Even as agencies diversify their ranks, women in policing remain underrepresented and often underestimated. According to the 30x30 Initiative, nationwide, women make up just 12% of sworn officers and only 3% of police leadership. Despite growing attention to equity and inclusion, these numbers have hardly budged in decades. And for many women who enter the profession, the barriers aren’t limited to recruitment or promotion.
From unspoken exclusion to blatant harassment, the challenges they face go far beyond staffing numbers. These aren’t just isolated incidents; they’re systemic, cultural and persistent, woven into daily interactions, organizational dynamics and institutional silence.
In interviews with Assistant Sheriff Tanzanika Carter of the San Francisco Sheriff’s Office and Chief Sarah Ryan Blankenship of the Capitola Police Department, the stories are personal, yet the patterns are familiar. This field guide distills their insights into real-world strategies for addressing bias, building support and surviving when the silence is deafening.
| DOWNLOAD: Forge your future: A career guide for women in policing (eBook)
Under fire: Responding to microaggressions in real time
For women in law enforcement, microaggressions are often so routine they go unnoticed by others, but never by the person on the receiving end. The offhand comment. The unsolicited “joke.” The subtle undermining in front of peers. Each one chips away at confidence, credibility and connection. Left unchecked, these moments can accumulate into a corrosive undercurrent that affects retention, morale and psychological safety.
Chief Sarah Ryan Blankenship has experienced her share. “I’ve literally been pushed out of the way on calls for service,” she said. “And promotion as a female can be bittersweet. There’s always that component of, ‘How did you actually get to your spot?’ Are you really capable?”
These messages, whether spoken or implied, often carry the same weight as more overt hostility. For Blankenship, early encounters with bias forced her to play the long game. “I learned kind of early on in my career that it wasn’t about being right in law enforcement. It was about having the grit to stick with it and build my credibility,” she said. “That meant swallowing some insults, not because I agreed with them, but because I was building something bigger.”
This article is from “Forge your future: A career guide for women in policing,” which offers real stories, actionable strategies and tools to help you grow and lead with purpose. Download your free copy, sponsored by the University of San Diego Online, by completing the “Get Access to this Police1 Resource” box on this page!
That strategy doesn’t mean letting everything slide. It means picking your moment and your method. “I have a priming method,” she explained. “I’ll introduce a topic in a very casual sense to see how it lands, to figure out how to approach it. It’s strategy. Women are natural strategists. We use it in investigations all the time. Why wouldn’t we use it in interpersonal dynamics too?”
Assistant Sheriff Tanzanika Carter echoes that sentiment, emphasizing the importance of measured responses. “One of the things I’ve learned is that when you get upset, people stop listening,” she said. “But when you approach with curiosity or offer education, they stay engaged. I’ve said, ‘Hey, I know you might not have intended that but let me share how that lands for me.’ That usually opens up a dialogue.”
Carter also stresses the value of emotional control — not to avoid conflict, but to preserve power. “If I lose control of the room, I lose the opportunity to shift the culture. And that’s a responsibility I take seriously,” she said. “It’s not about protecting someone else’s feelings. It’s about staying in the game long enough to influence it.”
Both leaders agree: responding to microaggressions isn’t about playing nice, it’s about playing smart. And that takes experience, emotional intelligence and strategic patience.
The key, they say, is intentionality. Confronting bias isn’t always about calling someone out. Sometimes it’s about calling someone in with clarity, not compliance. Whether through soft confrontation, strategic redirection or quiet resolve, these women aren’t avoiding conflict — they’re choosing how to wield it.
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The comms are down: No safe place to report
Reporting bias or harassment through formal channels can feel like walking into a dead zone. The policies may exist on paper, but in practice, trust in the process is often tenuous at best. Fear of retaliation, being labeled a troublemaker or damaging one’s career trajectory keeps many women silent. And for those who have already witnessed reports backfire or go ignored, the silence becomes self-preservation.
Chief Sarah Ryan Blankenship shared a formative experience from her early years on the job. After repeatedly rebuffing inappropriate advances from a male supervisor, she became the target of escalating hostility and was mocked in front of peers, micromanaged and harassed. “I had to sit in a room with him and my chief at the time,” she recalled. “I said, ‘Is this conversation about my performance?’ He said, ‘Well, no.’ So I said, ‘Then with all due respect, sir, I need you to get out of my life.’”
Despite the gravity of the behavior, she chose not to file a formal complaint. The decision was strategic, not passive. “Everybody knew I was right,” she said. “But I would have been the woman no one could trust. I chose resilience. I worked. I smiled. I told my story. And eventually, he got in his own way and was removed.”
Still, the price of that decision haunts her. “I made an exchange that left others vulnerable,” she said. “And that is in direct conflict with everything I’ve devoted my professional life to. That’s not easy to live with.”
The cost of silence is often invisible until it’s not. The woman who chooses not to report may protect herself in the short term, but it can come at the expense of others who don’t yet have the experience or rank to navigate around toxic behavior.
