Crisis response doesn’t leave much room for error. You train, you react, and sometimes, you survive by half a second. But no one can live in that headspace 24/7. Something has to balance it out.
For Lieutenant Jeb Bozarth, it’s faith, family, and the discipline of staying sharp. Not just in tactics—but in life.
Bozarth spent over three decades serving. First, as a U.S. Navy Seabee. Then as a SWAT commander with the Henderson Police Department. His career was built around high-stakes moments. But his foundation? That came from what he did outside the uniform.
“People think the job is all about gear and grit,” Bozarth once said during a training. “But if you don’t have a strong center, the job will eat you alive.”
Faith has always been part of Bozarth’s routine. He’s a parishioner at Saint Francis of Assisi Catholic Church in Henderson, Nevada. But it’s not just about Sunday mass.
It’s structure. It’s reflection. It’s having a compass that doesn’t change when the world gets chaotic.
Bozarth said he got into the habit of quiet prayer during Navy deployments.
“In Iraq, we’d finish 16-hour shifts, and I’d sit on a case of water and just talk to God. Not deep thoughts—just thanks for still being here.”
That habit stuck. Today, he uses those same early morning moments to clear his mind before stepping into a room full of trainees.
Faith doesn’t replace training. But for him, it reinforces it.
Bozarth and his wife Erica have five kids. That’s a full-time job on its own.
Being a SWAT commander didn’t stop him from coaching soccer, helping with homework, or flipping pancakes on Saturday mornings. He credits that contrast with keeping him levelheaded.
“I could be at a barricade one night and cleaning up spilled milk the next morning,” he joked. “My kids don’t care what rank I held. They care if I show up.”
A home life that demands normalcy helps prevent burnout. It reminds you why the hard work matters. When your job revolves around crisis, home becomes your calm.
He says the biggest mental reset after a long shift was walking through the front door and hearing “Dad” instead of “Lieutenant.”
Bozarth is a firearms instructor. But his view on weapons is more about mindset than mechanics.
He trains civilians, not just officers. His message? If you own a gun, you need to train with it. Not once. Not yearly. Regularly.
“I’ve seen people buy a gun, throw it in a drawer, and call it safety. That’s false confidence,” he said during a community course. “Skill fades. Muscle memory fades. Use it or lose it.”
Firearms require respect, control, and practice. They’re not magic. They’re tools. His own training schedule includes dry-fire drills, decision-making scenarios, and equipment checks. Weekly.
For Bozarth, guns aren’t about image. They’re about responsibility. And the weight of that keeps him sharp.
Working in law enforcement or military environments takes a toll. The data proves it.
Bozarth built his own off-duty system over time. Here’s what it looks like:
It’s not fancy. But it’s consistent. That consistency is what protects long careers from breaking down.
A lot of people in crisis roles crash after retirement. No plan. No purpose. No identity beyond the badge.
Bozarth saw it happen. That’s why he created Critical Training Solution LLC after leaving the force in 2025.
The idea wasn’t to “stay busy.” It was to stay relevant. To share lessons. To build something bigger than his past roles.
But without his foundation—faith, family, firearms—he says none of it would’ve worked.
“If I didn’t have those things set early, I would’ve burned out long ago,” he said. “The work is heavy. You need strong roots.”
If you work in any role involving crisis—public safety, healthcare, military, trauma response—your job is hard. Don’t wait for burnout to force change. Build a foundation now.
Here are a few habits that work:
Even five minutes makes a difference. No phone. No noise. Just reset.
Schedule it if you have to. Show up 100%. That investment pays off later.
If you carry a weapon, practice with it. If you manage emergencies, rehearse them. Don’t wing it.
Don’t bring the job home. Create a routine that separates work and personal life. Change clothes. Take a walk. Wash your hands. Anything that signals “off duty.”
Faith. Community. Mentorship. Purpose doesn’t have to be loud. But it has to be there.
Lieutenant Jeb Bozarth didn’t build a life of calm by accident. He built it with intention. He treated his personal world with the same seriousness as a SWAT callout.
Faith gave him grounding. Family gave him purpose. Firearms gave him structure. Together, they created the balance that allowed him to serve at the highest levels—without falling apart.
You don’t have to be a cop or a soldier to learn from that. You just have to build something solid outside the chaos.
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