Messy Me

One of the most powerful things I’ve ever heard is that “you are most qualified to help the person you used to be” (Mylett, 2023). So, here it goes…

I’ve been sharing on my social media about running/logging at least 2 miles a day in May for the Mission 22 challenge, supporting Veterans in their battle against suicide. People have seen my posts, but they don’t really know my story. Very few in this world know how close I came to becoming one of the 22 a day. I wonder what others imagine when they hear about the 22 a day. To me, they could be anyone—myself, my closest friends, those who seem to have it all together, or those who wear their torment on their sleeves.

I used to get angry at my own struggles. I’d compare myself to admired leaders who appeared flawless, feeling broken for not measuring up. But somewhere along the line, I realized that we all struggle, and I began to appreciate that my struggle is my SUPERPOWER. It made me strong.

I share my struggle because, without it, I am not me.

I share my struggle because I want people to understand every veteran story is unique.

I share my struggle because I hope this journey helps at least one person.

I can’t sum up over two decades of messy life and lessons learned in one night, but starting somewhere can’t hurt, right?

*potential trigger warning below*

Here goes…

Negative Thoughts & False Stories

In 2003, I began to prime my brain for suicide when the “fight” was deemed impossible to win. I was not alone in this; this was actually common battlefield chatter at one point. Allow me to explain:

During the first weeks of the War in Iraq in 2003, there was an ambush after a transportation company travelled without a Military Police Security Escort (my job at the time) to their next destination. This ambush resulted in the infamous capture and later rescue of PFC Jessica Lynch in Nasiriya, Iraq in 2003 (Pew Research Center: Journalism & Media Staff, 2003).

Battlefield tales began to circulate regarding atrocities such as group rape and torture being done to Private Lynch. These tales were too much for my female counterparts and I to imagine happening to one of our sisters in arms only miles away from us. The initial story circulating among the troops was that this ambushed element fought until they completely ran out of ammunition. When they had no more ammunition to fight, they were captured and rape and torture soon followed. Later accounts proved much of this story inaccurate, however, it was real to us in that moment. It was real enough for the following kind of conversation among my friends and I to occur: “There is no way I am going down like that. I’ll kill myself before I let them take me and do to me what they did to her”.

My three best female battle buddies and I were lovingly known as the “Tough Guys” in our male dominated unit. We sat around the Humvee and with a ‘no ——ing way that will ever happen to me” understanding as we each took a bullet out of our 9MM handgun magazines and placed them in the pocket by our hearts. We were completely serious about our intent, however, our morbid sense of humor allowed us to giggle like little kids as we referenced the old TV character Barney Fife (who was only allowed to have one bullet in his pocket rather than carry a loaded handgun). We laughed each time we said “I got my one bullet right here, just in case I need it” *pat – pat*. We laughed, but we meant it. We would check in on each other from time to time, smile and pat our pockets as if it was refreshing to know that WE had control of what could be done to us and our bodies in a combat zone. The bullet in our pocket signified strength in our minds and taking control of a bad situation, but in reality, the bullet signified ending a fight by ending our lives. It was the first time in my life I thought of suicide as the answer to losing a battle I could no longer win.

I was not suicidal or depressed at any point during that deployment and that bullet did not signify my first moment of the traditional understanding of suicidal ideation when someone is battling depression, mental illness, or PTSD. But, at some point, suicidal ideation did become present in my life. Strangely, I do not remember the first time I felt suicidal ideation or why it came, but I do vividly remember the first time I stuck a gun in my mouth.

I had just returned from my second deployment to Iraq and I was feeling very sad and losing the battle in my head. On this deployment, we lost four soldiers in combat and more were injured. Our first soldier Killed in Action (KIA) happened in an attack by a rogue Iraqi police officer on February 24th, 2009. The second KIA event involved the loss of three soldiers during an Explosively Formed Projectile (EFP) Blast that penetrated the armor of their Armored Security Vehicle (ASV). In both instances, for various reasons (irrational or not), I felt responsible and made difficult notifications to their friends in their chain of command.

