Insomnia has me in a reflective mood about my career in policing so far, there are a lot of things that I don’t think I could ever have been prepared for.

I wasn’t prepared for the sheer volume of human suffering I’d see daily.

I wasn’t prepared to feel it sapping my humanity, to be confronted with the reflection of my changed self in my mirror and the eyes of my friends.

This job takes its toll.

I wasn’t prepared for the matter-of-fact way people would inflict such cruelty and misery on their fellow humans.

I wasn’t prepared for the matter-of-fact ways I’d learn to deal with that.

The “banality of evil” as Hannah Arendt called it.

This job takes its toll.

I wasn’t prepared for the friends I’d lose, those for whom my job became a barrier and those I lost a commonality with.

I wasn’t prepared to see friends murdered, or take their own lives.

But I did, and they did. Too often.

This job takes its toll.

I wasn’t prepared for the caprices of the public, to be the hero one minute and the villain the next.

I wasn’t prepared to find more humanity in the outcast and dispossessed than in their outwardly virtuous “betters.”

This job takes its toll.

I wasn’t prepared for the quiet, unobtrusive heroes I’d meet.

I wasn’t prepared for the paragons of compassion and bravery I’d work with.

But I met them, and I worked with them, and I tried to learn what I could.

This job can renew your faith in humanity.

I wasn’t prepared for the stoic victims, who’d quietly rebuild what they’d lost and apologise for wasting my time.

I wasn’t prepared for the uninvolved who became involved at great personal risk because they couldn’t tolerate the wrong they saw.

But those people rebuilt and survived anyway, and those onlookers made a difference and saved lives.

This job can renew your faith in the indefatigability of the human spirit.

This job will break parts of you that will stay broken forever.

It’ll break parts of you that will recover stronger.

It’ll take things from you that you’ll never get back.

It’ll give you things you’ll never lose.

It’ll mark you, deeply and permanently.

It can change you. It *will* change you.

All you can do is hold on to as much of the good as you can, chase away as much of the bad and try to shape the person you become into the least broken, most brave and compassionate version you can manage.