That Warfighter Spirit

Given the nature of war and the injuries sustained by our Warfighters, specifically mental injuries, it is understandable that we are constantly inundated with stories and messages of more than distressing nature. And that is perfectly fine. I do not belittle those stories or those struggles at all, since I have my own stories and have fought those battles-and in many ways-still fight them. It is only rarely, though, that we hear survival stories, testimonials of those Warfighters who have beaten the odds, or are at least in the process of overcoming them.

We all understand that nothing will ever be perfect. We will never be the people we were before we went overseas. We will always have to deal with some of these issues and fight some of these battles the rest of our lives. Too many of us forget that we are Warfighters, Descendants of Sparta, and that we have an indomitable spirit capable of great things. Our Warfighter spirit gets beaten down and broken by our government, by the media, by the civilian next to us who inaccurately and inappropriately judges us, by the everyday struggles of BEING a civilian that we do not comprehend, and most of all by the terrible battle of the mind we inherit after war.

No politician can call an end to the war of our minds with the stroke of a pen. We do not come home from this war, we carry it with us. There is no counting down the weeks and days until it is “over.” And it all takes an abysmal toll. We fight it. We bend. We break. And some of us sadly lose the war. But sometimes, sometimes one of us wins a battle in that war. One of us advances the lines. One of us remembers that Warfighter spirit and drives on. One of us plants our feet and proclaims to the Fates, “I will NOT die today!” and presses onward, even if it is just the smallest of gains.

A couple weeks ago, I put out a 911 about a fellow Warfighter, Frank, in need of assistance. Many of you answered with open ears and arms. Due to the nature of his situation, I was not able to have a legitimate conversation with him and get the full story until tonight. Without disclosing his personal/sensitive information, I will tell you why my own spirits are lifted…

Frank, like many of us, has been fighting the war of the mind. And he, like many of us, has had a rough time of it, to say the very least. Because of the nature of his situation, he went off the grid for quite a while, like I tend to do. I would periodically check in on him-with no response. A few weeks ago, he replied, giving me the short version, stating that he needed assistance.

Fast forward to today, when I had a phone conversation with him for just over half an hour. Despite the asinine system of the VA, despite government interference, and most of all, despite the debilitating and taxing effects of PTSD, the quiet, but sturdy determination in his voice touched my own heart. Though he is having some medical issues, he remains strong willed to beat PTSD and drive on, with the sole goal of making a better life for his family. He has living arrangements with his mother. His girlfriend is significantly supportive. His church has banded together to help him find gainful employment. He has someone walking him through the convoluted intricacies of the VA system. What is most important, to me at least, is the fact that when Frank got to the breaking point, the point of no return that so many of us continue past, Frank planted his feet and defied the Fates. He remembered his Warfighter spirit and training and did what many of us do not do, he made the call.

One call, a few words, a few minutes. It does not seem like much, but that one call can, and will, save a life and transform it. For a few minutes, Frank grasped hold of that Warfighter spirit and pushed back one last time before giving in. More than that, Frank admitted the truth, which in most of our cases, is the hardest thing to do. “I am NOT ok. I need help.” Seven monosyllabic words, but seven words that make all the difference.

Frank made the call. He got-and is getting-the help that he needs. Not just for himself, but for his family. He understood that in order to make things better, he needed to get better. And to do that, he needed to make the call. Making that call is the hardest thing most of us can do, because we think it makes us weak. We think we are supposed to push through it, forget about it, and ignore it. If we admit that we are not ok, then we have failed. But it is not failure. It is a sign of strength and courage.

The ironic part is that Frank words encouraged me. His spirit and determination inspired me. He is the one who is at one of the weakest moments of his life, yet I drew strength from him.

Frank is just one example of the resilience of our Warfighter spirit. We were broken down to nothing and rebirthed into Spartans. We have the power to win the war. It is not simple, it is not easy, and it certainly is not quick. It is a day by day engagement. But as Frank put it, “It’s just another mission.”

To the Civilian

There is an attitude that annoys (to say the very least) the ever-living shit out of me. But, a little back story first:

I recently found out that someone I went to high school with, a fellow Warfighter with multiple tours under his belt, had killed himself. As my chosen field is psychology, more specifically, working with combat veterans, and as most of the organizations I am associated with are veteran centered, this event hit significantly close to home. That night, I wrote an impassioned letter, directed to all my fellow Warfighters, and pleaded with them to reach out and let us help them before they make that choice. The first sentence was, “Stand the f--- down. I say again, stand the f--- down.”

Out of over 100 commenters, one person, and the only negative one, said, “The language in this is awful. State your point with a better vocab.” Unfortunately, out of over 650 shares, 500 likes, and 100 comments, this one person is the only one who failed to understand the message of that two page plea. She failed to understand it, not because it was incoherent, not because it was not clearly stated, not even because of the profanity. She failed to understand it simply because it did not fit into her pretty little sensibilities.

