Communicating when crisis becomes common

When crisis never stops, the way we communicate has to change.

Most crisis plans assume an arc: incident → response → recovery. But for many public safety organizations and communicators today, there is no recovery phase. The next emergency arrives before the last one has ended. That changes the work. And it changes us.

Key takeaways

• When crisis is constant, traditional crisis plans break down — they assume a recovery phase that never comes.
• Perpetual urgency changes how leaders decide, how messages land and how teams function.
• Numbness is not resilience. Recognizing the human cost of sustained crisis is part of doing this work well.
• Preparation has to go beyond templates and talking points — it needs to build calm, confidence and emotional sustainability.
• The goal isn’t just to survive the next emergency. It’s to still be able to think, feel and lead when it’s over.

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It’s not a matter of if, but when.

That’s what I have told dozens of leaders, cops, deputies, firefighters, PIOs and communicators. Basically anyone who will listen.

Prepare now. Think it through today. Do that tabletop in the “down” time.

Because when a crisis happens, you’ll have no idea which way is up. Your brain won’t work like it should. You’ll feel like every word is a struggle. All that practice? All that practice will be your savior. Your lifeline. Your guiding star. Your bridge back to your community.

But what happens when it’s always blowing up? What happens when you hop from one crisis to the next without ever returning to calm?

That’s a question I never expected to face.

When crisis is the norm

For years, I told myself: “This is my job. You compartmentalize. That’s why you’re good at this. You can care and still keep moving.”

Then came the day federal agents killed Alex Pretti on a Minneapolis street.

The thought I had was simple: I’m numb.

My phones started ringing. Reporters pivoted to breaking news. I saw the video. Then I got the call to head into the State Emergency Operations Center (SEOC). Again. For the umpteenth time. I got dressed, grabbed some snacks and hit the road.

My in-dash console was short-circuiting as text messages poured in. “Are you OK?” “How are you holding up.” “I’m thinking about you.” “What the hell?”

I responded to a few with the truth: I’m fine.

I felt calm. I listened to music on my drive in. I got to the SEOC, walked into the Joint Information Center and got to work.

That’s what we do.

When it’s all too much

The wall always comes.

In 2025, I spent several days in Two Harbors helping communicate about a massive wildfire that destroyed dozens of homes and more than 28,000 acres. I answered phone calls from distraught residents wondering if their belongings and their homes were safe or burned to ashes. That was in mid-May.

One month later, a lawmaker was assassinated in her home by a man posing as a police officer. Her husband and their dog were also gunned down. Another politician and his wife were shot and nearly died. I worked more than 30 hours in two days as public safety officials went on a 43-hour manhunt.

Aug. 27. Two children were gunned down at a Catholic school. I sat in the Minneapolis joint information center with stunned communicators who silently sobbed as the mayor and police chief spoke to the city, the state, the nation.

Then came 2026. Operation Metro Surge. ICE agents kill Renee Good. Protests. Tear gas. Federal agents throwing people to the ground and beating them. Thousands of federal agents outnumbering our local police. Trust eroding. Our local law enforcement put in harm’s way and impossible situations.

The first three weeks of the year carried enough tragedy for 12 months.

That’s when I understood something I had missed for years:

We train for crisis. But we don’t train for living inside it.

Emergency after emergency

Crisis plans assume an arc: incident → response → recovery. But for many public safety organizations and communicators today, there is no recovery phase. The next emergency arrives before the last one has ended.

That changes the work. And it changes us. It changes how leaders make decisions. It changes how messages land with the public. It changes how teams function. And it changes what preparation really means.

Practice still matters. Tabletop exercises still matter. Templates still matter.

But so does recognizing the human cost of perpetual urgency. So does building systems that don’t rely on adrenaline forever. So does making room for reflection before numbness becomes the norm.

This isn’t about being fragile. It’s about being sustainable. It’s about being human. It’s about recognizing that we can’t help the people we serve — or ourselves — when we are so depleted that we lose our capacity to have empathy.

If crisis is no longer an exception but a constant, then our approach to communication has to evolve with it — not just tactically, but culturally.

At True North Communications, that belief shapes everything we do. Clear guidance matters most when people are overwhelmed. Steady counsel matters most when leaders are under pressure. And care matters most when systems are stretched thin and emotions run hot.

Crisis communication can’t just be about speed and control anymore. It has to account for:

• Exhausted teams
• Traumatized communities
• Leaders making decisions inside uncertainty and within a highly politicized environment
• A public that has learned to distrust official language, the government — and each other

That means we have to prepare differently. Not just with templates and talking points but with training that builds calm and confidence, with exercises that reflect emotional reality and with strategies that leave room for humanity alongside authority.

Preparing is about more than surviving

The goal isn’t just to survive the next emergency. It’s to still be able to think, feel and lead when it’s over. It’s to still have enough left in the tank at the end of the day so we can recharge, spend quality time with our families and friends, enjoy our lives outside of our careers, process what’s happening outside of a work environment.

And that raises a question I don’t think we’re asking often enough: How should crisis communication change when crisis is the norm?

If you work in public safety, government, education, health care or any field where crises are no longer rare, I’d love to hear your perspective. What’s working? What isn’t? How can we fix it? What do you think organizations need to be doing differently?