Continuing Actions Chapter 6

GETTING PHYSICAL

AT THIS POINT I have to assume two things: First, that what I’ve explained about the warrior’s journey, and how we’re only prepared for some of it, makes sense to you and, second, that you’re getting tired of background information. That information was critical to set the stage for the rest of the book—but I agree. It’s time to start hammering out the details.

From here on out, the focus will be on the specifics. We will separate the challenges into their components, understand the support that is available to overcome them, and develop a plan to move forward. The remainder of the book will draw heavily on my experiences navigating my own, particular challenges. These examples are not meant as a prescription to be followed to the letter. I include them to illustrate desired effects, but they should be considered as only one of many possible routes through the challenges of coming home.

Because none of us have had the exact same experiences, your route will be different from mine. Our paths may overlap in parts or go in opposite directions, but they will likely share common components. The specifics of my journey are only important here because they explain how I addressed these common components. Understanding how the things I did worked for me is valuable knowledge that will help you figure out your own way forward.

STRATEGY

The challenges we face after coming home are not orderly and neat. They are a confusing mix of physical, emotional, and spiritual trials that hit us randomly and without warning. Sometimes, they hit all at once. This doesn’t mean, however, that we should try to fight them all at the same time. Flailing out in every direction is never a good idea.

Instead, we must isolate the challenges, prevent them from reinforcing each other, and overcome them one by one. There’s a sequence to taking them down that maximizes our effectiveness while degrading theirs, and each success gives us additional tools we can use to defeat the next. In Achilles in Vietnam, Shay describes the critical first step in this building block approach as establishing our own safety, sobriety, and self-care.

If safety, sobriety, and self-care create the stable platform required to move forward on our journey, restful sleep is the anchor that holds the platform in place. The remainder of this chapter will explore self- and buddy-aid options for building your own platform, as well as direct you toward resources for how to anchor it with solid sleep. If these suggestions don’t work for you, though, corpsman-aid is just a phone call away. There are hotlines available—Veterans Crisis Line (1-800-273-8255) and the Vet Center’s Combat Call Center (1-877-WAR-VETS), for example—that will connect you with a knowledgeable mental health professional 24/7, 365. They can serve as a gateway into other corpsman-aid options, but they can’t come to you—you must pick up the phone and take the first step.

There may be a lot of alligators swimming around your boat, but they are not equal threats—it does no good to shoot the ones in the distance while the closest eats you. This chapter is going to focus on the one most likely to kill you first. Then we can turn our attention to the other sneaky bastards lurking farther away.

THE ALLIGATOR CLOSEST TO THE BOAT: PHYSICAL

“Survival skills, such as vigilant sleep, brought back into the civilian worlds of family and employment, are actually more destructive of the veteran’s well-being than the intrusive persistence of the traumatic moment.”—Jonathan Shay, Achilles in Vietnam, p.175

The physical aftereffects of combat—irritability, jumpiness, hyper-arousal—are what people identify most with combat trauma. These reactions are made worse by a problem most veterans just assume is normal: We sleep like shit. Lack of restorative sleep exacerbates these physical aftereffects and hampers our ability to deal constructively with even normal, everyday stressors. While they may be the public face of combat trauma, these physical reactions are not its only components. Hidden beneath are the quieter, more subversive, emotional and spiritual challenges that erode us from within. But it is impossible to defeat those deeper challenges while suffering the tornado of physical responses to combat. These winds must be calmed, and restful sleep restored, if we are to find the quiet mental space required for self-awareness and introspection—two essential tools we’ll need to overcome our emotional and spiritual challenges later on.

I’LL SLEEP WHEN I’M DEAD

One of the most crucial components of self-care is something that many veterans consider unimportant: sleep. Instead of treating sleep like a fundamental requirement to keep our bodies and minds functioning properly, our attitude toward this vital tool borders on contempt. We tell ourselves we don’t need it, that we’re strong enough to go without it, and that only the weak indulge in it. There may have been periods during our service when we simply had to go without sleep, but that time has passed. Now that we’re home and facing new battles, re-establishing restful sleep should be one of our first priorities.

