Noah's Story

I know it sounds cliché, but I genuinely joined the police with a desire to serve and help my community. This deep-rooted belief has never wavered, and I will always hold it close to my heart. I believe most officers join with a strong sense of duty... to keep the public safe, preserve life, and protect those who can't protect themselves.

In my first few weeks on the job, I quickly learned the unfortunate reality that a minority of the public, for their own reasons, would shout abuse or even spit at you simply for doing your job. Despite this, I never imagined I would suffer such a violent attack that would require facial surgery and leave me with hidden wounds—ones only I could feel. Until that moment, I never thought I would consider leaving the job I loved. But the anxiety that gripped me every time I got into my car to go to work made me question whether I could continue.

I was attacked in the early hours of a cold, wet, wintery Sunday morning on a busy city centre street while policing the nighttime economy. I was there to ensure people enjoying the nightlife could do so safely and without becoming victims of crime. It was a routine deployment I had done many times over the years, something I was confident and comfortable doing. I enjoyed being out on foot, interacting with the public, giving directions, and helping ensure everyone had a safe night.

The attack lasted less than thirty seconds, but its impact has stayed with me for years. It began when several fights broke out simultaneously on the street. Each involved different groups and were unrelated. My colleague Tom and I responded to the nearest fight, separated the parties, and offered words of advice. Both groups apologised, shook our hands, and resolved their differences peacefully. That’s always how I aimed to handle situations through communication, assertiveness, and using force only as a last resort. Those handshakes stayed with me, especially because of what happened less than a minute later.

After the handshakes, I turned and saw our colleague Olivia trying to reason with two large, aggressive men. Both were clearly under the influence of alcohol and drugs and were pushing Olivia back toward a wall. I saw her draw her PAVA spray and fire two short bursts. One man retreated, but the other remained threatening. Tom and I instinctively moved to support Olivia. The man was clearly committing multiple offences. We quickly restrained him, placed him on the ground, and handcuffed him as Olivia placed him under arrest.

Conscious of preserving the arrested male’s dignity while ensuring our safety, we arranged to help him back onto his feet. As I stepped up on my right leg and looked up, all I remember is his fist raining down on me, striking my face. The pain was instant and overwhelming, I felt one side of my face collapse and shift into the other. A deep numbness followed as I passed out, watching my attacker’s figure fade away.

I woke up several minutes later, likely brought round by the cold, wet cobbles under my cheek and the winter rain. Olivia was above me, the arrested male still present, and Ava, another officer, was kneeling by my side. Tom was nowhere to be seen. I later learned he had chased and detained my attacker several streets away, arresting him for the assault. As I tried to speak to Ava, I noticed loose pieces of tooth on my tongue.

A quick swipe of my tongue across my front teeth confirmed they were damaged. The panic I felt was indescribable, I had always taken great care of my teeth, and the thought of losing them had been one of my worst fears. I was rushed to hospital by ambulance. There, I was diagnosed with multiple facial fractures, broken teeth, and a concussion. Due to the swelling and bruising, I was told to return in a few days for a full assessment. Naively, I believed I’d be back at work within a week or two, how wrong I was.

Once home, I managed to sleep, likely from sheer exhaustion. The following days felt surreal. The pain in my face and head was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. When I returned to hospital, I was told I needed immediate facial surgery. It felt unreal, like it wasn’t happening to me. The consultant explained that my injuries were rare and that external facial incisions might be necessary, potentially leaving permanent disfigurement. That news hit me hard. I felt hot, nauseous, and struggled to breathe, only later realising I’d had a mild panic attack. A dental surgeon also confirmed the damage to my teeth was permanent and would take months to repair.

On the morning of my surgery, I entered a small room to change and was suddenly overwhelmed by panic. I feared waking up disfigured and felt an unfamiliar fury toward my attacker. Initially, I thought my racing heart was due to anger, but as I grew lightheaded and struggled to breathe, I realised it was fear of the unknown. Trembling and nauseous, I sat with my head between my legs, trying to calm myself. Seeing the IV line in my hand intensified the panic. Time blurred until a nurse entered and helped me regain composure. The NHS staff were world-class, and my surgical team successfully completed the procedure without external facial incisions. I was discharged and returned home.

In the weeks that followed, my physical injuries slowly healed, but my self-esteem and confidence plummeted. I felt like everyone was staring at me. I became irritated when people checked in, yet I also craved reassurance. I now know I was suffering from depression. Sleep was the worst, nightmares replayed the attack over and over. I realised I needed help and reached out to my force’s occupational health unit, only to be told the waiting list was over fourteen weeks, with a two-week wait just for triage.

Returning to work, I felt unprepared, nervous, and tense. It seemed like everyone expected me to be fine, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Every day, I battled with myself just to get in the car and go to work. I forced myself into situations to prove my fears wrong, but neither approach was healthy. It got so bad that I started looking for other jobs, any mundane job that might help me escape how I was feeling.

Eventually, I began counselling through occupational health. It helped immensely, especially in the lead-up to and during my attacker’s trial. Talking to someone who listened without judgment was invaluable. The sessions helped me process the trauma and navigate the criminal justice system, which felt indifferent to my experience. It seemed there was an unspoken assumption that, as a police officer, what happened to me was just part of the job. But my attacker’s actions were clearly premeditated and unforgivable. That assumption was confirmed when he received only a six-month custodial sentence. Attending court felt like reliving a nightmare each time. Thankfully, Operation Hampshire has since been implemented, aiming to improve how police assaults are handled and how victims are supported. I’m proud that my experience contributed to those changes.

After the trial, things didn’t immediately improve. It was only after attending the Police Treatment Centre in Scotland and completing their mental wellbeing programme that I began to feel better. That programme essentially saved me and helped me stay in the job I love. While there, I met trustees from Thin Blue Line UK and learned about the charity’s incredible work. They genuinely cared about me and my story. I was introduced to the THRIVE support app they sponsor, and gaining access to it was a lifeline. The therapy chat service helped me continue my recovery. I only wish I’d known about Thin Blue Line UK sooner, it could have made a real difference during the long wait for counselling.

As police officers, we often say we’re okay and carry on, hiding how we truly feel out of fear of being judged or seen as weak. As a man, I know how hard it is to talk honestly about emotions. I’d be lying if I said opening up was easy, it wasn’t. But having lived through this experience, I now understand how vital it is to talk and how healing it can be. That honesty helped me recover.

I now feel like I’ve got my life back on track, having recovered both mentally and physically from my injuries. I’m still in policing, doing the job I love. I will always be grateful to the Police Treatment Centre and Thin Blue Line UK for being there when I needed them. It’s thanks to their support that I’m still serving as a police officer, able to uphold my belief in helping my community and supporting those in need.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story.