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There is a paradoxical process that happens after experiencing a
traumatic event, which was mentioned in chapter 5 in the skill related
to "shoulds." Often a person who has experienced a significant trauma,
such as a warrior who loses a buddy in combat, will go over the event in
his mind repeatedly for days, weeks, months, or years, as if the mind itself
is trying to undo the event or figure out how the outcome could have
been different if some small thing had been changed. Warriors who have
experienced serious traumatic events will repeatedly look at the myriad
ways things could have gone differently, think of things that they or others
could (or should) have done to respond to the situation, and maybe alter
the outcome, or ask in various ways why it happened (for example, "Why
him and not me?"). These mental processes can run very deep, consume
hours of time and energy (often during sleepless nights), and be tightly
wrapped up with depression, guilt, self-blame, rage, and, in some cases,
suicidal thoughts.

Blaming yourself for what happened and going over the event repeatedly in this way does serve a useful purpose. In the case of the warrior who
loses a battle buddy, it helps the warrior to cope with and control very
deep and painful emotions and thoughts related to the tragedy. Grief and
survivor's guilt will be fully addressed in chapter 9.

Paradoxically, even though the warrior goes over the story repeatedly
in their own mind, this doesn't automatically lead to a desire to talk about it with anyone else. The story may feel too difficult to share, or the warrior
feels like no one could possibly understand what happened, or that they
need to figure it out on their own. The warrior may not be ready to accept
what happened, and feels that talking about it means facing very painful emotions; there may be worry about losing control. Consequently, the
warrior may keep going over the event, avoid sharing it with anyone else,
and stay stuck in this never-ending feedback loop. Through sharing what
happened with someone else, the warrior ultimately is able to accept what
happened, express the painful emotions, and begin the healing process of
integrating the experiences into who they are now. This speaks directly to
what narration is all about and why it's so important.

Sometimes facts change during the narrative process. As a story
becomes more organized with details and a linear time line, the warrior
may start to discover that they aren't really sure about the exact sequence
of events. This can be incredibly disorienting because these stories take
on a life of their own and become "true." One warrior told me, "What I
have in my mind is so hard to put into words. It's like everything is right
there, but then I go to write it down and it's completely different or not
even there anymore." When the warrior realizes that they can't be exactly
sure of what happened, especially after going over an event in their mind
for weeks, months, or years, this can be a truly confusing moment. The
moment of confusion is actually very healing because it indicates the break
in the endless feedback loop that had been going on in the warrior's mind.

On a neurological level, traumatic memories are not stored in the
part of the brain dealing with facts, rational thinking, or time. Traumatic
memories are stored in the limbic system so they can be instantly retrieved,
ensuring that protective reflexes take over immediately upon any reminder
of the events. Not being connected to time is why a flashback can feel just
as real as if the combat event had just taken place. As traumatic stories are
narrated, these memories are connected with the parts of the brain having
to do with time and sequence. This creates conflict because memories are
never perfect representations of what actually happened. Memories are
simply what our brains were capable of processing at the time the event(s)
happened, combined with what we think happened as we look back or recount the event to ourselves or others, combined with thoughts and
feelings surrounding our beliefs about what happened, including what we
would like to have happened (which may subconsciously be tied to what we
think should have happened differently). When time is introduced into
traumatic memories, it sometimes becomes very difficult to remember
exactly what the true sequence of events was. It's important for the therapist to reassure the warrior that such confusion about exactly what happened is normal.

The above description is intended to help you understand the importance of narration and how narration may occur during encounters with
therapists. There are other techniques that therapists use to ask clients to
share their stories, including writing about them, or focusing more on the
beliefs and thought processes connected with them. These treatments will
be discussed further in chapter 8.

Fundamentally, most effective therapies for PTSD involve telling the
story of the traumatic events in one way or another so that they become
more tolerable and bearable. Storytelling is an important part of what it
means to be human, and there's nothing more powerful in alleviating suffering or distress than sharing what's happened with someone you trust
and respect and you feel understands and cares about you. The important take-home message is that telling your story can help a great deal in
the transition home from combat. Narration helps us to learn that we are
greater than our stories, and that each story is only one of many that we
carry. There is ample evidence of the value of narration from medical literature on effective therapies for PTSD, but this is also obvious given the
importance of storytelling and narration related to war in rituals, literature, and history since the dawn of humanity.

TELL YOUR STORY IN A WAY THAT'S MOST
COMFORTABLE FOR YOU

There is no specific exercise to learn in this chapter. Just find your own
way to tell your story and express how you feel in words. You can choose to
use a professional therapist, minister, rabbi, mentor/teacher, or to share your stories and feelings with a buddy, friend, or loved one who you trust.
You can do this in person or write about it. You can write a journal, book,
or start a Web site or blog. If you write, it's preferable to share your writing
with someone in a way that allows for personal connection and feedback.
There's no rule about how to do this; just find what works for you. Don't
avoid telling your story or sharing your feelings with others, no matter how
strongly you feel like locking them up and throwing away the key. You have
many more stories than the ones from your war-zone experiences, and you
are much more than any of your stories. Honor them. Trust yourself.