The negative effects of too little sleep on the human body and mind are well documented. Depression, anxiety, lack of concentration, impaired motor skills, and problems with memory are just some of the byproducts of not getting enough of it. This is an especially difficult problem for veterans to overcome because we consider being able to operate on minimal sleep a valuable skill. Training operations designed to simulate actual combat often purposefully deprived us of sleep in order to test us more fully. And actual combat? Forget about it. There may come a time when the military recognizes the value of well-rested warriors vice zombies and incorporates “sleep plans” into operational planning, but that is likely a ways off. Until that happens, most veterans leaving the service will do so without healthy sleeping habits in place. For us, restoring restful sleep must be one of the first continuing actions we accomplish after coming home.

One of the most common tools we use to help us fall asleep is alcohol. That’s because it seems to work. We have a few drinks, get a little loose, then fall asleep almost as soon as our head hits the pillow. Or maybe we don’t even make it to bed, passing out on the couch with the TV on. Alcohol gives us the impression that it’s helping us sleep because we fall asleep faster. In actuality, we’re shooting ourselves in the foot.

Alcohol keeps our brain from going into the Rapid Eye Movement (REM) stage of sleep—the stage where our brain is actively repairing and reorganizing itself. A normal, restorative sleep cycle will send us into and out of REM sleep multiple times per night. But when alcohol is in our system, this cycle is disrupted and we may never achieve REM sleep at all. We may be snoring on the couch for seven hours while the dog licks pizza grease off our face, but, when we do finally get up, our brain will be just as worn out as it was when we laid down.

But it will ruck up and keep going because that’s what it’s designed to do. Our brain will keep our heart beating, our lungs inhaling and exhaling, and we will continue to function, although at a reduced capacity. Our ability to manage complex thoughts, organize and access memories, and even conduct routine social interactions will be slowly, sneakily, eroded away. We might not even recognize this loss of brain function because chronic sleep deprivation has turned the part of our brain that would notice it—the frontal lobes—into a pile of mush. With the frontal lobes degraded by lack of sleep, injury, or drugs, operational control of our body passes to the lizard brain. This is the part of our brain buried at the base of our skull and, unless we’re in a life-or-death situation, having it in full control of our actions is not a good thing.

The lizard brain regulates our basic survival mechanisms and doesn’t need much sleep to function. This primitive part of our brain is pretty much hard-wired in the “go” position and, unless severed from the spinal column, will continue to keep our bodies doing all the things they need to do to survive. But the frontal lobes are different. They are used for higher-level thought and are constantly changing and reorganizing themselves—usually while we sleep. In addition to complex thoughts and providing ethical and moral restraint, the frontal lobes play a major role in keeping the lizard brain in check. This relationship gives us the ability to appreciate an attractive person nearby without immediately trying to rip their clothes off, or to remember that we don’t have to fight every asshole we come across. The frontal lobes allow us to operate above the level of simply surviving and enable us to live in civil society. Restful sleep is critical to maintaining the appropriate balance between them and the lizard brain.

When we’re not rested, though, the lizard brain gets a bigger say in how we behave. Unimpeded by conscious consideration, it bypasses the frontal lobes and dictates our actions without regard for repercussions. This is how we end up screaming obscenities at the jerk who cut us off on the highway, chasing him down, and getting thrown in jail for assault. This is what makes us react with rage to small inconveniences or disruptions to our plans and makes our family and friends fearful of what we might do next.

Lack of restful sleep makes every challenge harder to overcome. This is especially true when trying to transition back to normal life after combat because those challenges are directly reinforced by lack of sleep. It’s almost as if every time we lie down, we’re restocking the enemy’s ammo for him.

