Walk a Mile in our Army Boots
“Not all scars show. Not all wounds heal. Not all illness can be seen. Not all pain is obvious. Remember this before passing judgement on another.” - Unknown
I’ve been silent for a few days, once again. I do this sometimes; not because I’ve nothing to say but because I’ve too much to say and too much running around in my brain. This week, it was the result of many things; Christmas season is enough on its own because of how difficult it always is for me, as it is for many. But this past week, the CAF lost another brother. I wrote about this in my blog post, “2 Minutes of Silence”. That was the last post I wrote, until this one. In that post, I reminded my brothers and sisters to reach out; to me, to one another, to anyone when they are struggling. Not to disappear into the silence, but to ask for help.
After this, a friend and comrade reached out to me and asked if we could get together. I wasn’t sure if he was struggling, or if he realized that I was struggling, or if he simply wanted to spend some time together but I said yes and asked daughter number one, who is also in the military, if she would like to join us; as I could tell she was struggling, as well. So, this morning, we all went out to brunch together to reconnect and feel that sense of camaraderie that we all seemed to be needing.
We went to a small breakfast place, that was quickly becoming our new meeting spot; the same place we went for brunch before the service on Remembrance Day. We sat at the back of the restaurant; both, so we could have an overall view of the place of the exits (part of our ‘normal’ these days), and so we could enjoy another’s company without Evie Eavesdropper spoiling our fun. Knowing that, as serving military and veterans, that the occasional ‘F-Bomb’ would be dropped, and our conversation might be a little dark for the average person, we thought we were safe to be ourselves and enjoy one another’s company and said camaraderie without interruption or interference.
While at brunch; and while having a good conversation with said company, talking to our ‘brother’ about his current, let’s say, ‘situation’, not only did we end up seated next to ‘Evie Eavesdropper’, herself (who sat down several minutes after we arrived, with children), but we ended up dealing with her outspoken rage, disdain and judgement at the fact that ‘F-Bombs’ were being dropped. At one point, she even said out loud, “there are children here”. After which, we toned it down a bit but wanted to say, “there are six or seven other tables you could seat yourself in… we were here first… and oh, by the way, my friend here who is using that language just happens to be a Veteran with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI)”. But we didn’t say any of these things. Instead, we said, “sorry”, and kept trying to ‘tone it down’ for the children’s sake.
Unfortunately, it didn’t stop. And she didn’t actually leave until minutes before we finished our brunch and were about to leave as well. I’m sure, in her mind, we spoiled her brunch; but in ours, she spoiled ours. Why? Because we took all necessary precautions before she arrived; seating ourselves in the back and away from everyone else. Trying to be as quiet as possible, despite hearing issues, tinnitus and PTSD/TBI related issues. Trying to tone it down for her, when she for whatever reason, remained sitting directly across from us, in a restaurant with so many other open tables, at that point. We tried; to make she and the kids more comfortable so, they could enjoy their brunch, at the expense of our enjoyment. Apparently, we weren’t quiet enough, or polite enough; or enough of whatever she expected us to be, when seated next to her (even though we were there first). And she had absolutely no reservations, whatsoever, dramatically displaying her disdain and disgust with us.
The problem is, she also showed absolutely no interest in understanding what was really going on; who any of us were or why such language was being used, and such discussions being had. She didn’t care. She only cared about quietly enjoying her own brunch and didn’t have any interest in letting us enjoy ours. The funny thing is, had she known that the person using this language and those who were discussing topics that may not be the most palatable to the civilian mind, were in fact a part of a larger family; of those, partly responsible for her freedom to be publicly and so rudely disdainful of them. Of those who had sacrificed body, mind and soul so that she didn’t have to.
It’s situations like this, that make it hard for those of us suffering from PTSD and anxiety, resulting from this service, to not want to interact with the public. It’s people like this, who worsen our suffering. Once we’re out of uniform, instead of being met with respect and courtesy; the same thing we give those we serve, we are met with judgement and outward disdain. Instead of patience and understanding, we are met with disgust and ignorance. We are met with ignorance, by those we were sworn to serve and protect.
This particular Veteran requires more patience and understanding than I do, myself. He’s been through a great deal because of his service; given more than any of these people could or will ever have to imagine, and is working harder to heal from all of this, than he likely did, in his job as a soldier, in the first place. And yet, this person judged him. Judged him based on his language. Judged him based on his appearance. Judged him based on his/our topic(s) of conversation. Conversations that she could have just has easily walked away from; or asked nicely for us to alter, without so much disdain.
It’s situations like these, that break us; that make us feel more broken than we really are, and make us feel like we don’t belong. Situations that needn’t happen in the first place, were people to reserve judgement. It's others judgements and behaviour that makes us feel this brokeneness.
Were, she to have to walk a mile in his shoes; his army boots or mine, she’d be more compassionate. She’d hopefully show more patience and understanding, like our brothers and sisters (mostly) do, for one another. It’s situations like this that perpetuate the stigma associated with mental health struggles. That perpetuate the ignorance and lack of understanding. Why can’t we be more empathetic? Why can we not show compassion for those who struggle? Why do we have to be so self-centered and self-indulgent? Why did she have to be? Why could she not have simply said, “I’m not comfortable here” and moved seats? Why should we have to? Haven’t we given enough for her? Hasn’t he?
This situation occurred less than a week after the loss of one of our ‘brothers’; another one! This situation; this brunch, was inadvertently, a result of this loss, and others like it. Where we reach out to one another to do a buddy check after yet, another loss. This is my first blog post since that loss, because I couldn’t find a way of quieting the voices long enough to find the words to describe what’s going on in my mind at the moment.
I didn’t know this brother personally. My daughter did, and it’s affecting her; which is affecting me. It affects us all because we are all brothers and sisters in our larger CAF family. We all need each other. We all understand each other; the training, the lifestyle, the family dynamics, and the struggles. Especially after we leave the CAF. We’ve all walked more than a mile (13 km, at least) in each other’s army boots, and we’re all ‘family’ – even if, like all family’s we have our dysfunctional parts.
Because of this, were we to see a veteran behaving in this manner in public, our first response would be that of compassion. Not of judgement. Not of disdain. Not of arrogance. Not of ignorance. Because we’ve walked in these boots. And, because we know, not all scars are apparent and show outwardly. Not all wounds are able to heal. Not all illness and injuries can be seen by the naked eye. Not all pain can be seen or gauged by someone not feeling it. And we know, that we shouldn’t ever, knowing this, ever pass judgement on another soul. That we should walk a mile in whatever boots they wear, before we could understand why they have callouses, or why they’re so rough, themselves.