by Paul Gullon-Scott BSc MA MSc MSc FMBPSS
Following the release of the article my wife and I published via Forensic Focus on January 16, 2025, titled When The Job Comes Home: The Personal Toll Of Digital Forensics, a serving digital forensic investigator reached out to me and took the brave step of sharing their story. Their goal was to add their voice to the growing call for improved mental health support for DFIs. This is what they told me.
This investigator has spent a decade uncovering crucial evidence in some of the most disturbing and high-profile criminal cases. Their role has been central in bringing abusers, murderers, and cybercriminals to justice, ensuring that victims receive the closure they deserve. But while forensic investigators work behind the scenes, their exposure to graphic evidence, distressing materials, and traumatic case details leaves lasting scars.
Unlike frontline officers, digital forensic investigators are often overlooked in terms of psychological support. When support is available, it is typically reactive rather than preventative, often arriving too late—after cracks have already begun to show. This delay frequently results in time away from work, adding to the workload of the remaining team, who are acutely aware of the strain and may experience feelings of guilt.
There is an assumption that because they are not physically present at crime scenes, they are somehow shielded from the emotional and mental burden. Some senior supervisors also mistakenly believe that AI tools, such as child abuse image databases, process all recovered images, reducing human exposure. However, the reality is very different. The horrors they witness are no less real simply because they appear on a screen.
Unlike frontline officers, digital forensic investigators are exposed daily to the darkest depths of human depravity. This story is a testament to the hidden cost of justice, exposing the flaws in a system that should be protecting those who uncover the truth.
The Path Into Digital Forensics
This investigator’s journey into digital forensics began with a love for technology and problem-solving. After completing three years of IT studies, they started a career in corporate e-discovery, focusing on fraud investigations and data analysis. However, corporate work lacked the sense of purpose they were looking for. They wanted to contribute to criminal investigations, applying their skills to cases that made a real difference in society.
The opportunity came when they joined the private sector, working for a company providing forensic services for law enforcement agencies, including the National Crime Agency (NCA). It was a significant step up—they would now be working on criminal cases, dealing with offenders, victims, and the full weight of the justice system.
Their first introduction to the world of child exploitation material (CSAM) was not through training or a carefully managed induction; it was in a job interview. A hiring manager, a former police officer, placed a laptop in front of them and opened explicit images of child abuse, watching their reaction closely. “It was a test to see if I could handle what the job entailed.”
At the time, the investigator was shocked but said nothing. They wanted the job and understood that their reaction could determine whether they were hired. They pushed down their discomfort, determined to prove they were capable. Years later, they would look back and recognize how damaging that moment had been—not just for them, but for many investigators hired under the same circumstances.
The Psychological Toll of the Work
Over the years, they worked on hundreds of cases, each leaving its mark. Some, however, never faded. One of the first major cases they dealt with involved recovering dashcam footage from a car involved in a murder. The video captured every second of the attack—the victim greeting their killer, the conversation turning dark, and then the sound of stabbing. Over 40 wounds were inflicted in a brutal frenzy. The investigator watched and listened as the victim screamed, begged for their life, and eventually fell silent.
As time passed, their ability to compartmentalise the horrors they encountered at work started to break down. The images, sounds, and experiences began invading their everyday life. Visiting or driving past certain locations became unbearable. They could no longer take their children to a particular beach, after uncovering a case where an offender had set up a tent there to commit horrific crimes. Driving past certain houses triggered feelings of rage, knowing that individuals who had committed unspeakable acts had once lived there or were still living there.
But the worst experiences came at night. They endured vivid, distressing flashbacks, often triggered by everyday occurrences—a sound, a phrase, or even a fleeting thought. These moments pulled them back into the evidence they had examined, forcing them to relive what they had seen.
