197. Asking For Help Ended His Career | Nashville PD Sgt. | Alcoholism and Redemption

Scott Cothran

In episode 197 of the Transition Drill Podcast, former Nashville Police Sergeant Scott Cothran opens up about his life, his career in law enforcement, and his long battle with alcoholism. Raised in a first responder household where drinking was normalized, Scott began drinking at an early age and carried those habits into adulthood. He shares how his childhood, filled with admiration for his police officer father, shaped his identity and inspired his career choice. Over his 16-year tenure with the Nashville Police Department, Scott worked in specialized units, served as point man on tactical entries, and rose to the rank of sergeant. All the while, he silently struggled with addiction. The death of his father from alcoholism became a turning point, pushing Scott deeper into his own dependency until he finally hit bottom and asked for help. His story does not end with a resignation but with renewal. Today, Scott works at Magnolia Meadows, a treatment center for first responders, helping others find the strength to face their own battles. His candid conversation offers an honest and emotional look at life after service, the hidden toll of trauma, and the courage it takes to step into recovery and redefine purpose.

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Long before he wore a uniform or answered a radio call, Scott Cothran was a kid chasing sunup-to-sundown adventures in the neighborhoods of west Nashville. He grew up surrounded by family, sports, and a strong sense of community. His childhood was packed with the sounds of basketball games, summer days at the pool, and a tight bond with a father who was more than a parent—he was Scott’s idol. That father, a well-respected Nashville police officer, shaped the way Scott saw the world and heavily influenced the direction his life would take.

Service ran deep in the Cothran family. Scott’s grandfather was a World War II veteran. His uncles worked in law enforcement and fire. His own father joined the police department in 1973 and quickly became a local legend in their circles. Scott grew up surrounded by first responders. Many of his childhood friends had parents who worked in law enforcement or fire. It was a way of life. He remembers walking the halls of the Criminal Justice Center as a kid, going to felony dockets and courtrooms, not entirely sure why he was there instead of school. To him, that was just normal.

By the time he reached high school, Scott was heavily involved in sports. He played soccer, basketball, and baseball, and he had the talent and work ethic to take his game to the next level. He even played alongside a McDonald’s All-American and future Division I athlete. But something else had already taken hold of him—something that would slowly pull him off track. Alcohol was already in his life. It started early, with sips of beer around age 12. If he fetched one for his dad, he earned a taste. It became part of the routine, part of the reward system. At 14, he was running a lawn care business with two friends. He did not care about the money. The real payoff came at the end of the day when his dad handed him a beer.

The older he got, the more drinking became a normal part of life. His father’s message was simple. If you work hard, you deserve a beer. And they lived that message, sometimes literally. At 15, Scott would accompany his father to church league basketball games. Afterward, they would stop for donuts, then head to the liquor store, grab a six-pack, and drink on the ride home. His dad would then let him drive the rest of the way. At the time, it felt like bonding. Looking back, Scott now sees it through a very different lens.

Despite his growing interest in alcohol, Scott never lost sight of his future. He tried college at the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga, majoring in special education, but it did not last long. Alcohol and social life quickly overpowered academics. He dropped out after one semester, came home, and set his sights on law enforcement. At 21 years old, he was accepted into the Nashville Police Department, becoming one of the youngest recruits in the class of 1999.

It was a proud moment. Scott had followed in his father’s footsteps. But already, alcohol was more than a social activity. It was woven into his lifestyle, accepted and unchallenged. What began as a family tradition had quietly become a growing shadow.

Scott Cothran stepped into his law enforcement career with confidence and clarity. At just 21 years old, he joined the Nashville Police Department and quickly found himself immersed in a profession he had dreamed of since childhood. He was part of a policing family, and the job came naturally. For Scott, the early years were a blur of midnight patrols, learning the ropes, and confronting the reality of the streets. The uniform gave him a sense of identity. The work gave him purpose. And the camaraderie reminded him of why he wanted the job in the first place.

Scott never shied away from hard work. He gravitated toward assignments that demanded more. He moved from patrol to specialized units like bikes and Flex teams. These were fast-paced, high-output roles focused on problem areas and proactive enforcement. He loved the intensity and the freedom to make an impact. Eventually, he landed in narcotics and vice, where he worked with seasoned teams executing search warrants, conducting undercover buys, and coordinating with federal partners.

In the world of law enforcement, where pressure and trauma are routine, Scott stood out. He trained constantly and rose to become point man on the entry team, a position that required trust and composure under fire. He was the first through the door. The one relied upon to lead with precision. His supervisors respected him, and his peers followed his lead. Promotions followed. By 2014, he had earned the rank of sergeant. It was a milestone he took pride in, especially knowing the expectations that came with leadership.

From the outside, everything looked solid. His career was full of accolades, complex investigations, and moments that many officers never experience. But underneath the surface, Scott’s drinking was accelerating. It had always been a presence, but now it was a dependency. The intensity of the job, combined with unresolved trauma, kept him leaning on alcohol as a coping mechanism.

Then came the blow that would fracture the structure holding him up. In 2009, Scott’s father fell seriously ill. A lifelong drinker and Scott’s personal hero, his father was diagnosed with late-stage liver failure due to alcoholism. The news came fast and hit hard. Within a few short months, Scott watched the man he idolized waste away. He went from a strong, respected former detective to a frail and dying man who barely resembled himself.

Watching his father pass away was a moment that left Scott reeling. But it did not lead to immediate change. Instead, it deepened the pain he had been carrying for years and further anchored his relationship with alcohol. He had already known his father was sick. He had seen the patterns. But facing the finality of it—holding his father’s hand during his last days and hearing his regret—was something no training could prepare him for.