The subject of sleep, and how to make sure we get enough of it to be healthy, is a branch of medical science too broad to cover here. While there are some basic sleep hygiene concepts that you can incorporate on your own, truly measuring the effectiveness of your sleep and figuring out how to improve it are best accomplished in consultation with a medical doctor. For a good description of the various self-, buddy-, and corpsman-aid options for sleep hygiene, take a look at chapter 4 of Once a Warrior—Always a Warrior by Charles Hoge.

WHERE THE TORNADO STARTS

Before we can calm them down, it is important to understand where the most visible aspects of combat trauma—the loud, boisterous, physical reactions to combat—come from. They are not symptoms of any sickness, disorder, character flaw, or weakness. Rather, they are normal, healthy human reactions to stressful situations. It is very likely they kept us alive and well while in combat and, during certain situations, will do the same for us at home. They’re good, normal reactions—as long as they are situationally appropriate.

The physical effects of PTSD on the body are indistinguishable from what happens as a result of extreme stress, but continue long after the source of the stress has passed. PTSD is essentially a man- ifestation of the natural mechanisms for survival and functioning under extremely threatening situ- ations. Everything we label a “symptom” of PTSD is an adaptive and beneficial response when there is a threat to your personal welfare or that of others, and the persistence of these reactions is the body’s effort to ensure that you’re immediately ready if the danger occurs again. (Charles Hoge, Once a Warrior—Always a Warrior, p.35)

These “fight-or-flight” responses are hard-wired into our physiology. They are the human animal’s turbocharger for use during times of danger. This turbocharger makes our heart rate increase, pumps adrenaline into our system, constricts our pupils for better focus, and floods our muscles with fuel. The speed at which our bodies make these changes in response to danger—perceived or real—is possible because of special pathways through our brains. These pathways give our primitive lizard brain the ability to instantly activate the tools needed for immediate survival without being hindered by conscious, rational thought. The frontal lobes are not part of these pathways. They’re too slow, too hampered by reason and discretion to be effective survival mechanisms. That part of our brain gets “back-briefed” once the danger is past—if it’s ever brought into the information loop at all.

In combat, these physiological responses to danger are appropriate and helpful. They give us the ability to focus on threats among chaos, drive our bodies to superhuman feats of strength and endurance, and maintain alertness beyond what we thought possible. We benefit greatly from having this turbocharger—but we don’t get to control it. It turns on, and off, automatically. And the system is designed so that, if it fails, it fails in the “On” position.

But when the physiological processes of fight or flight do not automatically turn off, we have a problem. Operating at this extreme level places tremendous stress upon our bodies, and we are not capable of doing it for long periods without suffering serious adverse effects.

“Over time the combat veteran’s body may seem to have turned against him. He begins to suffer not only from insomnia and agitation but also of numerous types of somatic symptoms. Tension headaches, gastrointestinal disturbances, skin disorders, and abdominal, back, or neck pain are extremely common. He may complain of tremors, choking sensations, or a rapid heartbeat.” (Shay, Achilles in Vietnam, p.174)

In addition to hurting our overall health, severe reactions can disrupt every relationship in our lives—from everyday social interactions to personal relationships with those we love the most. In some cases, by the time a veteran returns home, the negative effects of these processes are already beyond the self- and buddy- aid options. When drugs and alcohol are being used to numb, when family members are physically afraid, or when risk-taking behaviors become uncontrollable, you must go straight to corps- man-aid. And fast.

But what if you’re not in crisis mode? What if you’re generally able to manage the excess energy, irritability, and unease without hurting yourself or others? The vast majority of us find ourselves in this position after coming home. We’re never far from fight or flight, are always alert and quick to flash anger, but we’re generally okay. Our coping mechanisms range from avoidance to denial and sometimes even give us a little relief. But we’re aware that we’re not operating as well as we could be. If you’re in this middle ground—not “great” but not actively self-destructive either—you have the luxury of time. Use it to explore self- and buddy-aid options—or go straight to corpsman-aid if you want. External help is never a bad idea; it’s just that some people prefer to handle things on their own. I know I did.

