‘Continuing Actions’: An excerpt

This is an excerpt from Dan Sheehan’s terrific new book Continuing Actions, which I discussed yesterday.

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But that doesn’t mean we can’t help each other do it. For every veteran who overcomes the challenges of coming home, there are many more who’ve stagnated. You know them. They are our brothers and sisters who can’t move on, who are mired in rage and hate. They are the ones who hide behind HESCO barriers filled with misconceptions and refuse to patrol. They are not living in the present, only dying in the past.

They cannot be goaded into leaving their imagined security. Encouraging them to honestly examine their emotions elicits angry responses and accusations of weakness. They regularly retreat behind social media avatars and spew hatred and rage online, portraying themselves as living reincarnations of the Spartan 300—stoic defenders of a population they denigrate for requiring protection while simultaneously longing to feel part of it. Far from the physical battlefields where they fought, these men and women maintain their combat mindset as if their life still depends on it. It is fear of the work required to heal their inner wounds and reestablish their concept of humanity that is keeping them from moving forward. In their never-ending battle, the threats they protect against are no longer external. They’re internal.

How can we, their brothers- and sisters-in-arms, help them recognize this? How can we overcome the anger and scorn they direct at us when we attempt to pull back the curtain on their suffering? There is a way we can do this that doesn’t involve confrontation. It requires leadership that encourages without ultimatums, that empowers rather than subordinates the follower, and that fosters initiative on all levels. It’s called “leadership by example” and it is the foundational ethos of any good leader.

Imagine a platoon in full MOPP gear, gas masks and all. Dead birds and dogs give evidence that it was not a drill, that deadly gas really was used. When the “All Clear” sounds, there is no mad rush to strip off the protective gear. Foul-smelling gas masks remain tight against their faces as they cast nervous glances at each other. But they can’t stay like that forever. The platoon has work to do, a mission to accomplish. They cannot stagnate in fear. Eventually someone takes the risk. He breaks the seal on his mask and the rest of the platoon watches closely.

First breath. Is he going to die?

No coughing, no tears. Maybe a fake grimace if he’s a joker, then a smile. Everybody strips off their masks and inhales deeply. When they exhale, their tension goes, too.

This is the situation our modern warrior’s journey leaves us in. We all return home wearing the gas mask of compartmentalization. Then we retreat into our holes, houses, and communities and struggle to breathe. The “All Clear” sounds a thousand times but cannot reach our ears. It’s not until we see someone else, someone like us, take their mask off—and live—that we grow strong enough to do it, too.

©2015 by Dan Sheehan. Excerpted here with permission of the author.

Photo Credit: SCOTT OLSON/Getty Images