Despite the emotional toll, Scott continued showing up to work. He remained functional, productive, and respected. He kept pushing forward. But in private, he was unraveling. His drinking intensified. His grief went unprocessed. And his sense of control began to slip, quietly and steadily. The uniform stayed pressed, the badge stayed polished, but the man wearing them was beginning to fade behind the weight of it all.

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Scott Cothran had been holding it together for years. He drank heavily but maintained his responsibilities. He led his teams, executed high-risk warrants, and mentored younger officers. On the outside, he looked like a squared-away sergeant with a proud police career. On the inside, he was unraveling. After the death of his father, his drinking escalated to a level that no longer resembled social behavior. It became daily. It became routine. It became survival.

What started as a way to unwind had become the only way he knew to function. For nearly six years following his father’s death, Scott drank without pause. There were no breaks, no days off, and no pretense of moderation. A bottle of whiskey a day became normal. Still, he showed up. He worked out with his team. He trained. He carried out his duties without drawing attention to the chaos that waited for him at home each night.

In his mind, he was holding the line. His family seemed fine. His work performance remained strong. He convinced himself that his drinking was not impacting anyone else. But the truth was quietly building around him. His marriage began to strain. The emotional distance grew. He lived a dual existence, one marked by service and the other by secrecy.

Alcohol had become more than a crutch. It was the only way he knew how to process emotion. Grief, trauma, fear, and even joy all funneled through the same solution. He had been raised in an environment where drinking was not just accepted, it was normalized. But what began as tradition had become dependency. And despite knowing he had a problem, he kept it buried. Admitting it felt impossible. In law enforcement, strength is everything. Asking for help felt like surrender.

Eventually, the cracks became impossible to ignore. Scott reached a point where he could no longer hide from himself. The drinking was no longer manageable. The weight of grief, the guilt of watching his father die from the same disease, and the silence he had kept for so long finally became unbearable.

His turning point came in a moment of complete emotional exhaustion. He had nothing left. His health, his relationships, and his peace of mind had all suffered. The mask he wore every day as a police officer no longer fit. He knew that if he kept going, the job would not be the thing that broke him. It would be himself.

So, he did the one thing he never imagined he would do. He asked for help. It was not a grand gesture. It was not a dramatic breakdown. It was a quiet admission that he could no longer fix it on his own. He went to his department and said the words that every first responder fears: I have a problem. The moment he said it, the weight began to shift. Not because everything suddenly got better, but because he had finally told the truth.

That single act cracked open the door to healing. It did not erase the past, but it marked the beginning of something different. For the first time in decades, Scott stopped running from himself. And while he did not yet know what recovery would look like, he knew what the alternative would be. And he had no intention of following his father’s path to the end.

When Scott Cothran walked into treatment, he was not thinking about saving the world. He was trying to save himself. Years of silent suffering, of balancing a police career with a private struggle, had taken their toll. He had hit bottom, but for Scott, that collapse became the start of something redemptive. He committed fully to his recovery, not just the physical process of getting sober, but the emotional and mental work of repairing what had broken inside him.

Treatment was humbling. For a man who once led entry teams and commanded respect in tactical units, surrendering to the process felt like stepping off a cliff. He had to admit what he had fought for years to hide. He had to listen instead of lead. He had to trust others when his instinct had always been to rely on himself. Most of all, he had to learn to sit with his thoughts without drowning them in a bottle.

Therapy was not easy. Confronting trauma rarely is. The suppressed grief from losing his father, the years of unresolved exposure to death, violence, and human suffering, the shame of becoming the very thing he feared, all of it had to be unpacked. Slowly, the work began to show results. He reconnected with his children. He began to rebuild trust. Most importantly, he started to believe that he could live without alcohol.

The road was not smooth. The stigma of asking for help as a police officer did not vanish overnight. While his department did support his request for treatment, the reality was clear. His law enforcement career had run its course. His identity as a cop, which had defined him since childhood, came to a quiet and painful end. It was not because of a scandal. It was not because he had failed as a police officer. It ended because he finally chose to take care of himself.

Scott retired from the Nashville Police Department with his dignity intact. There was no ceremony, no farewell tour, but there was peace. He had served with pride. He had done the work. And now he was being called to serve in a different way.

Today, Scott Cothran works at Magnolia Meadows, a treatment center for first responders. It is a place where police officers, firefighters, EMTs, and other public servants go when their pain becomes too heavy to carry alone. Magnolia Meadows is not just a job for Scott. It is a mission. It is where he uses his story to reach others who feel the same darkness he once did. When someone walks through the doors, unsure of how to speak their truth, Scott is there. Not as an expert, but as someone who has been in the same shoes.

He no longer hides behind a badge. He stands beside others in recovery. He listens without judgment. He speaks with humility. And for the first time in a long time, he feels like he is truly making a difference.

Scott does not regret what he went through. He knows the pain shaped him. It made him a better father, a better friend, and a better advocate for those suffering in silence. What he regrets most is the time lost to a lie he told himself for too long—that asking for help made him weak. In truth, asking for help saved his life. And now, he spends his days helping others do the same.

The go-to podcast for military veterans, police officers, firefighters, EMTs, and first responders preparing for life after service. Hosted by Paul Pantani—a retired law enforcement leader with 30+ years of experience—Transition Drill features candid conversations with veterans from every military branch, as well as law enforcement professionals navigating career change, retirement, and the transition to civilian life. Guests share stories of mental health, post-traumatic growth, job search strategies, and what it really takes to succeed after the uniform. Whether you're transitioning from policing, firefighting, or military service, this podcast will help you lead the next chapter with clarity and confidence.

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