Sharing Your Story as a Veteran

We are living in a time where the divide between civilians and the military populations of the United States is at the highest it’s ever been. With less than half of one percent of the population serving in a seemingly endless, constantly branching out war, it’s no wonder there’s such disconnect. Many in the military and veteran communities put the onus for this solely on the civilian population, where more people vote in reality television competitions than in elections that determine the fate of our service men and women. A common refrain is how can they understand, they weren’t there? Or you just wouldn’t get it. But here’s the problem with that line of thinking: how can civilians possibly begin to understand if we who have served don’t share our stories?There are a lot of reasons besides this attitude that prevent veterans from sharing their stories. For some it’s understandably too difficult. For others it’s about protecting the sacred bond of brotherhood that’s formed in the crucible of war. Some share their pain and their stories through other media like dance, painting, and sculpture. And some, just like in the civilian population, are simply not storytellers. Which is one of the reasons I do the work I do.I would never claim to speak for anyone but myself, and I certainly cannot speak on behalf of all veterans. My war in the mountains of Afghanistan was vastly different than friends’ wars on the urban streets of Iraq. I was never mortared. They were never blown up. They cleared houses; I cleared caves. But more importantly, even when we wear the same uniform, we’re still individuals. We bring our own pasts and perspectives into battle with us, and those things shape our understanding and processing of it. So all I can do is share my story and hope that it informs civilians and inspires other vets to do the same.In order for this to work though, in order for it to actually have an impact, I have to be entirely candid. This process starts with truthful—sometimes painful—introspection. For a long time I was in denial about my own struggles, and as long as I was lying to myself, I couldn’t possibly be honest with others, veterans and civilians alike. But once I began to mine my own emotions and experiences, I was able to start sharing them.

Writing about suicide allowed me to take back control of my life from my depression and anxiety.

I found that the more I shared, the better I felt. It was like my PTSD was a toxin in my body, and every word I wrote removed some of that toxin and transferred it to the page. And once it was out, why would I ever want to put it back in? It was certainly easier to “speak” to a blank page or a blinking cursor than it was to talk to another person. Even the most objective listener is going to have subtle, subconscious human reactions, after all. But once I had written about something, I found it easier to discuss it.I once had students in a school where I was a visiting writer ask me how I could talk about my suicide attempts so calmly. And the answer is that I had written about it. I had been honest in acknowledging to myself that it was a part of my past, just as college or war was. And I remember that every day, because I survived. Writing about suicide allowed me to take back control of my life from my depression and anxiety. I was in my lowest place, and I made it out. I can do it again.But that’s why narrative generosity is so important. We can’t solve a problem that we don’t know exists or that we don’t know how to talk about. There is a societal discomfort in talking about mental health and suicide. It’s understandable, but ignoring a problem has never solved it, and some statistics indicate that veterans commit suicide at an average rate of 22 each day. So I share my story. And I share it in as many ways as I can.I write. I’ve gotten emails from strangers in other parts of the country telling me that my books saved them, that all they wanted was to know someone else felt just what they were feeling, that I put words to what they previously thought was indescribable.

And it’s about generous listening just as much as it’s about generous sharing.

I’ve had late night phone calls with friends who are ready to die, but some part of them knows I’ve been there and that they really want to stick around. I’ve shared with groups of teens who feel isolated, outcast, like they don’t belong. I’ve been there, too. And sometimes I share it with humour. After all, I’m only here because I’m good at war and bad at dying.Like all types of writing, it’s about forging a bond with that specific audience in any given situation. It’s about having enough awareness and insight to know which aspects of my story will matter and how best to convey it. And it’s about generous listening just as much as it’s about generous sharing.The more we talk honestly and openly about the issues that are facing us as individuals and as a society, the easier those conversations will become, and the closer to effective solutions we’ll be. The more veterans and military spouses and families that share their stories, the smaller that military-civilian divide will become.When you’re part of a group that makes up such a small percentage of the population, it’s easy to feel isolated, and even easier to perpetuate that isolation through your own actions. But the more you reach out, the more you share your story—individual and collective—the more you’ll find the people you thought were cutting you off are ready and willing to embrace you.