How you tell your story will change somewhat depending on whom
you share it with. Talking with a professional, such as a therapist or chaplain, doesn't have the same feeling or quality as talking with a close friend
or combat buddy. Sometimes talking with a professional can be easier,
because the professional may be more neutral or less judgmental than a
person you're close to. However, the professional may be too neutral, too
bound up in a particular medical, psychological, or religious perspective
(which can feel judgmental), or not be personable or available in the way
that you need. A spouse, partner, close friend, or other family member will
probably be able to give you the most sustained level of close support, but
may not have the military experience, or it may feel like they're too close.
Warriors often want to protect the people closest to them from their most
difficult memories. Spouses and partners, on the other hand, generally
want to know something about what happened. Whether or not the story
is shared, the spouse or partner will likely feel it in the warrior, and it can
be difficult if the warrior isn't willing to entrust them at least with how
their experiences are currently affecting them. Spouses/partners need to
understand that it's okay for warriors to hold on to the stories most difficult to tell; warriors need to understand that their spouses need some
information, even if it's not the whole story. The best thing is to talk about
this openly so that each person understands and respects each other's
views and comfort level. There are no rules about this, other than to mutually support one another.

Whether it's a professional, spouse, partner, wartime buddy, or friend,
there is usually someone (or more than one person) to relate to, and with whom you can feel comfortable. Whoever this is, isn't as important as finding a way to share your stories with someone in a way that works for you.
Another way to give yourself some more feedback is to record your story
and then listen to it. Although it can be unpleasant to listen to yourself, it
can be very beneficial to hear and feel how you express yourself.

There is no experience quite like exchanging war stories with wartime
buddies who all speak the same language, and who clearly understand
the full range of experiences. Warriors look out for each other, whether
they're in combat or back home, and it's not uncommon to feel like the
only people who really can understand you are your own unit members
or others who deployed to the same war zone. Also, the warrior's story
is part of a collective narrative that is much larger than any individual
one, and the warrior can feel very alone if they don't have contact with
unit members. One warrior told me, "Even though each person on my
team experienced the identical situations, they each saw them differently
or remembered certain details that another had forgotten or didn't realize
had actually happened. Everyone together completed the story, just like
little pieces of a puzzle complete a giant picture. That is why I had a difficult time when I left my unit. Instead of being a complete `picture,' I went
to being one small piece that alone didn't make much sense."

There are some concerns with regard to sharing your stories with fellow warriors. Some things that no one wants to talk about but need to be
discussed may be collectively censored by fellow warriors. When warriors
get together there's often a large amount of alcohol consumed, which can
be fun, but may end up being counterproductive. There may be a tendency
to shift conversation away from the real issues to dark humor, or to fall into
familiar unit roles or rank structures-all the things that worked well in
combat. A "drive on" attitude may not be what you need. When warriors get
together there may be a "ramping up" of collective anger toward the "they"
of the VA, military, or society. Also, warriors can be very critical of each other
if they perceive that anyone is exaggerating or bending the truth, or when
differences in stories exist among those who were together in combat.

Basically, sharing your stories with buddies can be terrific, but may have
limitations. It's important to narrate your story in a way that allows you to feel free of inhibitions or judgments, so you can experience whatever feelings or emotions exist, and achieve a sense that your story is part of who you
are, and that you're more than your story. Talking with fellow warriors is
an age-old tradition that offers the huge advantage of communicating with
people who have a clue about what you went through, but make sure that
your narrative experience allows you to fully address things that are personal, difficult to bring up, and are connected with the strongest emotions.

In conclusion, the bottom line here is to find a way to tell your story.
Make your story a part of who you are. Don't bury it or lock it up.

The following is a brief narrative by First Sergeant Mike Schindler
related to his transition home. It's his attempt to model what I am asking
you to do. Enjoy his story:

The sentence that changed me and my life forever was, "Congratulations,
Michael Sean Schindler-you have been selected by your local draft board
to serve in the United States Armed Forces. Please report to Fort Wayne,
Michigan, at 0800 hrsJuly 12th, 1969. "From this point on I was in the
U. S. Army. The white tiger was born July 13, 1969, at Fort Knox, Kentucky. The event was my first 'formation" around 0430 hrs before dawn
when my Army basic training drill instructor came into my barracks and
rocked my world loudly and rudely by yelling at all of us newly sworn-in
recruits to get our no-good, stupid, worthless asses outside in formationmusic to my ears. I say that because of pure excitement and the feeling that
I was at the beginning of a life-changing adventure.

Not to mention that I was away from my dysfunctional family, which
included my alcoholic World War II combat veteran dad who had served
in the Battle of the Bulge with General Patton (and who eventually at
age fifty-seven committed suicide by drowning in Pearl Harbor), my two
brothers, my sister, and my hardworking nurse mom who struggled to hold
everything together. I loved both my parents and my brothers and sister.
But escaping that insanity was good for me, even if that meant letting
myself be "selected" by my local draft board. I was willing to do anything to
get myself out of town, and I figured that the Army, even Vietnam, would be a better situation. Thus began my twenty-eight-year Army and Army
Reserves career.