Assistant Sheriff Tanzanika Carter echoed this painful dilemma. “We don’t always report because we’re thinking about survival, not vindication,” she said. “You’re weighing your credibility. Your career. You’re asking yourself, ‘Is this the hill I want to die on?’ And sometimes the answer is no.”
Carter emphasized that it’s rarely a question of whether someone has the courage to come forward. It’s a matter of whether the system they’re reporting into is ready to act with integrity. “You can’t ask people to walk into fire without showing them you’ve got water on the other side,” she said.
When formal systems fail or feel unsafe, informal support becomes critical. “I’ve leaned on people outside the profession,” Chief Blankenship said. “Sometimes I just needed someone to remind me I wasn’t crazy. That what I was experiencing wasn’t normal.”
These conversations, she noted, weren’t about seeking solutions, they were about validation and survival. “I needed that for my own sanity.”
For women in agencies without strong female representation or trusted leadership, backchannel support can serve as a lifeline.
Carter recommends identifying at least one person — inside or outside the organization — who can serve as a sounding board without judgment. “It might be a colleague. A mentor. Someone in another agency. The point is to find someone who will validate your experience and offer perspective without a hidden agenda.”
These unofficial networks also help women avoid internalizing the systems that isolate them. They offer a reminder that what’s happening isn’t just “how it is.” It’s something that can and should change.
And while building these support systems takes time, the benefits are undeniable. “You don’t need 10 people,” Carter said. “You just need one or two who have your back and will help you think through the next right move.”
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Ally extraction plan: How to build male buy-in
In male-dominated environments, progress for women often hinges on whether male colleagues choose to engage as allies or ignore the problem altogether. Silence may be safe, but it’s not neutral. Without active support from male peers, women are often left to fight institutional battles on their own.
The most powerful support, both leaders agree, doesn’t always come with a title. Sometimes it comes from small, intentional acts of respect — daily decisions that affirm a woman’s leadership, credibility and voice.
“When I became chief, I promoted two male captains,” Chief Sarah Ryan Blankenship said. “When they see me shrinking myself, doing the female thing of trying to be smaller, they say, ‘No, boss. This is a you decision.’ That daily respect and follow-through matters.”
These moments are quiet but powerful. They affirm authority without question. They model respect without performance. “It’s not just about opening doors,” she said. “It’s about reinforcing that you belong in the room.”
Her former chief, she said, was another quiet advocate. “He had been friends with the sergeant who targeted me. But he still advocated for me, recommended me for assignments and supported my promotion. He chose integrity over loyalty. That’s real allyship.”
Assistant Sheriff Tanzanika Carter sees similar opportunities for men to engage at every level — from field officers to command staff. “Be willing to listen. Believe women. And if you’re in the room when something happens, say something. It doesn’t have to be a big confrontation. Sometimes just saying, ‘That’s not okay,’ is enough to shift the energy.”
She cautions that allyship doesn’t always mean sweeping in to fix a problem. Sometimes it’s as simple as affirming what a woman already knows to be true. “We don’t always need rescuing,” Carter said. “But we do need reinforcement. A look. A nod. A quiet side conversation that says, ‘I saw that, too.’ That kind of solidarity goes a long way.”
She also emphasizes that allyship must move beyond individual moments and into structural change. “Are men mentoring women? Are they sponsoring them for leadership roles? Are they checking in not because something went wrong, but because they care about their development?” Carter said. “Allyship isn’t just interpersonal; it’s institutional.”
Creating space for women means rethinking how influence and access are distributed. It means having the awareness to notice who’s missing from the table and the courage to pull up another chair. “There’s a difference between inclusion and integration,” Carter added. “Inclusion is being invited. Integration is being expected.”
For leaders looking to cultivate male buy-in, the goal isn’t to assign blame. It’s to extend responsibility. Culture change doesn’t happen in silos. And the burden to shift it shouldn’t fall only on those most affected by it.
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Last word: Navigate with purpose
Navigating exclusionary dynamics, bias and broken reporting systems isn’t about playing the victim; it’s about survival, strategy and structural change. The women who stay in the game do so not because it’s easy, but because they believe they can change the rules.
As Carter puts it, “It’s not just about being the only woman in the room — it’s about holding the door open so you’re not the last.”
Chief Blankenship agrees. “I’m just a courier of this position. My job is to take care of it, push it forward and leave it better for whoever comes next.”
For those coming up behind them, this field guide is more than a toolkit. It’s a lifeline. When the radio goes silent, when the room gets cold, when you feel like you’re the only one, you are not alone. You are part of a sisterhood quietly cheering you forward.
This article is from “Forge your future: A career guide for women in policing,” which offers real stories, actionable strategies and tools to help you grow and lead with purpose. Download your free copy, sponsored by the University of San Diego Online, by completing the “Get Access to this Police1 Resource” box on this page!
