Breaking the
"I'm Good"
Code of Silence
Caterina Spinaris
A corrections officer once told me that when he joined his agency, other custody staff would not talk to him. But after he dealt with the murder of an incarcerated individual without blinking an eye—showing no signs of emotional distress—he was warmly embraced by veteran staff and welcomed into the fold. He told me the message he received that day—loudly and clearly—was that he should never reveal he was affected by what he witnessed at work, no matter how gruesome.
How the Code of Silence Works This officer continued to work for another 14 years in corrections, serving on the front lines. During the course of his (outwardly, at least) successful career, he went through two major relationship
breakups, became dependent on alcohol and tobacco products, and developed a propensity to play violent computer games after work for five or more hours at a time, almost daily. He also suffered from numerous post-traumatic symptoms for which he sought no professional help until they became incapacitating. Up until that point, the possibility of addressing his mental health struggles was not even a conscious option for him. This officer was operating under the oppression of the “I’m good!” code of silence. When we hear the term “code of silence,” most of us think of the peer pressure to not report policy violations or any other type of professional misconduct committed by coworkers in criminal justice settings. However, this article discusses another kind of code of silence: the “I’m good!” code of silence—one that, sadly, may be of epidemic proportions in corrections and detention work settings.
The “I’m good!” code of silence is about peer and organizational pressure for staff to deny and cover up their personal distress and emotional turmoil, especially when these are due to the impact of the job. This code of silence is just as damaging as the code of silence regarding professional misconduct, and it can be deadly when it affects staff well-being.
Why the “I’m Good!” Code of Silence Exists Becoming emotionally impacted by the job may be viewed by staff in various criminal justice workforce cultures as evidence of being “weak,” not worthy of respect, undependable in a crisis, and ultimately unfit for the job. Consequently, the peer pressure to conform to this standard of “I’m good!” is very powerful.
This mindset typically starts at the training academy, where new recruits are indirectly traumatized by viewing videos of assaults, riots, and other incidents of violence, injury and death, and discussions of inmate suicide, self-mutilation, or in-custody death due to overdosing on street drugs.
Yes, corrections/detention work is not for everyone. Therefore, it is absolutely essential to train staff for what they might encounter in the workplace, and to evaluate as much as possible at this early stage who is ready for and capable of this type of work and who is not. However, the fact that no attention is given to the potentially traumatizing nature of such training communicates to new recruits that they are expected to be impermeable to the traumatic content on the job. What is also communicated implicitly is that they should climb the learning curve quickly, and become desensitized to such exposures. And that they should accept this as a normal part of their functioning and of the workforce culture.
So new staff begin their careers operating under the assumption that if they are impacted by what they witness or experience at work, they’d better keep it to themselves or they could be rejected by their peers, become the object of ridicule, miss promotions, or even be considered unfit for the job.
In addition, because of the ever-present sense of potential danger in the corrections workplace, a perspective of “us against them” may exist between staff and offenders, where each party views the other as a threat—and even as the enemy. When such an attitude of “us against them” is pronounced, that enmity leads to power struggles.
…staff do whatever they can to look strong, invincible, impenetrable…
In turn, after a clash, these power struggles dictate that staff cannot show the offenders that they have succeeded in “getting to” them in any way. In order not to let offenders think that they have won a battle, the staff do whatever they can to look strong, invincible, impenetrable—no matter what they have seen, what they have endured, and how they have been affected. For example, assaulted staff members may opt to tour their unit after their assault before leaving for a medical check or after returning from such a check, in order to show the offenders that they are on their feet and “unbroken.”
It should be pointed out that an attitude of resilience and hardiness—“keeping it together”—is necessary during and shortly after an incident of violence, injury or death, a near-miss, or the threat of such. Staff have a job to perform, for which they have been trained. They need to remain in charge of the situation and respond quickly and professionally, follow policies and procedures, and remain functional, unruffled, unyielding, and in control in the face of danger or horror. In such situations, the staff’s ability to keep emotional reactions at bay—to “numb out” emotionally and not feel much—is useful and of value, as it helps staff operate and execute their duties effectively. And this stance conveys to offenders that staff are not incapacitated or cowering in fear, and their spirits remain high.
However, at some point, and sooner rather than later, staff will need to receive the support and time to “process” the impact of an event. This can be done by tapping into resources provided by their agency (such as peer supporters, chaplains, or behavioral health providers who specialize in treating psychological trauma) or through other means (such as talking with loved ones and friends, or engaging in expressive writing or spiritual approaches).
Oftentimes, though, no such support is sought or it may even be declined when offered, because of the “I’m good!” code of silence, and the associated shame and fear of being labelled as “weak.” I know one correctional lieutenant who spoke with contrition about the times he effectively shut down his team’s efforts to debrief after an incident.
He would say to them, “Yes, we can have the Crisis Response Team come talk to us about this, but we don’t really need to do that—do we?” Years later, due to his own personal experiences, that lieutenant understood and acknowledged the cumulative traumatic impact of the job and regretted his stance with his subordinates.
