Most People Misunderstand Veteran Mental Health—Here’s What They Miss
Challenging the “damaged vet” stereotype
Most people think veteran mental health is just about PTSD. They picture a soldier (usually a dude) struggling to sleep, flinching at fireworks, fighting invisible battles from a distant war. And yes, for some, that’s true. Trauma is real, and it deserves real care.
But here’s what most people miss: Veteran mental health isn’t only shaped by what happened “over there.” It’s shaped just as much by what happens when we come home.
What happens when your purpose evaporates. When the tribe that once had your back is scattered to the wind. When your new boss says, “You’re too intense.” When no one expects much of you beyond surviving.
God knows I’ve been there. When I left the Army, I was prepared for a job hunt. But I wasn’t necessarily prepared for the silence.
No more 0600 accountability formation. No more shared mission, shared language, shared gallows humor. Just LinkedIn alerts and networking coffees with people who didn’t get it. Who tilted their heads when I talked about service like it was a calling, not a résumé bullet.
It wasn’t depression—at least not at first.
It was drift. A low-grade disorientation that made everything feel a little blurry.
I didn’t miss the military structure, not really. I missed being part of something. I missed knowing that what I did mattered.
And here’s no one told me: That you can be high-functioning and still be hurting. You can land a “good job,” check all the boxes, and still feel hollow. It took me years—and several false starts—to realize what I was chasing wasn’t stability.
It was significance. It wasn’t a diagnosis that I needed, but a mission. I needed a tribe. And, most surprisingly, I needed grace—especially for myself. Not the kind of grace that excuses pain, but the kind that holds it gently.
The kind that whispers, You’re not broken—you’re becoming.
And that shift changed everything. I started leading again. Not with rank, but with voice. I built communities where veterans didn’t have to prove they were “fine” to belong. Where we could talk about trauma and purpose in the same breath.
So if you really care about veteran mental health, look deeper. Ask us what we miss, ask us what we’re building, ask us where we still want to serve.
Because the opposite of trauma isn’t healing. It’s connection. It’s contribution. It’s being seen not as a problem to solve—but as a leader in the making.
As veterans, we don’t need pity. We need places to lead. And maybe—just maybe—the world needs us more than it knows.
If you’re a veteran navigating this terrain—or someone who works with them—you’re not alone. Let’s rethink what it means to lead, heal, and serve in this next chapter. Leave a comment, share this with someone who needs it, or reach out. I’m always up for a conversation.