First, I will say that I am well aware of the intensity and vulgarity of profanity and that it has no place in certain circles. That said, the Army is a different world. We have our own language, which, admittedly, is not well translated into civi-speak. We are the dirtiest, most vulgar, raw, uncut, unpolished, and uncensored SOBs you will ever know. And that’s fine for us. It works in our environment. We can curse each other out and scream and yell, and five minutes later be sharing a beer. We can curse each other out while giving the best compliments. Most of the time, if we don’t curse at someone, then we really don’t like them. But more importantly, that is how we stress a point. I am not saying it is right, I am not saying it is wrong. But that is how it is. That is how we are. I say this simply so you can have a better understanding. I wrote that letter as if I were speaking to my own soldiers. Because that is, in effect, exactly what I was doing. As I said, we have our own language.

I was speaking, not to the civilians, but to the boots, the Joes, the Warfighters, in a manner we all read loud and clear. I was speaking, not to that civilian whose politically correct sensibilities are easily and quickly offended, but to that soldier who has lost his way. I was speaking just as my PSG spoke to me when I lost my way.

To have this woman completely bypass the entire point of the message and zero in on my use of three curse words didn’t really offend me as much as disappoint me. It disappointed me because it is an attitude I see all too often in my work. My brothers, my soldiers, my Warfighters feel alone, misunderstood, like no one outside the uniform can understand them. And with attitudes like this woman showed, it is no wonder why.

Civilians tell us they want to know, that they want to understand, that they want us to let them in. They complain because we stay to ourselves, that we only open up to each other, that we shut them out. Yes, we do. Because the majority of the time, this woman’s attitude is the same one we receive. When we do come to you, when we do open up, when we do let you in, we are judged. We are condemned. We are castigated for being who and what we are.

We are dirty men. We are vulgar men. We are unpolished and violent men. We are those men because it is you, the civilian, who asks us to become those men. You see the drills and the parades and the ceremonies. You see the shiny brass, the crisp uniforms, the in-step marching. You see the show, but you do not see the reality. And when we come to you, lost and broken, you condemn us because we present the reality of who we are and not the show that you have come to expect. You ask us to become these men, to do deeds that you have not the heart to do. To dirty our hands so yours may remain clean. To travel to environments you could never imagine in your most horrific nightmare. We live your nightmares for you. Your worst dream is a good day for us. Yet you condemn us for becoming what you asked us.

It is not pretty, clean, or tied with a little neat bow. We are vulgar because our lives are vulgar. We are dirty because our environment is dirty. We are battered and hardened because we have been purged in the righteous fires of warfare. We have become the unholy hammer of the gods against the evils that hunt you in the night. And yet you condemn us because after we have lived in Hell and bedded Death herself, our armor is not sparkling and shiny. You, the arrogant and pompous civilian, have asked us to walk through the fire without getting any scorch marks.

You expect us to be like you. And when we are not, we are railed against and convicted of assaulting your fragile and faltering socio-moral sensibility. None of this is to say that vulgar and profane actions are permissible at all times, because they are not. However, we do certainly set ourselves apart because the civilian has yet to accept us for who and what we are. Instead, the civilian turns us out and turns his back because we are not who and what he expects us to be. That is all we ask; meet us where we are instead of where you think we should be. Jesus himself said, “Come as you are.” So we come. But we are turned away because we are not perfect and you are not Jesus. We don’t ask that you like it. We don’t even like it. All we ask is that you accept us where we are.

I feel bad for that woman, because she missed the entire message of that letter. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that I wrote it. It has everything to do with the fact that of the 1000+ people who read it, she is the only one who could not see past her own short sight and opinion. That is the attitude I am talking about now. It is a common and frequent occurrence. The military-civilian gap is large and widening. It should not be so, but it is. When we hide those parts of ourselves, the bloody, battered, and vulgar parts, you ask us to show them to you so you “can understand.” But when we do, you give us the looks we have come to expect and you turn us away, condemning us for being what you asked us to become. Our lives, our stories, our words do not exist to cater to your glorified, clean cut, Hollywood interpretation. They exist to bear witness to the failures and flaws, the struggles and triumphs, the sacrifices and victories of the human condition. 

We are not perfect, nor do we claim to be. We are not better, or worse. But we are different. We are men apart. We are men of courage, of valor, of honor. You will never truly “understand,” because you weren’t there. But we can close that gap-it needs to be closed-we can do it. All we ask is that you accept us for who we are, where we are, when we are.

Ps. If you don’t that’s your choice. Above all, we take care of our own.

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