Erika E

Did I suffer from “buyer’s remorse” after I sent that email? Yup, 1000 times over. “What was I thinking?” kept playing on repeat in my head. Would I be labeled a failure? What if I was called weak? Or told I was unable to take care of myself, let alone my kids? I feared for my job, my family, my life as I knew it (shambles & all). What would my boss say if they knew I reached out for help? I felt so alone, like no one could possibly understand what I was going through. So, I clung to my disintegrating mask & waited for a reply.

The Reply

I vividly remember receiving the notification on my phone for a new email. When I opened the app & saw the subject, my heart dropped. I’m not sure how long I waited to actually click on it so I could read his reply. I braced myself for harsh judgment or questioning why I overshared, but there was none of that. He had taken the time to respond to every individual piece of my rambling mess. I felt heard & accepted.

It was weird to feel that a complete stranger seemed to understand me better than any single person currently in my life, & yet it was true. He assured me there was a spot in the October class with my name on it, if I was still interested. I waited a few days before accepting that spot. Maybe it was so I could be sure I was doing the right thing. Or so I had time to process what I had agreed to, even if I seriously had no clue. Maybe it was my last ditch effort to maintain some semblance of control. Whatever the reason, when I finally replied, I knew I was ready.

The Dilemma

This may be considered an unpopular opinion, but I even wondered if it would have been different if I had been wounded in combat. Maybe it wouldn’t be so scary to ask for help. Or perhaps people wouldn’t question me if there was physically something wrong with me vs mentally something wrong. Then at least they could “see” my pain.

I had contacted a few organizations after I returned from Iraq, but because I wasn’t classified as a wounded warrior, I didn’t qualify. Is it my own fault? Partially, yes it is. Ok, ok, more than partially. I came home from my deployment in 2010, honorably discharged in 2012, & continued working in the civilian sector (since I was National Guard). Here’s the kicker, to this day I still haven’t filed anything with the VA. Nothing & so all I had back then was the title of combat veteran. No PTSD, no physical injuries, nothing. I am perfectly “fine,” according to the VA. I knew I wasn’t ok, but that doesn’t matter when documentation is required.

What was I thinking? Was I even thinking at all when I sent that email? No, my brain was in a fog, & I couldn’t see my hand in front of my own face.

The Drive

On October 4th, 2019 I drove from my home in NC to Boulder Crest in Bluemont, VA. The literal drive from point A to point B was uneventful, but the same couldn’t be said for the emotional rollercoaster I experienced in my car that day. Instead of listening to music, I opted to listen to the audiobook of Struggle Well by Ken Falke & Josh Goldberg. What was I thinking? It was my lame attempt to prepare myself for the upcoming week.

This time I was more intentional because I wanted to ensure I hadn’t missed anything critical the first time. I don’t know about you, but I’m a researcher, always have been. I figured out at a young age that the more I knew about something, the more successful I could be at it. Of course, it also ties back to my extreme fear of failure & my unrealistic need to be “perfect.”

The Unknown

I pulled up to the gate a little before 1500 (AKA 3pm for all you non-24 hour time folks) & immediately threw my car into park. I sat there just staring at the sign I needed to drive under. At that exact moment, roughly a million questions flooded my mind. What was I thinking? Should I even be here? Can “this” really help me? Was I taking a spot that someone else needed more than me? Hell, I even wondered if I should just turn around & head home.

I’m honestly not sure what stopped me, but I made the conscious decision that it was now or never. There were no more excuses. So after what felt like forever, I took a deep breath, shifted my car into drive, & slowly made my way up the hill to the lodge.

The Lodge

I was beyond nervous walking through the front door. I had no idea what was about to happen & my fear of the unknown kicked into overdrive. The transition from the bright sun outside to the dimly lit interior (in comparison) took a second. Two men seemed to materialize out of the shadows & greeted me as I entered. One was literally the happiest & most excited man I had probably ever met in my life, no joke.

He offered to walk me to my cabin, but since I needed to move my car, he met me there. He wanted to help me carry my bags, water bottle, anything, so I handed him a small duffle bag full of shoes to pretty much shut him up. Now before you think I’m being over the top or mean, Emmet is by far, one of the best humans I know & he will always have a place in my heart. Also, he really is that happy & has a genuine zeal for life.

The Program

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, over dinner, & around the bonfire that night, I met the six other women who would become my Warrior PATHH sisters. Over the course of that week, I was encouraged, but never forced to participate. I disclosed trauma I had hidden for years. I felt lighter the more I spoke, the more I shared. Left shit behind in the middle of the labyrinth, learned to calm my mind through Transcendental Meditation (TM), started exercising again (nothing too strenuous), stayed in the most beautiful cabin, & ate the most amazing meals with my new sisters. I learned to listen, really listen to others. And I learned it’s ok to not be ok.

I learned how to truly “Struggle Well” & I experienced Post Traumatic Growth (PTG) firsthand. They were just baby steps at the time, but steps forward none-the-less. I could write paragraphs more, but they would be from my perspective, through my eyes. Your journey may be similar or very different from mine, but it will never be the same. It can’t be. We are all unique. We all have our own “glasses” that we view the world through. You deserve to experience it for yourself.

Ok, those paragraphs probably make it sound like I drank too much Kool-Aid during that first week, but I promise that’s not the case. I’m now 2.5 years out from leaving Boulder Crest & if you asked me “Would you have gone sooner if you knew then, what you know now?” I’d honestly say, “No. I wasn’t ready sooner.” Although, if given the opportunity to redo the first day, I wouldn’t park outside the gate, I’d just drive right on up to the lodge.

The Opportunity

I might not have had a plan, but I was done, broken, & desperate. I wanted it all to end, even though I couldn’t adequately describe what “it” was. Driving through that gate was simultaneously the hardest & best decision I have ever made for myself & in the end, for my family. If you are a combat veteran or a first responder in any stage of struggle, I encourage you to apply for the Warrior PATHH program. Hell, even if you’re doing quite fine on your own, or think you are, like I did for so many years. Apply.

When you are ready to take that step & do the hard work, do it. I will stand in the wings. I will cheer you on. I got your six.

Who is Erika E?

Erika is a 6-year Army vet turned IT geek who drinks copious amounts of coffee & isn’t afraid of struggle. When she’s not working, she loves writing, reading, & NOT arithmetic (but can calculate as needed). Oh, & as you’ll see from her posts, she doesn’t shy away from tough topics.

Got a story you want to share? Email her at erika@mentalgrenade.com

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