Are Dispatchers First Responders? (Part III)

There’s one argument that always shows up in this conversation: Dispatchers aren’t in physical danger.

They aren’t running toward gunfire. They aren’t pulling people from burning buildings. They aren’t standing in traffic or wrestling uncooperative suspects. And yes, compared to field responders, dispatchers are unlikely to be shot, stabbed, or physically injured on the job.

That part is mostly true. But it’s also incomplete.

Physical danger has become the shorthand we use to decide whose stress “counts.” And in doing so, we ignore a different kind of danger that is quieter, harder to explain, and often more corrosive over time.

A Literal Nightmare

Ask almost anyone about their worst recurring nightmare. Chances are it involves being stuck. Frozen. Unable to move. Watching or listening to something terrible unfold while being powerless to intervene. Screaming without sound. Running without moving. Knowing exactly what needs to happen and being physically unable to make it happen.

Dispatchers don’t dream that scenario. They clock in for it.

Emergency call-takers listen to violence in real time. They hear panic, fear, grief, and sometimes final breaths. They guide people through life-saving actions knowing help is still minutes away. They listen as things escalate, deteriorate, or end, while remaining calm enough to keep the caller functional. And then, they answer the next call.

That kind of exposure changes you. Slowly, quietly, cumulatively.

Field responders experience trauma in bursts. Dispatchers experience it in layers. They carry fragments of hundreds of people’s worst days, often without resolution. They rarely see the outcome. They may never know whether the person on the other end lived or died.

A Lack of Closure

If you want to be a dispatcher, you have to accept that you won’t always get closure. You won’t always get answers. You won’t always get the relief of seeing the scene resolve.

Most first responders attend debriefings after major incidents. They talk it through. They step away. They process, formally or informally. Dispatchers, often get left out, and are typically expected to just keep working. Headset on. Phone ringing. Radio active.

What makes this worse is how often dispatch trauma is overlooked entirely. Because it isn’t visible. Because it doesn’t leave scars you can point to. Because dispatchers “weren’t there.”

Yes, physical danger is real. Yes, it deserves respect. But mental health has always been a massive component of being a first responder, even if we’ve been slow to admit it. Suicide and depression have taken more public safety lives than most line-of-duty hazards combined.

Dispatchers live in that same ecosystem of stress, without the same recognition, support, or resources. They are expected to absorb chaos, regulate emotion, make critical decisions, and then move on as if nothing just happened. Over time, that cost shows up in sleep disruption, anxiety, burnout, emotional numbing, and strained relationships.

And still, dispatchers are often the last ones considered when mental health resources are distributed.

Dispatchers may not face the same physical risks as their counterparts in the field. But they face a different kind of danger, one that accumulates silently and doesn’t announce itself until it’s already done damage.

If we’re serious about supporting first responders, we have to expand our understanding of what danger looks like.

Sometimes it’s loud and obvious.

Sometimes it’s a calm voice, sitting still, listening to the worst moments of someone else’s life, knowing there’s nothing more they can physically do.

And then answering the next call anyway.

That counts.