WINDOW ON MY WORLD

When I returned from Iraq after the 2003 invasion, I felt very different, uneasy and anxious. I was preparing for a second combat tour but as long as I was at work I felt fine. It was when I wasn’t at work that I had a problem. It was impossible for me to relax, sit still, or even be fully present for a conversation with my fiancée. I was irritable and perpetually driven by an unquenchable need to do something. I always felt like there was someplace I needed to go, some task I had to accomplish. As I said, when I was at work that level of energy was appropriate—even welcomed. I worked hard and seemed a fountain of energy. But I couldn’t turn it off.

I made a common mistake when I figured out what was going on—I poured a drink. It seemed to work at first, calming the ever-present need to do something and allowing me to relax after work. But then one drink didn’t do it. Then two. Then three. I had embarked upon a path to alcoholism that was insidious and incredibly easy to fall into. If it hadn’t been for my fiancée’s timely intervention, I might have gone much further down that road than I did.

Because of her insistence, I stopped drinking as a means to dull my anxiety and irritability. Instead I turned to physical exercise, specifically free diving and spearfishing. I had always enjoyed being in the ocean, but these two activities gained a new importance for me after combat.

Being underwater provided a means to dissipate the excess alertness and energy my body’s runaway turbocharger was pouring into me. In addition to being healthy exercise, stalking prey in the cold Pacific Ocean put me in a situation where the alertness and anxiety I felt were appropriate and helpful. I spent hours out in the kelp, hunting for food for as long as I could hold my breath. The knowledge that large sharks could be just out of sight in the murky water created a tingle of danger that I needed and welcomed. Being just beneath the “fight-or-flight” threshold was appropriate when I was underwater and, when I did finally come back to dry land, the excess energy was gone.

At first there was just a brief period after each diving session when I felt calm. After it dissipated, the anxiety returned. But the more I dove, the longer that period of calm lasted. Whatever physiological responses flying a Cobra gunship in combat had activated were slowly adjusting to the level required to keep me safe and alert underwater. After the incredible intensity of combat, my turbocharger had become stuck. It was outside my ability to turn it off, so I just had to let it run down on its own. Alcohol only numbed it, but diving gave me an outlet to flush that intense energy out of my system. It was a “stepping-down” process and, over time, the turbocharger turned off. I no longer needed to dive. But I still went anyway.

I didn’t recognize what diving was doing for me at the time. All I knew was that I felt better—normal—after a good long session in the water. Luckily, my situation allowed me to escape underwater just about every day. Holding your breath and kicking 30-40′ down in search of dinner might not be everybody’s cup of tea, but it doesn’t have to be. Each of us has some sort of activity we enjoy doing—we just have to make the effort to do it.

A WARNING

Many books about adjusting to life after traumatic or stressful events warn against “risk-taking” behaviors. Racing motorcycles on public highways, illegal base-jumping, and actively looking for physical fights are just some of the unhealthy—and downright stupid—ways we employ the excess energy created by our stuck turbochargers. But that doesn’t mean that some risk taking is a bad thing. We just need to be smart about how we do it.

There is a certain amount of risk in everything. Simply flying a helicopter is dangerous. When you consider that military pilots dodge high-tension wires at night, in sandstorms, while people actively shoot at them, you can understand why a pilot’s acceptable risk threshold is a little higher than the average person’s. None of us want to die, yet we accept this risk in the routine execution of our duties because we’re confident that our skills will keep us alive. Pilots are not unique in this regard and each military specialty has its own risks. Professional warriors mitigate them as much as possible but they cannot be eliminated. Some level of risk is a welcome part of a warrior’s life—it makes things real, intense. And for some of us, it is a primary reason we joined up in the first place.

