The Silent Battle: A Veteran's Journey Through Mental Health and Healing

Sunset moments with the my husband the who knows how to just be there when I need him.

[CONTENT WARNING: This post discusses suicidal thoughts and military experiences. If you're experiencing thoughts of self-harm, please reach out for help immediately:

Veterans Crisis Line: 988, Press 1

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 988

Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741]

When Thoughts Become Shadows

There's something powerful about finally speaking your truth. For years, I carried a weight that felt impossible to share – the constant presence of suicidal thoughts. Today, I'm sharing this with you, not for sympathy, but because I know somewhere out there, someone else is carrying this same weight, feeling just as alone as I did.

It's strange how suicidal thoughts can become as heavy yet natural as breathing. During my deployments, thoughts of ending my life became my constant companions, unwanted yet ever-present. They weren't always about wanting to die – more often, they were about wanting control in a world where I felt powerless. For those who've never experienced chronic suicidal thoughts, imagine your brain constantly working in the background, like a security system scanning for exits. Except instead of looking for ways out of danger, you're involuntarily cataloging ways out of existence. Every social gathering, every new space became an exercise in this involuntary mental mapping. As a chronic people-pleaser, I found myself trapped in an exhausting cycle. I'd accept every invitation, attend every gathering, all while trying to appear "normal." On the outside, I was the person who showed up, who never said no. On the inside, I was fighting a battle no one could see, my mind racing through scenarios I couldn't share. I refused to speak about these thoughts, even in therapy. The shame felt overwhelming. What would people think? How could I explain that sometimes, in the darkest moments of deployment, part of me wished I hadn't made it?

For the last ten years, I pieced together my mental health journey - sometimes in therapy, but mostly through researching online and reading about other people's experiences. Yet even in all those stories and shared experiences, I rarely found anyone talking about these thoughts that had become as routine as my morning coffee. It seemed like this particular struggle was something no one wanted to touch, which made the isolation even worse.

It wasn't until I found myself on a West Virginia committee addressing suicide prevention that everything changed. During that meeting, I finally asked the question that had been burning in my mind: "What happens if a veteran answers these screening questions truthfully?" You know the ones - those standardized questions about thoughts of self-harm that feel more like a trap than a lifeline.

I ended up taking over that entire meeting (sorry, not sorry! 😂) because I started sharing what so many of us experience but never speak about: The daily reality of living with these thoughts. Not as an immediate crisis, but as a constant background noise we've learned to live with.

That meeting gave me the courage to be honest at my next VA appointment. I can still picture my nurse's face when I calmly explained that yes, I think about killing myself 15-20 times a day, often without even realizing it. I explained how these thoughts had become automatic, like breathing. Yes, I had attempts in the past. No, I wasn't in immediate danger. I knew my patterns, understood my warning signs, and could recognize the difference between passive thoughts and the rare moments (those crucial 5-10 minutes) when the urge to act becomes strong.

I could see the pure panic in my nurse's eyes as she rushed to get my doctor. When my doctor came in, I actually apologized for scaring the nurse, which made us both chuckle. That moment of shared laughter broke the tension, and we ended up having an amazing conversation. What I learned that day was crucial: unless you're actively in crisis and unsure if you can keep yourself or others safe, they're not going to force hospitalization. Instead of rushing to institutionalize me, my doctor took the time to really understand how I got to this point - not just of having these thoughts, but of being able to talk about them so openly. What happened next showed me the real level of care possible within the VA system. An amazing nurse called to check on me the very next day, and they followed up again about a week later just to make sure I was still doing okay. I know many veterans have had difficult experiences with the VA, but this level of care and understanding was incredible.

VA Mental Health Support Experience

What I've discovered, somewhat surprisingly, is that the VA healthcare system often handles these conversations better than providers outside the system. There's a different level of understanding within the VA - they get it. They understand that sometimes the very thoughts that seem alarming to others were actually survival mechanisms we developed during our service.

Here's something that might shock civilians but will make perfect sense to many veterans - sometimes the darkest humor becomes our way of breaking the ice about serious topics. While I wouldn't necessarily recommend rating firearms by their oral comfort level, there's something powerful about being able to say "suck starting my pistol" in a room full of people who get it, who don't immediately panic or call 911. This isn't about making light of suicide - it's about creating space for real conversations. Dark humor serves as our secret handshake, a way of saying "I've been there too" without having to spell it out.

Alternative Healing Methods

When both geese demand to be the favorite lap bird. Some days, everyone needs a little extra comfort.

The journey to healing isn't always a straight path through therapy offices and support groups. Sometimes it leads you to unexpected places - like sitting next to an emu at 2 AM, processing your thoughts while gently petting their feathers. For me, connecting with animals has always been easier than connecting with people. There's no judgment, no uncomfortable shifting in seats, no well-meaning but misguided advice. Just presence, acceptance, and the quiet comfort of being understood without words.

My farm has become more than just a collection of animals - it's my sanctuary. My chickens, goats, turkeys, geese, and ducks don't care about my past or my struggles. They just need me to show up, to be present, to care for them. Every morning starts with a simple ritual - I yell "baby" from my bedroom door, and my goats scream back, letting me know they're okay while I check on my emus. On sleepless nights when my thoughts are too loud, I can slip outside and sit with my emus, using their peaceful presence to help sort through what's causing my distress. They've become my midnight therapists in a way, helping me process emotions I couldn't yet voice to humans.

