As the plane wheels landed on the runway, I awoke from the deep sleep I was in. Just days before I was rock climbing out west surrounded by mountains, and now I’m preparing to navigate through the concrete and asphalt of a major city. I would much rather be on the face of a mountain or in the humid depths of a swamp, but we must follow the path even when it is not in our comfort zone. A friend asked I join him in observing some training that was being done to help first responders. The training is called Struggle Well and it’s about post traumatic growth.
As I slipped on my cowboy boots in the hotel room and put on my belt, I thought of those I know who struggled but never said a word. I see that the world is changing. We are starting to realize that beach ball full of emotions that we so desperately try to push under water will come back up. Most of the time it comes up at the most inappropriate times and with a powerful force. After 30 years of my old job training is training. Like a bunch of dogs being jammed in a room we all must sniff and size each other up. The room was filled with firefighters and police officers. Though they are all first responders the jobs are different. Since I have a background in both fields, I felt like a dog with a stripe down my back. For over 13 years now I have swirled around in the field of trauma. My guide is Dr Jeff Mitchell who invented Critical Incident Stress Management (CISM). CISM is a system to help individuals or groups process a traumatic experience. As I sat there and observed the class it was clear that some of them, without saying a word were that beach ball.
Over the course of the five days of training, we laughed, we cried, we shared, we saw a beach ball or two come up but not with a violent force. Somehow my friend and I were the old guys in the room. Somehow 30 years slipped by us and with that our wisdom, our struggles, our successes, and our will to fight was cast across the room like the water from that beach ball coming up. I’m an instructor in 10 areas of CISM and I have sat in a bunch of air-conditioned rooms to get there. I can tell you that somehow what transpired in that room of dogs was to a point, magical. Maybe not to the younger ones in that room but to an old guy who has felt and seen good people struggle and never say a word, it was magical. A group of dogs from different backgrounds, different perspectives, but somehow the atmosphere in the room generated the passion to share. I’ve written and spoken at length that it’s unhealthy and scary to be alone in your thoughts, and your struggles. We all need a way to process, or to let some pressure off that valve of emotions, or hand someone that beach ball.
By the time the training was over I had passed out one USMC shot keychain, and one small plastic rabbit. I told the story of the significance of those items to both of the people I gave them to. I gave one-person one-shot quarter and when they asked what it meant I simply said, “It’s a long story, call me and I will tell you.” They have not called yet and that’s ok, it’s a hard story.
We stood last night in our kitchen cleaning up after supper and the conversation seemed to navigate through the cabinets. Then I looked at my youngest and saw and felt he was struggling. It’s hard to be 16. I remember those years and to be honest they were not good years. My inner voice lacked life experience and the outer voices seemed to wear on me. I met my bride when I was 16 and that seemed to be the highlight of being 16. She cast a magical calmness to my inner voice and her smile just seemed to make the self-doubt go away. The conversation left the kitchen cabinets and soon it was lying on the counter. Our youngest spoke of the outer voices that seem to wear on all of us, and his struggles with being 16. At one point I was his dad and then there were times I wasn’t. I was that trained guy sitting with a first responder who was handing me his beach ball. I explained to our youngest that we all need an avenue or a place to share our struggles. We all need a sign of hope and strength from those that have been there. We all need to be inspired to fight the fight.
Today before my youngest went to school I followed him in his truck on the same road I used to take him to daycare 15 years ago. Somehow 15 years have slipped by and I’m the older dad now. We walked into a big air-conditioned room full of dogs and lifted weights together. Something we have never done before. We have a gym at home, but he likes this gym because it has more equipment. He is very aware of my need for solitude and me not being over comfortable in crowds. As we left the gym, he hugged me and told me he loved me.
It’s been a good month since I sat in that air-conditioned room with that bunch of dogs. Out here where things seem to make more sense to me, I think of them often. I can see them and for some I can still feel their struggles. I’ve been blessed that those who were silent in their struggles left behind material things that I cherish, I wear, and I display. It’s those nonmaterial things of their struggles that I saw and felt that I cherish the most. On the days I struggle I embrace those images and memories and realize struggling is part of life. Over the 13 years of trauma training a word I hear very often is resilience. I’ve been called a resilient person. Not sure how I earned that title, or it found me but it’s a word I never use. To me a simple man who spends his days in the bright sun and dark nights life is supposed to be a struggle. Life is supposed to cut you deep and then you heal by the layers of scars. The healing process varies from person to person. Some of us heal by solitude, handing our beach ball to a stranger, or a shot quarter with no explanation. Some of us heal by sitting in an air-conditioned room with a person trained in the ways of the mind. Some of us heal but kneeling before their God and not asking why but asking for strength. Some of heal by spending the early morning hours with their dad lifting weights but not saying a word about those outer voices that wear on us.
So, we all struggle from the veteran, the teenager, the first responder, the elderly, the very young, and yes those that are trained to help others with struggling. I can recall telling my parents of the bad dream at their bedside, and somehow that calmed those outer voices that seem to wear on us, even when it’s a dream. We were never taught to hand that beach ball to our parents in the middle of the night but somehow, we did. As adults it’s hard to hand over that beach ball but in an air-conditioned room full of dogs a nonprofit called Boulder Crest presented a grassy field for us to embrace and throw our beach balls up in the air.
I’m back here in the non-air-conditioned land I belong in. My boots are on this earth and body and soul are covered in scars. I’m not resilient, I’m human, and in order to be human we will struggle. But in order to heal, we need to find a place that we can Struggle Well.
WLV
******If you know an agency, department, or anyone who could benefit from the training offered by Boulder Crest please forward this to them. I personally feel its not training but a group of people have designed a platform for others to feel comfortable enough to share and learn from the sharing of others.
International Critical Incident Stress Foundation
United States Marine Corps – Training Command
For more of Josey’s stories with Dr Jeffrey Mitchell, got to https://crucialmoments.org/
To read more of Josey’s blog stories, https://theroadmapcompany.com/blog/
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