FEATUREBreaking Barriers, Not Just Trails!Why Trauma-Informed Leadership Matters By Lee-Ann O’Brien, Deputy Chief, Akwesasne Mohawk Police Service Policing has traditionally demanded a specific kind of strength: decisive, stoic and unwavering. Over time, I’ve learned that the most powerful form of leadership in policing doesn’t come from toughness or stature – it comes from truth and authenticity. It comes from showing up as a human first. As an Indigenous woman, a mother and a police leader, I’ve spent over two decades navigating a system not built with people like me in mind. My first book, Breaking Trail: From Complex Trauma to Command, shares this journey. It chronicles my rise through the ranks while healing from complex trauma, confronting systemic bias and learning to lead with empathy, self-awareness and resilience shaped by adversity. In this article, I want to share key lessons from my journey with police leaders striving to create healthier, more inclusive and forward-thinking organizations. LEADING THROUGH TRAUMA For those affected by trauma and adversity, entering policing doesn’t erase their past. Many individuals who are interested in policing are sometimes screened out before they have the chance to demonstrate their potential because of barriers that prevent them from succeeding. Officers who make it through often carry the weight of their backgrounds and experiences. Their courage and resilience shape every shift, every call and every decision. Yet many are overlooked, especially those who had to grow up fast. For instance, many Indigenous youths, weren’t afforded extracurricular activities or résumé-building opportunities. They spent their time working jobs, caring for younger siblings or simply surviving. Authentic leadership begins with self-awareness and courage. For me, that meant confronting my own story: growing up as a mixed Indigenous girl in an environment where I never fully felt I belonged. I’m a survivor of complex trauma, domestic violence and the legacy of being a second-generation residential school survivor. My healing journey took years. For a long time, I kept that part of myself hidden – ashamed, afraid of judgment and unsure of my own strength. It was only by facing these truths and embracing my full story that I discovered what strong authentic leadership really means: the courage to be vulnerable, and the power to guide others with honesty, empathy and integrity. Leadership is about transformation. Owning our stories and using them to guide others builds strength and resilience. The challenges we overcome aren’t weaknesses, they’re the foundation of empathy, insight and courage that define the leadership policing needs today. TWICE AS GOOD When I entered this profession more than 20 years ago, I learned to stay quiet, keep my head down and be “twice as good” to be taken seriously. I was taught to avoid conflict, never show emotion and be “tough.” While that mindset protected me at times, it also silenced a vital part of who I was and what I could contribute as a woman. Speaking out, taking up space and sharing my story were never easy. They pushed against everything I once believed would keep me safe. The process was healing – but also terrifying. Fear appeared more times than I can count, trying to silence me, and at times, I almost let it. Eventually, I learned the root of that fear. It wasn’t real danger – it was the fear of being judged. That realization changed everything. Judgment wasn’t a sign to stop. It was a sign to keep going. It meant my words mattered. As bestselling author, podcast host and motivational speaker Mel Robbins has said, “Let them judge you.” My trauma and my past don’t define me. The fear I feel when I speak out isn’t a warning to stay silent, it’s proof that I’m stepping into something meaningful. I truly believe fear isn’t a reason to retreat. It’s an invitation to be brave. Courage is contagious. It’s powerful, inspiring and essential. We need more people in policing who are brave enough to bring their whole selves to the role – bold, vulnerable and unapologetic. As police leaders, we must create space for authenticity, fostering genuine connections with our communities, fellow officers and the next generation of leaders. Publishing my book was never just about words. It was about breaking the silence, challenging stereotypes and reclaiming my voice. In doing so, I may have stirred the waters and made some people uncomfortable – but that discomfort is an essential part of change. Through this process, I learned that real strength doesn’t come from avoiding vulnerability. It comes from leading through it. When leaders show up honestly, they create space for others to do the same and foster genuine inclusion. REPRESENTATION ISN’T SYMBOLIC. IT’S STRATEGIC. For too long, representation in policing has been treated as symbolic – a gesture, a checkbox or an image on a recruitment campaign. For women and Indigenous people, representation isn’t metaphorical. It means intentionally incorporating diverse voices and perspectives to enhance decision-making, foster community trust and shape policing in ways that reflect and serve the people it protects. When women step into leadership, they bring perspectives shaped by resilience, empathy and lived experience. When Indigenous officers serve in uniform, they bring knowledge of culture, history and community that no training manual can replicate. These aren’t symbolic contributions – they’re strategies for stronger, more effective policing. Representation builds trust. It gives communities confidence that their voices will be heard and their realities understood. It strengthens the service by reducing blind spots and creating space for innovative solutions. Most importantly, it shows the next generation that they too, belong in these spaces of leadership and service. Policing continues to struggle with recruiting and retaining Indigenous and racialized officers. I believe this is largely due to the lack of