That is So Tragic....and I Feel Nothing

After so many years in policing, after exposure to incredible trauma, loss, gore, and pain, I sometimes look at devastating incidents reported in the news or unfolding around the world and find myself feeling… nothing.

When this happened while I was still operational, I told myself it was professionalism. I needed to keep my head clear so I could do my job. I was often moving from one major event to the next. There was no time to sit with my thoughts or allow emotions to surface.

At the time, that approach worked.

But over the years, pushing everything down, like a trash compactor, takes a toll. Eventually, the mental and physical consequences begin to show up.

After retiring, I followed the advice so many other first responders receive: do the work.

I began addressing and processing the most disturbing parts of my career. And, believe it or not, that wasn’t limited to case files. Some of the hardest things to unpack were experiences within the organizations I served and the leadership environments I navigated.

After nearly a year of working with several professionals, something shifted. I felt a level of peace, calm, and health that I hadn’t experienced in years.

And yet…

I noticed I was still “flat” when I saw or heard about major tragedies, mass loss of life, natural disasters, violent incidents. I didn’t feel what I thought I was supposed to feel.

That made me question everything. Had I really healed?

Like any good cop, I decided to dig deeper and see what the research actually said.

What I found was both surprising and reassuring.

Emotional numbing, sometimes called dissociation, is the brain’s version of a pause button or circuit breaker. It is a protective response designed to prevent emotional overload when something is too intense to process all at once.

Feeling “empty,” “detached,” or like you’re on autopilot doesn’t mean you don’t care.It often means your system is already carrying more than it can safely hold.

Research shows this can be connected to chronic stress, burnout, depression, or long-term emotional avoidance.

That last one? A 26-year policing career was filled with it.

The next discovery brought relief: you are not supposed to force emotion. Not crying does not mean you’re broken. It doesn’t mean you’re callous. And it certainly doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.

The guidance is surprisingly simple:

Be kind to how your body is working through things. Stop pressuring yourself to react a certain way. Let whatever comes, come slowly. And if the numbness doesn’t ease over time, seek support to work through what may still be unresolved.

I spent a long time revisiting experiences I knew had left scars. It may be that some level of numbness remains for the rest of my life, not as damage, but as adaptation. Perhaps my system is choosing carefully what it can afford to respond to.

Years ago, when I was nearing the limit of what I could absorb from others’ trauma, a professional coach said something that changed everything:

“Just because someone you care about is inside a tornado doesn’t mean you should step into it with them.”

She told me to stay outside the tornado, where I could see clearly and help safely.

That reframed how I supported others. I could care deeply without allowing their pain to consume my own nervous system.

So if you find yourself, like me, not always feeling what others seem to feel, don’t judge yourself.

You are not alone. You are not broken. And you are not less compassionate.

How we feel and how we express those feelings is not a competition. Your response may be far more human, and far more protective, than you realize.