It is also important to remember that corrections staff are usually not exposed to a single traumatic or otherwise high-stress incident once in the course of their careers. On the contrary, the nature of their job includes exposure to multiple such events either directly, in real time, or indirectly (where they hear, read, or view electronically such incidents at a later time). As a result, the punch these incidents pack accumulates year after year.
Such are the inherent stressors and the inescapable realities of corrections work.
Yet, in workforce cultures where the “I’m good!” code of silence reigns, the prevalent expectation among corrections staff (especially custody staff) is that when asked how they are doing following a critical incident, their answer will be one of the following:
• “I’m good!” • “I signed up for this. I trained for it.” • “It was just an inmate.” • “I don’t need to talk to peer support or a chaplain. I’m just fine.”
Or after they have been assaulted, they may say: “I don’t need to go to the hospital” or “I want to come back to work tomorrow.”
That is, after experiencing an extremely stressful event, staff may expect (and they may also be expected by their peers and supervisors) to “get back on the horse” immediately, or to not even fall off the horse in the first place, and to go back to performing their duties as though nothing significant happened. “Just another day in paradise.”
Female staff, especially those in custody positions, can fall into the same trap as they seek the acceptance of their male peers in order to secure their place on the team.
...overall self-care suffers because they cannot tend to their distress if they deny its existence...
In some ways, women staff experience even more pressure than men to not show emotional distress on the job. Women working in custody positions have to overcome the belief of some male staff that women are too fragile, too emotional, and too empathetic to be working in a custody role.
For example, male staff may be afraid that a female officer could freeze and not fight when the battle is on. That is why female custody staff may feel the need to prove themselves twice as much as male staff in order to be accepted as “good enough” and as “one of the guys.”
Separating the Real Deal from the Counterfeit On the surface, an officer saying “I’m good!” after a traumatic or high-stress exposure may look to some like the “real deal”—true resilience, true grit, toughness, and strength to overcome adversity and to “bounce back.” However, the officer’s claim of no adverse consequences of traumatic events may not be true resilience at all. In fact, some research has named this type of behavior “negative resilience,” false grit (Friedman & Higson-Smith, 2003).
Negative resilience has been defined as the appearance, or impression, of bouncing back after traumatic exposure, when in reality those so exposed are coping poorly. Negative resilience is fake, a cardboard cut-out, an imitation—not the real thing. In addition, negative resilience is typically driven by the belief that appearing to be “tough” under all circumstances and not showing “soft” emotions, such as sadness or tenderness, are admirable goals to pursue if one wants to be successful in handling stress and danger.
Negative resilience has been attributed to “disenfranchised distress” (Friedman & Higson-Smith, 2003). Disenfranchised means that the distress is present, but it is not allowed to be shown; its expression is banned, forbidden. That is, in corrections work settings, staff’s emotional distress due to the extremely stressful nature of traumatic events is not acknowledged or validated; neither is it not viewed as legitimate, understandable, or acceptable.
Additionally, due to lack of training at their agencies and lack of trauma-responsive approaches in their workplaces, staff may simply not know how to handle the emotions and other changes that come with exposure to events of extreme stress. Their only recourse for coping may be:
• denial—“I’m good!”—which feeds the code of silence further, • dissociation, that is a lack of awareness of one’s emotions and thoughts, or • “checking out” through behaviors such as daydreaming.
Both denial and dissociation are aided by practices based on avoidance, such as substance misuse and other addictive behaviors, and not focusing on the moment—both of which affect professional functioning, health, and quality of life.
The Damage It Causes Because of the “I’m good!” code of silence, staff learn to become ashamed of their vulnerabilities. They may be getting emotionally injured on the job, but the message from their organization is to not acknowledge being hurt
and that such acknowledgment is shameful and unacceptable. They are even given the message that if they were strong enough, they would not get hurt in the first place. Regrettably, staff internalize these messages. They absorb them; regard them to be true, legitimate, and valid; and live their lives accordingly.
When this is their norm, corrections staff become conditioned to keep their innermost life concealed—even from their closest co-workers, friends, and family members. It is as if they are wearing a laughing face mask, but are weeping behind the mask. I can’t begin to count the number of times I heard “We had no idea he was hurting! He showed absolutely no signs of distress, ever!” after a corrections employee died by suicide.
Because of practicing the “I’m good!” code of silence, affected individuals can appear unscathed following traumatic incidents. However, due to the fact that a corrections career offers a “steady diet” of traumatic exposure and cumulative traumatic effects, there comes a point where they can no longer maintain the front of “I’m fine,” and crash.
As Susan Jones, a retired warden, has stated, “We know that human beings cannot continue to ‘stuff” these events forever. As corrections professionals we know that the effects of this ‘stuffing’ are often found in our relationships with other people in our lives, including our family, and in our bodies.”
The “I’m good!” code of silence strips staff of their freedom to acknowledge to themselves and to others—without shame—any lasting emotional wounding due to the job, or to accept that they are unable to work through traumatic experiences on their own. And as a result, it keeps them from seeking the relational support and help they so desperately need.
