An Operator’s Perspective:
All B.L.U.F. no Fluff
Written by Operator
If you are not a warfighter, kick rocks.
“I’ll stack on the door with you, brother.”
“As I sit outside the VA currently, I can’t help but sit in my feelings. I genuinely believe I wouldn’t have sat here without Operator’s help. Like many of America's elite warriors after their service, I was lost, just a jellyfish floating in the sea. I didn’t know how to “fix” myself, and honestly, I had lost hope that it was possible. Then came the “operator” mentality of I can fix and overcome any problem. However, the problem was me, and the overwhelming thought was, well, I must go; I am the cancer. Then, my family can move on and not have the cancer (me) holding them back.
In an epiphany, I remember a few of my really good friends giving me Operator’s number when I spoke to them about my issues and problems at home. As a last resort and a fuck it, why not mentality, I reached out to Operator. I didn’t have high expectations, as I had seen countless VA and private practice therapists to have prescriptions by the dozens thrown at me to fix me. After the first time talking to Operator, it took me multiple days to process; wow, he nailed everything on the head with what was going on and how I was feeling and acting. The most important thing I took from talking to Operator was that I was not alone anymore and had someone in my corner.
I have spent countless hours on the phone with Operator. He has set me up with support and resources that fucking work. Operator is even in my wife’s phone as an emergency contact for her to call. My wife brought up to me that she didn’t know who to call if I was having issues, and it terrified her because she didn’t want to lose me. Operator is that person to me. He reached his hand down the dark, cold hole of hell and, with a shining bright light behind him, grabbed me, lifted me out of it, and saved my life. God puts people into your life at just the right time. With us all connected in the mycelium universe, Operator was my savior and put in my life at the perfect moment before I made the ultimate decision. I still have much work to do, but I’m crawling out of that dark place with the help of Operator. He has changed my life; I have hope, will, and support to keep moving forward for my wife, children, and myself. We are living in a pandemic of our elite warriors surviving war and coming home and taking their own lives. We need more Operator’s to fight the pandemic; it’s the only way to beat it.”
-Special Operator
One-Man
No shit, there I was, in the scariest place imaginable—alone, in a dark room, with myself.
Everything started with anger for me. I was angry 24/7, yet I was utterly oblivious to it. Next came the anxiety that began to build. With every day, I got further from being an operator. Then, it was the depression that hit in waves, and every time I got hit with a wave, I became suicidal. It’s as if they walked hand-in-hand. I found myself in a position of feeling like I was possessed. I had lost all control over who I was and how I was showing up for my team.
My purpose as an operator had always been to show up for the boys on the rooftop. But I wasn’t on the rooftop anymore. Once I entered the medical board, the meat grinder kept going, and the boys were gone, busy being operators. No one is more important than the mission. I felt like I got left on the X.
What do you do after you’ve climbed Mount Everest? It was easy to be a humble professional when “operator” was in my back pocket. Now, I found myself wanting to tell my life story to everyone I saw, grasping for validation. I’d become insecure and no longer felt like a man capable of violence.
A brother I’d grown up with was fighting a similar war in his head. We would have weekly conversations, which served as our “therapy sessions.” Both of us were dealing with suicidal ideations and tendencies, but instead of leaning into shame or judgment, we built an understanding. If you need to step through that door, brother, I will step up and take care of your family. You don’t have to worry about anything. I’ve got you, brother.
It wasn’t the traditional, “You better not fucking do that; you better call me before you do that” approach. We had a loving understanding with one another. We knew we could call if we needed to in that moment, but ultimately, there was no judgment. If one of us decided to step through the door, everything would be taken care of on the back side.
I lied through my teeth to every teammate who called because I never wanted to damage the Big Tough Operator façade I had built. I was constantly checking boxes, trying to appear as a good father, a good husband, and a solid operator. Perception is reality, and even though the wheels were falling off the bus, I was still doing a damn good job of controlling the narrative.
When I talk to operators about suicidal ideations and tendencies, it seems so black and white. Suicide is fluid and dynamic. What I learned about my suicidal ideations was that if I could do nothing long enough, I could outlast the thought. I would make elaborate plans that were very difficult to execute, and by the time I was done planning, I would have outlasted the wave.
The Door Analogy: Are you approaching the door? Are you stacking on it, preparing to make entry? Are you popping the door? Are you clearing the dark room on the other side? Are you choosing to step into that threshold and through it?
Thinking about death is a normal human experience. It doesn’t mean you are broken. It doesn’t mean that you’re a sissy. As an operator, I hope you can at least see the door. Being aware of its presence isn’t a problem. What matters is where you’re standing in relation to it. What justifications are you making to yourself to move towards that threshold? What’s your narrative?
I had a conversation with an operator as I had done many times before. Creating a team space and sharing a story of when I stacked on that door. Standing in the threshold, finger on with 1 foot moving forward. He gave me the space to speak, but then immediately confronted me aggressively about being a father and a husband. To be a man and not a sissy. “Don’t take the easy way out.” What he did not understand was that I was sharing a story. It was something that happened. Not a current state of mind.
I was surprised as I realized he triggered something in me. No pun intended, because I had poundage out, not just slack. I couldn’t help but think of some of the badass operators that I’ve known who decided to step through that threshold. All I could think was that those operators weren’t sissies. One operator stands out to me. He was a guy that you could look up to, an operator that everybody would go to war with. How long was that operator hurting before he decided to step through that threshold? All my boots on the ground experience tells me the day that he pulled the trigger wasn’t the first time he was stacked on that door. So, how long had our teammate been hurting? How many times did he stack as a one-man without a two? How many times did he feel that false squeeze of darkness, wishing that he had one of his boys with situational awareness to stop him from making a one-man entry?
There’s no lack of mental fortitude when it comes to an operator who’s made it through a selection course. I have plenty of cool-guy stories that exemplify resilience and mental fortitude, yet all that cool-guy shit didn’t matter. I still found myself front sight focused on that door with no two-man. Convincing myself that I had to make a one-man entry.