CONSIDERATIONS FOR EFFECTIVE SELF-AID

It is unreasonable to expect a returning warrior to forget the intoxicating sense of being alive that’s created when death’s a constant companion. But chasing it is a dangerous pasttime because it’s a fleeting sensation that, once felt, requires more risk to achieve again. The trick, therefore, is not to quit the risk-taking activities cold-turkey, but rather to find an activity that provides a means to step down the intensity of the experience. You have to reset your excitement threshold to reasonable, healthy levels. The activity should be enough to give you the tingle of danger, not the intensity of actually dancing with death. You’ve done that and survived. You have nothing to prove by doing it again.

What are these activities? That depends—what do you like to do? Remember that promise about jumping out of airplanes? Here’s your chance. Want to race motorcycles? Go ahead—just get professional instruction, do it on a racetrack, and get the proper equipment. Or maybe hunting will provide the tingle you need. Not exciting enough with a rifle? Try a bow—and hunt something with teeth. Look at the area you live in and explore the activities it supports. The options are endless, and it is up to you to discover what activity will sponge up your excess energy. Once you figure it out, don’t be stupid. Get professional instruction, buy the appropriate protective equipment, and follow common safety practices.

There are some realistic limitations on what types of activities will work. It does no good if your chosen activity is too expensive or requires you to travel too far to do it. It needs to be something you can do close to home so you can do it often. And if you have to take out a loan to finance it, then you might want to reconsider your choice. The activity should also have a component of physical exercise, require a certain amount of concentration in order to do it safely, and offer a means to adjust the level of risk.

The physical exercise requirement doesn’t have to be excessive. You don’t have to run ultra-marathons in order for it to be effective. But it does need to be a component of your activity because exercise flushes stress from our bodies. Everything we bring home with us physically from combat revolves around stress. Not only do we have to face normal, everyday, life stressors that are challenging enough, but we also have to deal with the stress left over from our experiences in combat. On top of it all is the stress that comes from not knowing when and where disruptive emotions and reactions are going to hit us again.

This accumulated stress causes even the most easygoing among us to angrily explode in response to seemingly minor situations. Discipline and self-control keep our anger under wraps most of the time, but every once in a while an encounter with a rude driver, a whiny kid, or an inconsiderate passerby will cause us to lose it. This stress builds up within us and must be cleansed from our system—and exercise is a great way to do it. With the recent advances in adaptive sports, physical injuries that used to make exercise impossible for some veterans can be overcome. Skiing, swimming, kayaking, biking, and running are just some of the many sports conquered by veterans who’ve suffered amputations. So get outside, get your heart rate up, sweat, and feel your muscles cramp and burn. It’s good for you.

Another component of a good activity involves mental participation. The leftover energy from combat often results in our brains running over the same experience or reaction again and again. We get no relief from the emotions of that experience and, instead of remaining in our past, they intrude on our present. But if the activity you choose requires you to concentrate on it instead, then your mind is given an opportunity to step back from the loop. This is another place where a little risk is a good thing. Risk, and the associated fear of screwing up and getting hurt, is a powerful motivator for focused concentration. Whitewater kayaking is a great sport for this, as are downhill mountain biking, skiing, surfing, boxing, and mixed martial arts, just to name a few. Any sport that provides physical exercise and requires mental concentration to do safely is a good choice.

The third aspect of a good sport is scalability of risk. Remember that the goal here is not to push the excitement and “rush” to new heights, but to slowly wean your body off the intense reactions of combat. To do this, the sport you select should allow you to adjust the level of risk in order to “step down” your body’s physical responses to danger. Maybe you start racing motorcycles on a racetrack because your internal stress level demands the higher risks in order to feel balanced. But, when the internal energy has decreased a bit, maybe cruising on a Harley will provide all the risk and excitement you need. Kayaking might require big water and gnarly holes initially, but maybe a standing wave or even a flat-water paddle will calm your body and mind later on.

BUDDY-AID

But what if you don’t have a sport or activity that you enjoy doing? What if you’ve never been an outdoor enthusiast and know nothing of that sort of recreation? Well, that’s where buddy- aid comes in.