I became aware of the deadly attack on February 24, 2009 as our Battle Desk Operations Officer burst into the office, shouting, “What happened in Mosul!? Someone was shot in Mosul! I need details now!” Two companies and small detachment that were based in Mosul fell under my battalion and they were all operating in the same battle space. I was the Battle Desk Operations Sergeant in our battalion comprised of nine companies in Northern Iraq and I had not heard anything come in from that battle space from any element.

Prior to our deployment, I was originally assigned to one of the units that was operating in Mosul that day. I had been in the unit for over seven years and the soldiers of the 302nd Military Police Company (MP CO) were family to me and I was supposed to be with them; however, a back surgery changed my fate. They left without me and I had to try to catch up to them by volunteering to deploy with my Battalion instead. This time, however, I was off patrol and spent most of my days behind a desk in my new role. I hated everything about not being with them. As the news came in that day, I immediately worried about my former soldiers and closest friends. I jumped up and called their tactical operations center (TOC) as fast as I could, praying it was not one of my friends or soldiers who I had felt like I had abandoned.

My old Platoon Sergeant from my first deployment answered the line. I shouted, “Who got shot? Was that us?!” He quickly responded, “Yes Britt, it’s bad. We will give you more details when we know…” I didn’t even hear the rest at first; I literally froze. My body went numb and I could barely move. Fight, flight, or freeze is real and I absolutely froze. I wanted to scream and know who was hit and then I processed the rest of what he said. “269th guys Britt, not 302nd” (the small 269th element was attached to my old unit in the battle space, but they operated within their organic structure for missions and I did not know them personally). He continued, “They are transporting to the CSH and I will send an update (combat support hospital)”.

My body unfroze and got back to work. I felt guilty for immediately feeling relief that it was not one of my soldiers (I still feel this…but I am in a healthier space). I updated the Battalion Operations Officer and was to provide every single update from the hospital to our command every step of the way. I called the TOC of the 269th MP CO, which was located on another base in Multi-National Division – North (MND-N), and told them the news. I could hear the sadness and helplessness in their voices. These Tennessee Guardsmen were incredibly kind and appreciated my updates, but we all knew there was nothing more to do than to sit, pray, and wait….something I am still trying to learn how to do well. I could not shake the feeling of guilt that began building as I thought of their friends, recognizing the relief I had experienced knowing it was their close friend affected that day, not mine.

I was determined to do anything I could to help, to communicate, or to make this better. I was working in vain and only serving to bother the hospital workers asking for constant updates beyond what my command expected. At some point, the hospital updated his status from critical to stable and we took a slight breath and a Captain forced me to go to bed. “You are no good if you cannot think straight. Go to sleep; this will be here when you get back”.

It was not. They could not stop the bleeding from his spleen and this situation was not there for me when I got back.

That evening, I woke to a knock on the door of my Combat Housing Unit (CHU) from one of our night shift soldiers. “He died…I am sorry Sergeant, I know you said to wake you up if…I’m sorry”. I put my boots back on, went back to work, and that night, I made my first death notification to someone’s closest friends as I called the 269th TOC.

As I walked back to my CHU in the darkness, mentally and emotionally fatigued, the initial seeds of a detrimental thought pattern took root in my mind. This false narrative of incompetence in leadership and a tendency to shoulder blame became vivid with thoughts of, “I should have been there; I was supposed to do a visit. If I had just…”

The reality of these thoughts are ridiculous. But that didn’t stop them from coming.

Seven months later, on September 8th, 2009, we lost three more soldiers in our Battalion in an EFP blast near Tikrit, Iraq. After all of the field mortuary services were complete, those three soldiers were sent home in four caskets. I had to summon the courage to tell their First Sergeant the news. “First Sergeant, I do not want anyone to be surprised on the flight line. There will be four caskets loading on the plane”. A look of confusion came across her face, followed by a look of sadness when she realized what I meant. Three caskets were for the known bodies of three soldiers to be delivered home; a fourth was to be loaded that included all bodily remains that could not be identified to belonging to any individual soldier.