Their nightmares were even more visceral. They often dreamt of being present at crime scenes, witnessing the abuse unfold yet powerless to stop it. The frustration and helplessness they felt during waking hours carried over into sleep, triggering violent reactions. Their partner described how they struck out in their sleep, as if battling an invisible enemy. In these dreams, they weren’t just watching—they were intervening. They recalled dreams where they physically attacked offenders, beating them until they could no longer harm their victims.
These episodes of striking out in sleep have become a significant concern, not just for their own well-being but also for their family. Severe night sweats, restless leg syndrome, and occasional sleep paralysis—where they felt trapped in their own body, unable to move as terrifying visions played out—became increasingly common.
The Lack of Support
Despite the severity of their symptoms, mental health support in their workplace is nearly nonexistent. Officially, staff receive an annual mental health questionnaire, but the unwritten rule is to downplay any struggles. Those who acknowledge difficulties often face stigma, treated as if they are no longer fit for the job.
They also found that the psychological assessments used to gauge well-being fail to account for neurodiverse individuals, despite digital forensics being a field that attracts those with ADHD, autism, and other neurodivergent traits. The tools in place to measure distress are outdated, often failing to capture the unique ways that forensic investigators process trauma.
The Unseen Burden
“From the outside, people assume that working in digital forensics means sitting at a desk all day, clicking through files, running scripts, and writing reports. They don’t see the mental scars, the erosion of self-worth, or the moral injury of being exposed to humanity’s worst atrocities with no real outlet for relief.
“You sit at a computer all day and then go home. But it’s not just that. Our minds don’t just switch off.”
The weight of the job, compounded by personal struggles, left them searching for an exit. They considered leaving or switching careers, but the options weren’t straightforward. Their expertise lay in a field few could handle, yet those who did received little recognition for their sacrifices. This investigator’s story is not unique—it reflects the reality of many in their field. Unseen warriors fighting battles no one acknowledges, suffering wounds no one can see or is willing to treat. Until real support structures are in place and the stigma is dismantled, the cycle will persist.
For now, they endure day by day, resisting the urge to give up, clinging to the reasons to stay. But they know that something must change—otherwise, one day, there may be nothing left to fight for.
A Call for Change
This investigator’s story is more than a personal struggle—it is a reflection of a broken system, one that demands the impossible from those who tirelessly uncover the darkest truths yet offers little in return. These individuals stand on the frontlines of justice, unseen and unrecognized, carrying the weight of humanity’s worst atrocities. And yet, when they need help, they are too often met with silence.
But silence is no longer an option.
The mental and emotional toll on digital forensic investigators is undeniable, yet current support structures continue to fail them. A reactive approach is not enough—proactive, preventative care must be in place before the cracks begin to show. The stigma surrounding mental health in this field must be dismantled, ensuring that those who suffer never have to choose between their well-being and their career.
To those in positions of leadership: Listen! Acknowledge! & Act! Recognise the sacrifices made by these investigators and ensure they are no longer left to battle alone. Change is long overdue, and without it, we risk losing highly skilled, conscientious investigators who dedicate their lives to justice.
To the investigators still carrying this burden: You are not invisible. Your pain is real, and your struggles are valid. You are not weak for needing help, and you are not alone. Together, your voices are growing louder, demanding the support you deserve.
The question now is who will listen? And more importantly, who will act before it’s too late?
Paul Gullon-Scott BSc MA MSc MSc FMBPSS is a former Digital Forensic Investigator with nearly 30 years of service at Northumbria Police in the UK, specializing in child abuse cases. As a recognized expert on the mental health impacts of digital forensic work, Paul now works as a Higher Assistant Psychologist at Roseberry Park Hospital in Middlesbrough and is the developer of a pioneering well-being framework to support digital forensics investigators facing job-related stress. He recently published the research paper “UK-based Digital Forensic Investigators and the Impact of Exposure to Traumatic Material” and has chosen to collaborate with Forensic Focus in order to raise awareness of the mental health effects associated with digital forensics. Paul can be contacted in confidence via LinkedIn.
