of burnout and depression were up among first responders. Rates of post-traumatic stress disorder are five times as high in police officers as in the civilian population. Last year alone, 138 law enforcement officers died by suicide — more than the number killed — 129 — in the line of duty, according to the FBI.
A staff of first responders
Harbor of Grace has a small campus of eight single-story brick buildings with light blue and yellow accents and looks more like a seaside inn than a clinical setting. The center can treat 47 patients at a time. It has seven acute care beds, mostly for detox.
It offers help for a wide range of mental health conditions, including addiction, sleep disorders, anxiety, depression, thoughts of suicide and PTSD.
To date, more than 500 law enforcement agencies — federal, state, and local — have sent employees to Harbor of Grace. The center has 45 full-time clinical staffers, including an emergency physician and several psychiatrists, nurses and counselors. Many have previously worked as first responders — from Army medics and firefighters to police officers.
“All our patients and most of our staff know what it’s like to hold a dead or a dying child,” said Beyer, 66, a former firefighter and EMT who overcame a problem with alcohol several decades ago.
Sgt. Ryan Close has held several dead children.
The 37-year-old police officer works as a patrol supervisor for a small law enforcement agency in New England that he did not want to identify to protect the identities of his colleagues. He has been a police officer for 15 years and has worked for several departments. When he started, he said, officers did not receive psychological training or have access to designated peer support programs.
He said that almost every time he was involved in a critical incident — like a shooting or an accident with burnt and disfigured bodies — “my supervisor ordered me to the bar afterwards.” Years later, when memories of his experiences at work reemerged and he had trouble sleeping, he started to self-medicate with alcohol. He developed social anxiety and his marriage suffered.
His department pushed him to get help, and he entered Harbor of Grace in April 2021 for a 28-day treatment cycle.
There, he learned to let go of his hardened veneer and his impulse to always be in control.
‘Learn healthy coping skills’
At Harbor of Grace, the communication style mirrors the tone at a police station or firehouse, said Beyer.
“We don’t waste time on the feel-good stuff,” he said. “We’re blunt. We call people out if necessary.”
Psychologist Prohaska said it’s important that specialized behavioral treatment centers for first responders exist. But, she said, robust mental health training needs to be part of the academy curriculum and embedded in police culture.
As for Close, he decided to return to work in law enforcement. He has become an advocate for peer-to-peer support in his agency and beyond. He said his own mental health journey has made him a better police officer, with more empathy and improved communication skills.
His advice to fellow officers is to learn about the possible effects of trauma before they develop a serious problem.
“Establish a good dialogue with your family, your supervisors, your peers. Know what your limitations are. And learn healthy coping skills. Alcohol isn’t one.”
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