Practicing the “I’m good!” code of silence rewards affected staff with the short-term gain of earning the respect of their peers, and experiencing pride and self-satisfaction that they are tough. However, this short-term gain comes in exchange for long-term pain—lack of healing of the distress endured and lack of relief. Staff who do not address the emotional impact of the job cannot hit the “reset” button, be refreshed, and resume their careers in a relatively healthy state of mind. Instead, the inner pressure continues to build as more and more incidents get “stuffed” into their emotional crawlspace during the course of their career, and the emotional burden keeps increasing. Then one day, the crawlspace overflows or the door blows wide open with the contents spilling out.
Staff’s overall self-care suffers because they cannot tend to their distress if they deny its existence or are not even aware of it. When the presence of pain is not acknowledged and seen as a signal to tend to a need, healing and resolution cannot take place.
Another consequence of the “I’m good!” code of silence is that staff will have difficulty experiencing empathy and compassion for others when they do not have compassion for themselves. They cannot be understanding and supportive of others or offer genuine words and gestures of comfort when they have no understanding of their own struggles.
Reach out and get help when you feel it is time. There are many great people out there that are willing to help you.
They may also have difficulty with intimate conversations and exchanges. Their loved ones may experience them as distant, cold, callous, indifferent, uncaring, and “hard.” As a result, their most important relationships may pay a heavy price.
Why the “I’m Good!” Code of Silence Must Go Given how destructive this code of silence is for staff, their families, and the entire workplace culture, one goal of corrections organizations must become to systematically debunk, dismantle, and dispose of the “I’m Good!” mentality.
Yes, staff need to “keep it together” in order to function during critical incidents at work, and when they are performing their job of managing offenders or other staff. However, there comes a time when our reality needs to be acknowledged to protect our well-being and survival. Staff need to become aware of how the extreme stress of trauma affects them; how their core beliefs about themselves, the world, and life changed because of it; and what they can do about it to reclaim themselves and their lives—to turn the piles of manure of their extremely stressful experiences to fertilizer as much as possible. Bouncing back after trauma in order to regain quality of life and maintain effective functioning at work and at home requires us to accept our vulnerabilities and shed the unwarranted shame of being human.
How to Break the “I’m Good!” Code of Silence Breaking the “I’m good!” code of silence requires the following ingredients, at a minimum:
• trailblazing honesty and courage; • the provision of suitable resources; • policies about the management of staff exposed to traumatic and other high-stress situations; • policies that protect staff wellness proactively; • supportive supervisory styles; and • confronting misconceptions, prejudices, and biases; education; and role modeling of transparency by leaders.
Education and the provision of resources must be accompanied by the transparent sharing of leaders. Such sharing involves leaders telling their personal stories about their struggles in relation to work stressors, the negative consequences trauma had on their lives, and their courageous journey through struggles to a place of openness and true resilience.
The use of mandatory overtime needs to be examined in this context, as the longer staff are at work, the more likely they are to encounter traumatic situations. Working overtime also means that staff have less time away from work to decompress, relax, recover, and reflect on what they have experienced at work. And they have less time to spend with loved ones, less time to enjoy and maintain their social support systems, and less time to engage in positive activities—all of which combat the poisonous impact of trauma.
Dismantling the “I’m good!” code of silence requires an agency-wide, trauma-responsive approach that involves educating staff on the effects of psychological trauma and other high-stress events on them, the workforce culture, and their families. And one that teaches them strategies to attain and maintain true resilience and well-being in the face of inherent stressors of corrections environments. This type of education needs to be delivered proactively to all staff as a form of emergency preparedness, repeatedly and preferably annually. Adult family members of staff can also be educated on the impact of trauma and other high-stress events and provided with resources and ways to address trauma in their loved ones effectively.
To support those who are affected in spite of their agency’s best efforts, mental health and other wellness resources can be made available to the agency’s staff. These include corrections-knowledgeable EAP and other community-based mental health providers, law enforcement chaplains, peer support, or community-based programs. We need to normalize the experience of emotional distress and accept the fact that we are fragile beings, and there are limitations regarding what we can endure. The undeniable fact is that exposure to trauma, especially when it happens intensely and repeatedly, can have a multitude of adverse effects on those so exposed.
Concluding Thoughts Some of my communications with corrections personnel from agencies across the country and overseas fill me with joy and hope that the “I’m good!” code of silence is indeed being gradually taken apart in several corrections workforce cultures.
I’m thankful that increasingly more correctional agencies are providing a variety of wellness resources for their staff, while acknowledging the damage occupational stressors confer on staff’s physical, psychological and spiritual health.
In closing, here are the thoughts of two corrections professionals who have addressed these issues publicly:
• “The biggest reason people like you and me go undiagnosed is denial. It is the fear and stigma attached to ‘mental health’ that keeps us from seeking the help we need. It is the unfounded fear that our brothers and sisters will think poorly of us and think us weak. It is this fear I am attempting to overcome in the hope you will overcome it as well.”
• “If you are struggling, you are not weak, weird or broken. You are human, and you are not alone. Reach out and get help when you feel it is time. There are many great people out there that are willing to help you. Don’t be embarrassed or ashamed about it. Reach out and get your life back!”
How “good” are you?