Creating Your Safe Space

When your emu meets Squishmallow: A tale of 'Is it friend or food?'

Along with finding peaceful spaces, I've created little comfort zones throughout my spaces with Squishmallows. There's something incredibly soothing about their soft texture, especially the Fuzz-a-mallows. They've become part of my self-care routine, offering comfort during stressful moments and helping create safe spaces wherever I need them - whether it's in my car, at work, or in different rooms of my house. I have about thirty of them strategically placed in different areas - my car for tough drives, my office for stressful workdays, my spare bedroom for quiet moments, and scattered throughout my living spaces. Each one helps create a consistent sense of comfort and safety, a familiar touchstone I can reach for when things get overwhelming.

I remember the first time I brought a Squishmallow to work - I was so embarrassed. It was a particularly hard day, and I needed that extra comfort. But something unexpected happened. Instead of judgment, people were drawn to it. That simple act of bringing my comfort item to work opened up conversations I never expected to have. Others started sharing their own stories about difficult days and what helps them cope. Yes, occasionally I get a funny look, but more often than not, my Squishmallows make people smile and create opportunities for genuine connections about mental health.

But here's the thing - comfort items are deeply personal. What soothes one person might do nothing for another. Maybe for you it's not Squishmallows - maybe it's a special blanket, a smooth stone you can hold in your pocket, a particular scent, or even just a warm drink in your favorite mug. The key is to pay attention to what makes you feel grounded and safe, then intentionally incorporate those things into your daily spaces. Don't let anyone make you feel childish or silly about what brings you comfort. These aren't just objects - they're tools for survival, anchors in moments when our minds try to pull us under.

Building a Support Network

But here's the thing about healing - it needs both kinds of connections. Through running a veteran organization, I've found what I can only describe as an extended family. They're not exactly friends - it's different than that. They're more like distant relatives who would drop everything to help another veteran in need. And then there's my core group of close friends - the ones I can turn to for anything. This support system didn't appear overnight. A few years ago, I was in a very different place. My only human connection was my husband, and while conversations about these struggles made him visibly uncomfortable, I learned that wasn't his strength - and that's okay. What he could offer was exactly what I needed sometimes: hugs, cuddles, and simply being there so I wasn't alone. Not everyone in our lives can handle every part of our journey, and that's why having different types of support matters.

Mental Health Recovery Journey

Today, I'm learning to be brutally honest about my needs and limitations. Do I still feel guilty when I have to decline invitations or step back from social situations? Absolutely. But I've learned that dealing with guilt is far better than pushing myself into situations that make those dark thoughts louder. The key isn't finding one perfect person who can handle all your dark moments - it's building a network of support that includes both the quiet moments of reflection and the friends who get your dark humor.

Hope and Support for Veterans

If you're reading this and recognizing your own story, know this: You're not alone in these thoughts. It's okay to be honest about your struggles. Finding the right support matters, whether it's through the VA, private therapy, or trusted veteran groups. Your dark thoughts don't define you, and it's possible to learn to live differently. Remember, the goal isn't to eliminate every dark thought - it's to build a life where those thoughts don't control us anymore. Where we can acknowledge them without letting them drive our decisions. Where we can find peace, even if it's just in the quiet moments or in the understanding nod of someone who gets it.

For those still feeling isolated: Start where you feel safest. Maybe that's in nature, maybe it's with online veteran groups, maybe it's with one trusted friend. The connections will grow from there, but you have to allow yourself to be seen - even if at first it's just by taking one small step forward.

Finding Your Way Home

I started this post talking about how something as heavy as suicidal thoughts can become as natural as breathing. But what I've learned is that healing can become just as natural - whether it's through midnight conversations with emus, the comfort of a Squishmallow during a tough meeting, or finally being honest with healthcare providers who are ready to listen. It's about finding your own path to peace, even when that path looks nothing like what others might expect.

I'm sharing my story through Wild Heart with a Warrior Mind not because I have all the answers, but because I know what it's like to carry these thoughts alone. To feel like you're the only one scanning rooms for exit strategies while trying to act normal at social gatherings. To think you're broken because your brain works in ways others might not understand.

You're not broken. You're not alone. And you don't have to carry this weight in silence anymore.

Whether you find your peace in the quiet moments with animals, in the understanding nod of someone who gets it, or in the soft comfort of whatever soothes your soul - your journey to healing is valid. It might not be a straight path. It might involve some unexpected turns - like finding therapy in a farm full of animals or courage in a room full of dark humor. But every step you take toward creating your own safe space, toward being honest about your struggles, toward finding what works for YOU - that's healing.

And maybe, just maybe, by sharing our stories, we can help others breathe a little easier too.

Because sometimes the bravest thing we can do is admit we're still figuring it out, still creating our safe spaces, still learning to live with our minds while building a life worth living. And that's okay. That's more than okay - that's real, raw, beautiful healing.

[Resources for Support:

Veterans Crisis Line: 988, Press 1

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 988

Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741]