Voices From the Shadows
The Special Operations community breaks its silence — real stories of invisible wounds, fractured families, and the courage to heal.
Watch: Colin Lightfoot on 20 Years in the Green Berets, Blast Injuries & Life After Combat
Personal Account of Silence
Cultural norms on the Team: “Mission first,” “Never weak,” “Handle your own problems”. There is a saying out there that “The job suffers last.” Whatever else happens in your life, it had better not impact your job. If it doesn’t, then it’s your business; if it does, then it is everyone’s business. Weakness is not tolerated - it is despised. Despised probably isn’t a strong enough word. During selection/training, weakness goes hand-in-hand with quitting or poor job performance. No one wants to do someone else’s job or carry their load. Continued weakness or not shouldering your load is a one-way ticket out of the teams, with pain along the way. Self-reliance is a valued skill, along with problem solving. The expectation is of a member finding a way - in training, in combat, or elsewhere.
Watch: Anthony Smith - TBI, CTE & Hidden Brain Trauma in Naval Special Warfare
Stigma Story #2
The roots of stigma and silence within the special operations community can be traced back to the very creation and need for these elite organizations. Our country desired specialized forces to carry out the most extremely sensitive, high-profile missions that would ensure a certainty of victory through absolute secrecy in some of the most austere hostile environments in the world. Our country’s statesmen knew during WWII that in order for the US to remain a global political and economic powerhouse, we needed to carve out a group of innovative and fearless men. Men that could shoulder the highest levels of pressure, stress and responsibility without regard of self-preservation. To accomplish US goals, objectives and strategies with little to no guidance, resources or support.
The Cost of the Mission: A Special Forces Soldier on War, Family, and the Price Nobody Counts
I. READY: The summer of 2007, I deployed to Baghdad, Iraq as part of a B-Team — augmentation and sustainment for the Special Forces ODAs operating in our area of operations. I had spent two years earning the right to wear the beret. Two years of training that pushed me past every limit I thought I had, and then showed me I had more. I was ready. I was excited. Whatever waited for me downrange, I believed I was built for it. What waited for me at home was a wife of eighteen months, a five-year-old son, and a three-year-old daughter. They were stationed in a state a thousand miles from where either of us had roots, a thousand miles from the people who would have shown up when things got hard. My wife would manage all of it alone. I knew that. We both knew that. And we both told each other it would be fine. We were both lying, and we both knew that too.
ADHD Was Just the Beginning
Caveat: I’ve taken many of the terms used in my writing from Dr. Cano, and I am using them because they ring true.
We tell kids lots of crazy things. You need glasses… 4 years later you outgrow them. How is that a thing? My all-time favorite was the removal of my wart. I was 8 years old I suppose and had just moved to South Georgia with my family as we transferred with the military. I had been dealing with a poorly behaved, somewhat recalcitrant wart. I couldn’t tell you what finger it was even on anymore. I had endured many useless applications of acid to burn it off, etc.
We tell kids lots of crazy things. You need glasses… 4 years later you outgrow them. How is that a thing? My all-time favorite was the removal of my wart. I was 8 years old I suppose and had just moved to South Georgia with my family as we transferred with the military. I had been dealing with a poorly behaved, somewhat recalcitrant wart. I couldn’t tell you what finger it was even on anymore. I had endured many useless applications of acid to burn it off, etc.
Push On or Throw In the Towel
HAHA, I said laughing as the temperature dropped. In order to keep from freezing I lit a candle
to get warmth in the igloo. Then like being squeezed in rear choke, I realized that those painful
itchy numbing appendages I knew as my toes, are just part the drivetrain on this meatsuit that
belong to Uncle Sam. Toes that were once carefree and easily cleaned in any first world country
scenario are now having to be managed hourly. Toes are one of the many tools of the machine
used to grip the ground beneath the terrain as I painfully recall the reality of being a pack-mule
in my uncle’s Service. I’m a machine, trained to the highest standards, meant to perform in any
environment without the assistance of world class gear, or world class coaches.
Healing Was Never Going to Happen. Recovery Would.
I completed my last combat deployment and retired from Active Duty in 2008. I served 3 OIF deployments, coming out of retirement in 2005 to go back on Active Duty. I was in my 50’s, my joints were old, my dedication and patriotism were strong, and the hydrocephalic fluid cushioning my bain inside my cranial housing group was less than it was when I was in my 30’s. When I completed my final deployment and processed back into retirement, medical screening for TBI was not routine (or even existed) during that time. The spotlight and effort was primarily on screening and psychological treatment for PTSD. Subsequent to my PTSD diagnosis and VA Disability Application, I was enrolled in VA Counselling for PTSD.
"Marines Fucking Die. That's Your Job."