At this point I had a growing distaste for tactical policies and procedures in our battle space and struggled with how it impacted the safety of our soldiers but I also knew I did not have a better answer to solving these issues. I was simply angry at the entire situation. My battle fatigued brain began to take blame one more time as a familiar thought surfaced, “If I had just….This shouldn’t have happened”.

Thankfully, many will not understand this, but some will: The slow salute of the three battle crosses and the long salute of the ramp ceremony as all four caskets loaded the plane profoundly shook something inside of me. I did not know any of these men personally, yet somehow, their deaths and the false stories I allowed to creep into my head in the darkness shook my belief in my leadership and it shook my feeling of worth and ability to help in this world.

Fast forward two and a half months from the blast that took the lives of 3 soldiers and I found myself at my homecoming party, celebrating aka drowning my sorrows in alcohol.

Despite being surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sadness and an intense desire to be alone, to feel pain. In a drunken stupor in my friend’s backyard, I fixated on a large tree with four distinct branches. In my drunkenness, I was certain that the branches were the four soldiers from my Battalion that were Killed in Action. I hugged the tree, sobbing and apologizing over and over for letting them die. I took full blame for everything that happened, even though I was not there, even though I did not know them.

I realize this is not rational. The stories we allow ourselves to create and believe by the thoughts that sneak in are often irrational. But, rational or not, I questioned my leadership and whether or not I deserved to be alive. I was inconsolable, and my friends had no idea how to support me.

At home, I had hidden my Bronze Star from my family and told no one. My dad found it and opened it up and shouted in confusion because he understands the level of the award and I had shared very little about my journey. “What is this? Why do you have this!” I told him it was just something they give to everyone at my rank now. Furthermore, I did not deserve it, there are people dying that deserved it. Looking back, I realize this was not humility at play, I simply no longer believed in my value as a leader and I was hiding it from the world, starting within my own family. A few months later, alone on a porch, I stuck my gun into my mouth and held it there and contemplated angles of trajectory, just to make sure I could do it if I needed to.

But, I’m here today…

My story will never fit one page. This glimpse into my darkness may even leave you confused at a story half told.

I understand that in the messy complexity that leaves a story half told, you may not see that my struggle is my superpower yet. But I do. Perhaps your struggle is your superpower too?

I wrote the poem below as part of a reflective assignment for my Interdisciplinary Leadership Doctoral Program Creighton University:

‘MESSY ME’

Monsters inside my home and my head,

A miracle that no one is dead.

Should I fight or should I flee?

Various perspectives were strangling me.

Knives and guns and bullets and violence,

Smiling so nice and sitting in silence.

With every tormenting thought out of hand,

I believe that God had a plan.

Connection, fight, and vulnerability,

Ultimately helped me be free

And realize that I am best suited to lead others

With my messy, dark stories,

Shared under my big bright light.

REFERENCES

Military Times. (2009). Army 1st Lt. William E. Emmert. The Fallen.

https://thefallen.militarytimes.com/army-1st-lt-william-e-emmert/3965747

Military Times. (2009). Army Staff Sgt. Shannon M. Smith. The Fallen.

https://thefallen.militarytimes.com/army-staff-sgt-shannon-m-smith/4273189

Mylett, E. [@edmylett]. (2023, January 15). You are more qualified to help people than you think. [LinkedIn post]. LinkedIn. https://www.linkedin.com/posts/edmylett_you-are-more-qualified-to-help-people-than-activity-6975823064785698817-NssF?utm_source=li_share&utm_content=feedcontent&utm_medium=g_dt_web&utm_campaign=copy

Pew Research Center: Journalism & Media Staff. (2003, June 23). Jessica Lynch. Pew Research Center. https://www.pewresearch.org/journalism/2003/06/23/jessica-lynch/