I knew early on I wanted a life of service.
I spent eight years in the United States Marine Corps before beginning my law enforcement career in 2005. That transition wasn’t a departure from service so much as a continuation of it — just in a different uniform, with different stakes and different kinds of calls for help. Today, I serve as a detective with the Joliet Police Department, working cases that require focus, patience and attention to detail.
Across both careers, I have seen what trauma and loss look like on a personal level. You learn how to manage it. You compartmentalize, stay focused and keep moving forward because the work demands it, and the people you serve are counting on you.
Over time, I realized something most people in this profession come to understand: The job will take everything you give it, if you let it.
What stays with you is not one defining moment but the accumulation of long shifts, difficult calls and the responsibility that follows you home, whether you want it to or not.
Restless nights, less patience
For many in law enforcement and the military, that weight builds quietly. It shows up in restless nights, shorter patience and a constant sense of being “on,” even when the shift is over. Over time, that becomes normal in a way that is hard to explain outside the profession.
For a long time, I accepted that as part of the job. Then I found something that helped me step away from it, even if only for a little while.
For me, that place is on the water.
When I am fishing, my focus shifts completely. I am not thinking about cases or past calls. I am thinking about what lure to use, where the fish might be and how the water is moving. It is simple, but that is the point. It forces my mind to be present in a way the job rarely allows.
A few summers ago, I had a moment that changed how I thought about that time. Sitting on the water, I realized I had no worries in that moment. No negative thoughts. No frustration — just calm that felt very different from the pace of daily life.
It made me realize how much that kind of reset matters, not just for me, but for others still carrying the same weight without enough outlets to release it.
That realization led me to Heroes on the Water and eventually to starting a chapter in the Chicago area. What we do is straightforward. We bring police officers, veterans, first responders and their families together for time on the water.
But what happens there goes beyond the activity itself. It creates space to slow down, be present and set aside, even briefly, the things we carry every day. That kind of space is rare in professions that rarely slow down.
A big catch
I have seen its impact in moments that might seem small from the outside but matter deeply to the people living them. A veteran trying something new after years away from it. An officer spending uninterrupted time with family without calls or schedules pulling them away. People laughing, relaxed and fully present in a way that is not always easy to reach in daily life.
One moment stands out: a Navy veteran and retired Chicago police officer who joined us, got into a kayak for the first time and caught her first fish. She spent the entire day smiling. It was simple, but it mattered. Because for a while, whatever she had been carrying was not the focus.
That is what this is about. Not escaping the realities of the job but making it possible to keep doing it without letting it take everything.
In both military and law enforcement, there is a mindset of pushing through. That mindset is necessary in critical moments, but it cannot be the only way forward in everyday life. There also has to be space to reset, reconnect and take care of the person behind the role before the weight becomes too heavy to carry alone.
I practice being more intentional with my time — prioritizing family, taking breaks to do the things I love and recognizing that stepping away is part of staying steady in the long run.
For others, it might look different. But the need is the same.
We all carry something. The difference is whether we have a place to put it down, even for a little while. For me, that place is on the water.
As National Police Week is observed, these stories matter because they speak to what is often unseen in this profession: the need for space to reset, reconnect and continue showing up for others without losing yourself in the process.
Jeremy Eaton is a detective with the Joliet Police Department and a U.S. Marine Corps veteran. He also founded the Heroes on the Water Chicago chapter, supporting veterans, first responders and their families through outdoor recreation and peer connection.