I apologize for the long read, but I believe it’s important to share my story.
Anxiety. It’s a silent problem that drives deep down into the darkest corners. It’s overlooked and underestimated.
I underestimated.
For some, anxiety is a huge problem. For others, anxiety is shrugged off as an excuse not to handle responsibilities or interact with people. In other words, your excuse not to be an adult. My opinion on anxiety was just that, and I’m afraid to say I didn’t think anxiety was a big deal.
I overlooked it.
Today, I have a much different outlook on it.
Anxiety is a problem that is deeper than just being nervous in public, or appearing to not have patience. It comes in all shapes and forms, including physical and mental. It happens to introverts, extroverts, all races, genders and/or preferences. Anxiety doesn’t choose or have a bias.
For me, it was largely mental, and all because of the physical.
Coming to grips with my injuries sustained on active duty was hard for me. No, I didn’t suffer as others have. I haven’t lost limbs in war or suffered permanent brain injuries. This post is not about that at all. I would never dare to compare myself to others who have sacrificed so much more than me.
However, I spent 12 years on active duty giving my all, including just about everything my body could take. I received the same mediocre medical care that many of us who wore the uniform received. I did pushups for 8 out of the 12 years with a torn labrum and rotator cuff. Doctors all said I was fine, refused to give me an MRI.
So I did what almost all of us have done, I ignored the pain, popped my subscribed Motrin, and pressed on.
A few years later my back gave out, and I suffered from several fractured discs and a hairline fracture in vertebrae. Worst pain of my life. Took over a year to get an MRI, and another year for surgery. And during all that time I was still at work, still working out, and still taking care of the household.
And the surgery didn’t fix much. I have about half the pain today.
After all of that, I continued to work but, I just can’t do what I used to do. My back wouldn’t allow it, and neither would either one of my shoulders. I struggled to run, and frankly couldn’t without causing further damage to my body. I finally had a doctor and a commander who understood and proceeded to do what was best for me. Their full cooperation and support through my medical board review was critical to me ultimately receiving a medical retirement.
I’ve had one shoulder surgically fixed to help with the constant pain, but despite an excellent surgeon, it will never be the same. My other shoulder still needs work, and probably a future surgery similar to my other shoulder. I’m thankful for the VA letting me pick my surgeon.
Unfortunately today even at 37 I’m just not who I was at 27. I can’t lift like I used to, and a hard day of yard work can keep me in bed the next day downing Motrin and using a heating pad until I can no longer feel the heat.
My life changed dramatically after my injuries so bad that I can’t even sleep well. If I sleep wrong on my back, I’ll wake up the next day in horrible pain. I can pinch a nerve or slip a disk pretty easily. Mentally I’m still very strong, youthful, and energetic. I’d love to help my dad cut down a tree or do some work on the farm. Physically, I can’t do that. It would be too big of a risk. I have to tell myself no, and it’s hard to do that.
I later found out through a fellow veteran that there are mental aspects to physical injuries. To my surprise, it made a lot of sense. I never really thought about it that way, and it was an interesting conversation. He spoke to me about PTSD and Anxiety, and how they both can be linked to the trauma of physical injuries. As he was explaining some of the common symptoms I was shocked at how many things he was saying I could relate to.
Honestly, it scared me.
I had been acting out, with anger, frustration, and impatience. This internal struggle wasn’t that obvious. I wanted to be involved with certain things, but physically I just couldn’t anymore. Or, I pushed myself too hard and the next day I wouldn’t feel good, which affected my family life. I wasn’t and hadn’t adjusted my life after active duty. I was still trying to be the same old Jeff, in the beat-up and tired body. It wasn’t working.
Mentally I was still young, energetic, and ready to roll. Physically I just wasn’t.
I decided one day to go talk to the VA about what my friend had told me about. I asked them if I could speak to a counselor regarding my injuries and how they could be mentally affecting me. Unsure of how much or how little this could actually be, I figured talking to an expert would be time well spent even if it resulted in nothing.
The VA, through Colorado Springs and then to the Utah VA took great care of me. I was referred to a VA psychologist who specializes in physical and athletic counseling. I got my first introductory appointment with him and felt good about the progress. What would happen next would change my life.
My first appointment was great. I felt like I wasn’t wasting my time and that he was truly trying to help me out. So I spoke with him and gave him what I was feeling. I answered at least a few dozen questions, and he referred me to a local VA psychiatrist who had a part in the evaluation. We set another appointment to meet in a few more weeks and discuss the results of the evaluation.
A few weeks later I was surprised at how prepared he was. He not only reviewed all the results but already had several options on the table for me. I had previously mentioned PTSD and Anxiety, as my friend had told me to look into both. My psychologist hit the hammer right on the head. He flat out told me, “Jeff, you have anxiety no doubt. And I’m here to help.”
At first, I was a little reluctant when he explained the programs. I was adamant that I wasn’t taking any medications. No pills. I turned down medication recommendations and didn’t want to hear him out. He understood and dropped it.
A week later he mentioned medication again, only this time he asked me to let him talk before I objected. He had some recommendations that he wanted to talk to the psychiatrist about. There is medication out there that can help lower anxiety levels to the point that it can help you mentally stay focused. I agreed to hear him out, and talk to the psychiatrist about it. After hearing both of their sides of the argument, I agreed to try something, in small doses just to see if the combined efforts of the counseling and medication would be optimal for me.