representation in leadership roles. As Marian Wright Edelman famously said, “You can’t be what you can’t see.” I know that feeling. I’ve walked into countless rooms as the only woman, the only Indigenous person – or both. Often, I’ve been the sole voice raising issues of equity and culture. That kind of isolation is intimidating and exhausting. I’ve seen the positive impact of representation firsthand. A young girl I met at age seven is now 13 and one of Akwesasne Mohawk Police Service’s first Junior Cadets. She tells me she can’t wait to become a police officer like me. When a recruit says that seeing me in this role makes them believe they can advance in policing, it matters. When a woman shares that I gave her the courage to take a brave step, it matters even more. Representation strengthens morale, inspires the next generations and creates stronger connections with communities. It also changes the conversations in the room. When you’ve lived through systemic bias, trauma or barriers that others can’t see, you bring an understanding that enriches decision-making. You begin asking different questions: Who is missing from this table? Whose voice hasn’t been heard? How will this policy affect those already marginalized? These aren’t just equity questions. They’re leadership and strategic questions that will keep policing relevant and trusted in a rapidly changing society. RESILIENT LEADERSHIP STARTS WITHIN “Resilience” is a word we hear often in policing. Too frequently, it’s used to romanticize struggle or justify silence. But real resilience isn’t about toughing it out. It’s about healing, adapting and moving forward with purpose. For me, resilient leadership means knowing when to push and when to pause. It means creating space for reflection and connection. It means prioritizing well-being – not just for myself, but so I can better serve others. BUT REAL RESILIENCE ISN’T ABOUT TOUGHING IT OUT. IT’S ABOUT HEALING, ADAPTING AND MOVING FORWARD WITH PURPOSE. FOR ME, RESILIENT LEADERSHIP MEANS KNOWING WHEN TO PUSH AND WHEN TO PAUSE. This is a shift our profession desperately needs. For too long, we’ve minimized stress, ignored trauma and celebrated overwork. Burnout, moral injury and mental health struggles are real, and they’re costing us good members. Wellness also is not a luxury in policing. It’s a necessity. That means encouraging members to take vacation without guilt. It means supporting those who take time off to care for their young families and loved ones and ensuring officers have access to culturally safe mental health supports. It means teaching recruits that asking for help is a sign of strength – not weakness. If we want resilient officers, we need resilient systems – systems that allow for recovery, growth, healing and long-term sustainability. We must make an honest effort to foster resilience coaching from within our own organizations. CULTURE CHANGE TAKES COURAGE We will not transform policing through policies alone. Culture change takes courage. It requires leaders willing to ask hard questions, challenge legacy thinking and create space for voices that have long been overlooked. This doesn’t mean abandoning discipline or professionalism. It means expanding our understanding of what leadership truly entails. As retired OPP Commissioner Chris Lewis said, “People often view change as a threat. True leaders view it as an opportunity to improve service delivery and better support employees.” In the past, leadership was often defined by control – of situations, narratives and outcomes. Today’s policing requires more than control. It requires connection. It requires empathy. It requires authenticity and the ability to lead diverse teams. That means we must stop treating empathy, cultural intelligence and vulnerability as “soft skills.” They are critical capabilities. Without them, our organizations risk becoming defensive, disconnected and unable to adapt to the challenges ahead. Culture change also means naming what others might prefer to ignore: lateral violence, gender bias, “bloodism” (an ideology of defining nationality or ethnicity by bloodline), tribalism, systemic racism and the silent ways we push out our own. Silence does not equal stability. Silence often signals a culture where people feel unsafe to speak. Creating safe spaces for dialogue and accountability takes courage. Without that courage, there can be no trust; without trust, there can be no progress. When I first started writing, it was a private act, a way to process the trauma I had carried for many years. Eventually, I felt called to share it. Something told me my story wasn’t meant to stay hidden, and that it could help someone else feel seen, understood or inspired to keep going. This message is for anyone who has ever felt alone in this profession or faced struggles they keep hidden. For those told to stay quiet, to strive for perfection or to shrink themselves to fit into a mold that was never made for them. I want you to know this: healing is possible. Leading is possible. You can build a life, a career and a future you’re proud of, without denying the complex parts of your story or pretending to be someone you’re not. You don’t have to be perfect to move forward. You just have to be brave. Lee-Ann O’Brien is the Deputy Chief of the Akwesasne Mohawk Police Service, with more than 20 years of experience in Indigenous policing. In 2015, she made history as the first woman in her service to be promoted to the rank of Patrol Sergeant. Since 2017, she has held several senior leadership roles, including Inspector of Field Operations and Acting Chief of Police. She has served as Deputy Chief since 2018. In addition to her leadership in policing, Deputy Chief O’Brien is a proud mother, wife and published author. Her debut book, Breaking Trail: From Complex Trauma to Command (Baico Publishing Inc. 2025), explores healing, resilience and leadership through the lens of her lived experience as a trauma survivor and an Indigenous woman in policing.