As mentioned before, there are literally thousands of nonprofits and governmental organizations set up to provide outdoor recreation for veterans. Take a look at World T.E.A.M Sports (www.worldteamsports.org) for a good starting point to research what’s available. Many of these organizations are centered on a specific activity—fly fishing, hiking, kayaking, mountain biking, horseback riding—and offer veterans of all ability levels a means to participate. They provide the gear, instruction, and all the logistics necessary to take you out of your current environment and teach you something new.

A great example of one of these organizations is the Wounded Warrior Patrol (www.woundedwarriorpatrol.org). Every year this nonprofit brings a group of wounded veterans and their families to a Pennsylvania ski resort for a week-long, all expenses paid, ski vacation. There is no requirement for previous skiing experience because most of the members of the Wounded Warrior Patrol are also National Ski Patrol instructors. The men and women who founded this organization donate their time and energy because they recognize the positive effects skiing has had on their own mental and physical health. They want nothing more than to give veterans access to the peace and tranquility of a day on the mountain, too.

This sentiment is not unique. Outdoor enthusiasts have created nonprofits to share the benefits of all types of sports. But they can’t make us come to them—we have to search them out.

Getting veterans to apply for these programs is a challenge that frustrates many nonprofits. Often this is because veterans are loath to take a spot they feel another, more deserving, veteran should get instead. We tend to denigrate our own suffering by measuring it against other people’s and deciding they are worse off. This mindset is part of our warrior ethos and is difficult to overcome—but we need to do it anyway.

Look at it this way. If everybody decided not to apply because someone else deserved it more, then these organizations would wither and die. Then nobody would have access to new sports and recreation—at least not the way these organizations offer it. The best thing for these groups is to have too many applicants. Then they can show their financial supporters how effective and sought after their program is—and how many deserving veterans are not able to participate for lack of funds. People who donate to these nonprofits want to know that their money will have a real impact, and hard numbers like that are solid gold for fund-raising activities.

The positive benefits of these activities continue indefinitely for the veteran community because buddy-aid goes both ways—you get help from a buddy, then turn around and offer it to another. Once you participate in an excursion or activity, you’re in a position to share your experiences with other veterans. You can use the knowledge you gain from outdoor recreation with a nonprofit—be it technical skills, peace of mind, or both—to help your fellow veterans. Next time a buddy confides in you that he’s having a hard time, you can invite him to join you on your next sport excursion. Or use your personal contacts in the nonprofit to hook him up. But before you can help him, you have to participate yourself. If you’ve taken the initiative to learn a new sport and realize its benefits, then you are in a good place to help your buddies do the same.

MONITOR YOURSELF

It’s not enough to just pick a sport and go with it. It has to actually work for you. The best way to figure out if your chosen activity is effective is by monitoring yourself. Note your stress at various points throughout the day, using the activity as a reference point. Keep track of it on a notepad or in your smartphone. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, just a few words describing how you’re feeling before, during, and after your activity. A huge indicator of whether your activity is working is whether it improves your quality of sleep. Note if you feel more rested on days after doing this activity, and pay attention to what time of day you actually did the activity. If I went diving in the morning, then I usually slept better that night. But when I went night-diving, I had a harder time falling asleep afterward and my sleep quality suffered. Time of day matters when it comes to gaining the most from your activity.

This logbook is not for anyone else to see, so be honest. Recording this information will give you a means to look back and see patterns in how you are feeling and reacting—in relation to your activity. If the activity is effective, you’ll see it in your log. If you can’t see it, then maybe the activity isn’t working for you. Choose another. Keep trying different sports, activities, or schedules until you find one that does work. This is individual effort and the only way to fail is to quit trying.

A HIDDEN TOOL YOU’LL USE LATER

In addition to ramping down your turbocharger, the physical activity you choose may have another, equally valuable, benefit: It may help you form meaningful relationships with new people.

