I have spent several weeks debating whether I should put these thoughts into words. If you are reading this, you know what I decided.
I have been in law enforcement since 2010. I started at 22 years old in a small rural Midwestern city of about 4,500 people. From there, I moved to a small county Sheriff’s Office that had a higher crime rate per capita than cities like Saint Louis or Chicago. I served that community for eight years. In 2014 alone, I was the first responding Deputy to two separate double homicides. The work was steady, dangerous, and often done alone. I was fortunate to come through those years physically and mentally stronger than when I began.
But the pay never matched the work.
I started at that Sheriff’s Office making $9 an hour and left at $15.85 an hour. Every Deputy I knew either lived on government assistance or worked a second job. My wife and I tried to make it work on one income each. We lived in Section 8 housing and relied on SNAP to feed our children. There was no path out of poverty on that wage.
So, I worked more.
For nearly four years, I worked 60 to 70 hours a week between two departments. We eventually dug ourselves out of poverty and were able to leave government assistance and purchase a modest 1,200-square-foot ranch-style home. It came through sacrifice, exhaustion, and missed time with family.
I did not come to Wyoming blindly. I came intentionally.
I wanted a better future for my children. I wanted to work in a state that valued professionalism and high standards. I wanted to serve in an agency known for integrity and discipline. When I arrived at the Wyoming Highway Patrol in 2022, I found some of the most dedicated professionals I have ever served beside. The culture is strong. The integrity is real. When a Wyoming State Trooper arrives on scene, the public receives a highly trained and committed professional.
But I also found something familiar.
Pay had been stagnant for years. Inflation and rising costs were not. Recruitment was struggling. Staffing was thin.
The duty station I was assigned to had two Troopers covering 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. To fill gaps, the agency relied heavily on Temporary Duty Assignments (TDAs). I volunteered. I believed — and still believe — that serving where needed is part of the oath.
Through TDAs, I served communities across this state. Many of those areas were operating with less than 50 percent of their assigned Troopers available. This was supposed to be temporary.
It has not been.
Most Troopers working the road today have fewer than five years with the Patrol. They shoulder long shifts alone on rural highways and busy interstates alike. Backup can be an hour away. They respond because that is the oath. But they do it knowing staffing levels around them are thin.
For years, overtime became the way we kept coverage afloat. It helped fill gaps and maintain visibility. For many Troopers, it also helped bridge the financial gap created by stagnant wages. It was never ideal, but it allowed us to serve at a level we believed the public deserved.
At the same time, constant overtime came with a cost — fatigue, missed time at home, strain on families, and burnout.
Now, with budget pressures, overtime has been reduced. On paper, that may look like relief. In reality, it creates a different tension. Troopers are working closer to 40 hours a week, which helps with exhaustion, but staffing gaps still exist. The calls still come. The miles of highway have not shrunk. The expectations from the public have not lowered.
We find ourselves less exhausted, but also earning less than overtime once compensated for — and still feeling that we are not meeting the standard of service we hold ourselves to.
That is the nuance.
This is not about wanting more overtime or less overtime. It is about stability. It is about having enough fully staffed, properly compensated professionals so coverage does not rely on exhaustion or financial sacrifice.
Recently, I was offered a position with another agency in Wyoming. It came with seven dollars more per hour, better benefits, and staffing levels that would reduce working dangerous calls alone.
I declined it.
Not because the offer was not attractive. It was. I declined it because I believe in the Wyoming Highway Patrol and the people I serve beside. I believe the culture here is worth preserving. I believe the citizens of Wyoming deserve a Patrol staffed with experienced, committed professionals who choose to stay — not because they cannot leave, but because they are supported well enough to remain.
I have read the other stories being shared. Some are written in frustration. Some in heartbreak. Some in resignation after years of service. Some in urgency, fearing what may happen if nothing changes. I understand each of those tones.
When people dedicate decades of their lives to this profession — responding to fatal crashes, working alone on dark highways, carrying trauma home to their families — and begin to feel instability beneath them, emotion follows. That emotion can sound sharp. It can sound alarmed. It can sound tired. But behind it is not hatred for this agency. Behind it is care. It is loyalty strained by uncertainty.
I do not view those voices as rebellion. I view them as evidence that people still believe this job matters enough to fight for. The common thread in every story is not anger — it is the desire to see the Wyoming Highway Patrol remain strong, respected, and sustainable.
For my part, I am not writing from anger, resignation, or alarm. I am writing from conviction. I believe this agency is worth preserving. I believe its culture and professionalism are worth protecting. And I believe Wyoming is capable of addressing these challenges in a way that strengthens the Patrol for the next generation rather than allowing instability to define it.
In my years as a Peace Officer, I have learned that complex problems require honest acknowledgment before they can be solved. I do not claim to have every solution. But I do know this: competitive compensation is not about comfort. It is about sustainability. It is about preventing history from repeating itself.
I have lived what underpaid law enforcement does to a family. I have climbed out of it once. I do not want to watch it slowly take root here.
I am staying. And I am trusting that Wyoming will meet this moment with the same resilience and responsibility that it expects from those who wear the badge.