Our Commanding Officer (CO) cared very little for the Marines in his unit. To him we were nothing more than steppingstones to his next promotion or award. This was a man who did not hold back on sending his Marines on ridiculous missions and if I recall correctly left the Forward Operating Base (FOB) we were holding once for combat patrol, maybe twice, and that is not an exaggeration. I cannot recall how many times while we were in Iraq he would be yelling at a Lieutenant or on of us Staff Sergeants for not doing our jobs because Marines were not getting wounded or killed. While giving orders to one of the Rifle Platoons he told them they would go to a location and stand in the open; their mission, to draw out enemy sniper fire so our snipers could try to take them out. While we argued against routine patrols on exact same routes because he puts Marines as risk, especially at the threat of Improvised Explosive Devices (IED), he would shout back, “Marines fucking die, that’s your job.”
A Fracture in the Code
I was raised to protect my sisters and any other female that was in harm’s way. There was a moral code to protect those who needed protection and that only grew more in the SOF community. My first year in group I deployed where the mission parameters allowed no fighting or conflict with civilians. I witnessed a woman get beat and every time I drew a line to beat this dude it was overridden by my fear of failing the team and our mission. After that I had a lot of issues on who I was, my moral code, if I’ve been lying to myself my whole life, weaknesses, and anger at myself.
From Lust for Death to Reasons to Live
The deployment was almost over. My boss was coming along with us. He had already been out with every other team but due to various reasons hadn’t made it out with us yet. He had talked the team out of our more aggressive instincts to stay for a day mission and to only hit the village for the night. It was 2019, we all knew Afghanistan was for nothing at this point. He didn’t want to see anymore of his guys killed or wounded. He was always the big brother in the room.
The night of the mission we conducted our final rehearsals and joked. Everything seemed normal. I distinctly remember asking him how he felt about this being his last mission. He was about to return home for a course and then was slated to retire.
The night of the mission we conducted our final rehearsals and joked. Everything seemed normal. I distinctly remember asking him how he felt about this being his last mission. He was about to return home for a course and then was slated to retire.
Stay Mission Capable: A Sergeant Major's Charge to Special Forces Leaders
The greatest threat to this force is not an enemy combatant, it is the word “Mental Health” and everything our culture has attached to it. After serving over 25-years in the United States Army Special Forces, I have seen the toll that years of continuous war and contingency operations took on the Green Beret community. I have buried teammates, attended memorial and funerals for our fallen heroes, and I have sat across the table from men who survived every firefight in combat only to lose the invisible war in their own heads when they get back home.
Suck It Up and Drive On
I served from 2003-2007. I did a tour to Iraq from 2005-2006. I bounced around Iraq to several areas to conduct various combat operations. During this time, I witnessed horrible and tragic things. I saw fellow soldiers severely injured on several occasions as well as seeing dead Iraqi’s whether by our own hand or by the enemy.
Upon returning home, the Army said “it is okay to seek mental health treatment”, but the underlying message was “don’t you dare”. Also, it was common within the culture of the Army, especially with combat roles, to not complain. Just suck it up and drive on. If you were feeling depressed or anxious, the cultural fix was to have a few drinks.
Upon returning home, the Army said “it is okay to seek mental health treatment”, but the underlying message was “don’t you dare”. Also, it was common within the culture of the Army, especially with combat roles, to not complain. Just suck it up and drive on. If you were feeling depressed or anxious, the cultural fix was to have a few drinks.
Tools I Still Use Today
At the Marcus Institute for Brain Health (MIBH), I joined several other special operators
for an intensive inpatient program addressing TBI and PTSD in a structured, all-day
focused environment dedicated entirely to recovery. Everyone there was incredibly
helpful and genuinely cared about us, delivering a methodical plan with trusted
professionals, cognitive therapy, vestibular physical therapy, and open peer discussions
among Green Berets and SEALs. Yoga and art therapy, which initially seemed
ridiculous, proved genuinely useful for regulation and focus, while vestibular work
retrained my brain for better balance and freed mental energy. I noticed rapid
improvements in falling back asleep and reduced irritability by using tools that I still
employ today. All of us who participated believe this program is a highly valuable tool
that should be supported, with NICOE serving as a nice but distant second or third
choice.
An Hour That Saved My Life
Unfortunately, when you come back, that's not when it ends. You just keep spiraling right?
Just last year, the whole world was coming down on me with the loss of you know some of the most significant male figures in my life brothers. Warriors teammates, they were everything, right? So that superseded the issues I was having internally with all the blast exposures and the injuries. It was dealing with the survivor's guilt, dealing with the extended mourning of these significant figures in your life. You know, the pretty typical stuff of drinking and fighting just got out of hand. I am getting arrested again for bar fights.
Just last year, the whole world was coming down on me with the loss of you know some of the most significant male figures in my life brothers. Warriors teammates, they were everything, right? So that superseded the issues I was having internally with all the blast exposures and the injuries. It was dealing with the survivor's guilt, dealing with the extended mourning of these significant figures in your life. You know, the pretty typical stuff of drinking and fighting just got out of hand. I am getting arrested again for bar fights.