Many of us feel isolated after leaving the service. While in the military we were constantly surrounded by intense relationships. These friendships were based on trust and a shared sense of mission that gave them a depth few outside the military will ever know. But, despite promises to “keep in touch” after leaving active duty, we rarely do. A few phone calls and texts in the first few months home, then nothing. Paths diverge, daily experiences are no longer shared, and the ability to read each other’s minds fades. Previously inseparable buddies drift apart as civilian life wedges itself between them. Special anniversaries become the only times we reach out and reconnect—and often only through Facebook or email. This may be a normal part of human relationships, but the fading of previously essential relationships strikes veterans at a very difficult time.

Combat is a life-changing experience. And as already discussed, coming home from combat is a tough life transition. It is cruel irony that at the moment we need friends the most, we become separated from them. But that is what happens when we come home. Some buddies stay in the military while others go back to their hometowns. Either way, we are left to face the challenges of our return alone.

But not if we make the effort to build new friendships. Many sports and activities have their own cultures and are almost clan- nish in nature. This is especially true for more risky, fringe activities popular with veterans. For example, folks who derive peace and tranquility from jumping out of perfectly good airplanes are birds of a feather, so to speak. The similarities they share usually go beyond the simple enjoyment of parachuting and provide a base for real friendships to develop. It is quite likely that you’ll find other veterans who also participate in the sport you choose. Finding someone who enjoys the same recreational activities you do, lives relatively close by, and who may be dealing with similar challenges of coming home is like winning the lottery. The value of friendships like that cannot be overstated—especially considering the emotional and spiritual challenges to come.

Friendships are nice to have while calming the physiological aftereffects of combat, but they become vital when we move on to the next challenges. Dealing with the emotional and spiritual aspects of coming home is not something you want to face alone. Nobody should have to—or can—go through this alone. Sometimes a friend makes all the difference. True friendships do not sprout up overnight, however, and must be cultivated over time. Your military buddies will drop everything in order to answer your call for help, but solid friends you see every day can keep you from needing to make that call. A nonchalant phone call to coordinate an afternoon bike ride can lead to conversations between friends that have the ability to defuse a situation before it develops into a crisis. That’s why it is important to form these relationships now, amidst the camaraderie of physical recreation, before you move on to the next stage of your return.

THE NEXT STEP

Having an activity that reduces stress, results in periods of physical and mental calm, and provides healthy interaction with people is valuable for anyone. The same is true for the ability to get regular, restful sleep. But for a warrior intent on moving through the challenges of returning home, these tools are not luxuries. They’re essential. And the value of balanced activity and rest does not end when your turbocharger has reset itself to normal levels.

Depending on where you fall on the spectrum, quieting the physical aftereffects of combat might be the final task you must overcome. Or it might be just the beginning. How can you tell if your challenges are complete? The periods of quiet you experience after your activity will tell you. These periods of respite won’t last long at first. The more time you spend in an activity that sponges up your excess energy, however, the longer the calm period afterward.

IN MY OWN EXPERIENCE

At first, my calmness lasted only as long as it took me to stop shivering from my dive—then the irritability and anxiousness would sneak back in. But over a period of months, those comfortable periods lasted longer and longer until, finally, my normal state of mind wasn’t dominated by getting mad at the drop of a hat or by a constant need to be doing something. I had a healthy coping mechanism in place that was effectively dissipating my excess energy from combat. Instead of signaling the end of my challenges, however, getting the physical reactions under control showed me there were more to come.

Once the loud, physical aftereffects were under control, I noticed signs that my journey was still incomplete. I didn’t want them to be there, but, in the absence of the irritability and anxiety that used to mask them, their presence became unmistakable. I began to feel fundamentally uneasy with myself—like I didn’t know who I was anymore. The concept I held of myself before combat no longer fit reality. I didn’t know how it had been changed, only that it had been.

This realization ushered me into the next phase of my return—the emotional and spiritual challenges of coming home. Calming the physical was the necessary first step that established my own personal safety.

But it was only the first step.