I started a 12-week program that focused on my physical activities and limitations. Each counseling session was about my progress, and how my activities helped or hurt me that week. We discussed everything from lawn mowing to sexual activities (not in detail). He even asked me how I got my mail. When I told him I had a mailbox about 2 blocks down the street I walked to, he asked me to time my walk. I thought it was weird, but he was trying to prove a point.
I was limited physically, but still trying to live life like I wasn’t. And those frustrations were spilling over into my relationships, my mood, my mental thought process, and much much more. I learned so much over the 12 weeks about how my body connects to my mind, and how even being tired and needing a nap can alter your day. My mental state was ravaged by my depression, all because I couldn’t even mow my own yard without risking hurting my back.
I had to fix a leaking sink faucet one day and if you’ve ever done that you will know how bad it sucks. Laying on your back under the sink is the worst, and it damn near killed me. I woke up the next day in horrible pain, sore from nearly head to toe. All over fixing a sink faucet for maybe 20 minutes. Instead of calling a plumber and paying them to do something I could mentally do, but physically knew it would cost me, I did it myself. So in reality, I was paying double.
What I learned was that not only was I depressed because of how my life changed, but I had anxiety about dealing with it. Again, I used to think anxiety was just an excuse for the weak-minded. I was humbled, and honestly a little humiliated that I thought so little about anxiety. Anxiety had taken over my life, and I never knew it.
I played a lot of things off and just tried to be a tough guy. All I was doing was shoving more and more frustration into my life and I had no way of dealing with it. I refused to pay someone to do what I knew I could do. Spending the money was uncessary. I couldn’t let those things go, and my pride hurt. I was at a point that I was willing to ruin my body further rather than let my ego go and pay someone to do it for me. It was a hard battle, but one that I came to realize after these 12 weeks of working on ME.
I later called my wife, who at the time didn’t live with me. She was going to school in Oklahoma and I was in Colorado with the kids (long story). The stress of being apart was a big piece of this anxiety and depression that I never knew I had. When I told her over the phone what I had been up to she was blown away. The man she knew who would refuse to take Motrin or Tylenol for a headache had just seen not only a psychologist, but a psychiatrist, AND was taking medication for it.
She could have said “I told you so”, but she didn’t. His reply was a simple “I’m proud of you, tell me more when you are ready.”
I later explained to her everything I had learned about myself, and how I really wanted to organically work on me. I say organically because I wanted to establish tools and tricks that could help me deal with these issues not just take medication. The ultimate goal of getting away from the medicine one day with a sharper mind than ever before.
I asked her for patience and understanding, and to help keep me in check. I told her some of the new things I was going to try and do, and that if it appeared odd to just play along. If I stop mid-sentence and close my eyes and breath, shutting off the conversation it wasn’t because I was done, it was because I was stopping myself from losing control of emotions, and bringing myself back down. If I chose to walk away from a situation and address it later it was because I was focusing on my response.
It’s been almost a year since my first call with a counselor. I had swallowed my pride and looked into something that required me to admit I was out of pocket, needed help, and had to make changes I wasn’t going to like. This required taking medicine that I didn’t want to take, and do stupid little drills to control my breathing. I had to fill out an activity log like a child, and make a better attempt to do physical activity that I was capable of, rather than finding that activity in housework that would only set me back. It was a major endeavor on my part.
I did all of those things and don’t regret it one bit.
I’m not the type of person to talk about myself, in fact, I kind of hate it. But I’ve been seeing a lot about mental health and anxiety on social media lately, specifically when it comes to veterans.
I can tell you this…I’m so glad I got some help. It was the best decision of my life. I’ve made major life adjustments by just doing one little thing differently at a time over the course of the last year. It’s changed my life. I’ve been able to understand my limitations, and how handling them differently will actually make me less stressed. Yes, I spend more money on things that I would rather not, but the upside is I don’t wake up the next day feeling like a truck ran me over. Yes, I had to adjust my budget and save more money to prepare for these things.
I am happier because of it. I see life differently now, one that I feel like I can deal with. When problems come up and things don’t go well I handle them better. Issues don’t bother me like they used to. I’m 90% less stressed than I was before. And the other 10% I’ve learned to deal with and handle appropriately.
I wrote this because we need more success stories out there. We need more people talking about their journey and how it helped them. The stigma is real, and I was one who believed in it.
Anxiety was the silent puppet master running my life. Depression was his best friend, and together, they made it hard for me to do even the smallest things. They were in control, and I was hating life. It should never be that way. I had to hide my emotions from my family, disguise who I was in front of others, all because I had a war going on inside.
Now I’m in control. I don’t regret anything. Reaching out was the best decision. I wish I would have earlier.
YOU MATTER. Take control. Call someone. Ask for help. It may not feel tough, but I can tell you, it’s much better handling your business than having others judge you for looking a fool. I was told one time “A sign of a strong person is their ability to handle their own shit, and make others around them understand how.”
If you are reading this and got all the way to the end, just know, you got this. YOU MATTER. Go get the help. I’m not less of a man for getting help, I’m 100% mentally me all the time. I’m in my prime right now and have worked my life around my limitations, but I don’t let them limit me.
YOU MATTER.
To celebrate Veteran’s Day, I’m making a donation to the Boot Campaign, as well as Shields and Stripes to help others who face the same things, and worse things, than I did. This story is to be shared, so if you feel inclined to do so, please do.
Donate by clicking the logos below, and support these two incredible organizations with me.
We are in this together.
