It's been a while since I completed the 22 Push Up Challenge. 484 push ups in 22 days. It's now Remembrance Day and I'm at 2222 and counting.
In an article written by former US military Pete Ross of the Observer, it was suggested that the 22 Push Up Challenge wasn't doing veterans any good because it didn't change anything. I was surprised at his thinking. Since Day 1 it's been a powerful experience for me. However, I did appreciate his wanting to advocate for a more direct impact.
He
closed by encouraging everyone to get involved in meaningful ways. In
particular he encouraged veterans to tell their stories, to speak up,
get their successes and their voices to be heard, and essentially,
stand as examples of courage on the battlefield after the
battlefield, so to speak.
In
support of his challenge to veterans, I'd like to offer my voice, my
shoulder next to theirs.
My
battlefields may not have been the same but I do know what it is to
live the relentless battle with PTSD, with its hair-trigger ambushes
when it's the people you love so much and their hearts, their trust
that are on the line. I know the sickening drop of its roller coaster
ride when you, and everyone that matters thought you were finally
making progress. I know the razor's edge kind of memories that refuse
to dull no matter what you do to forget or keep them behind you; and
the ones that mean so much, the memories you wish could fill your
mind instead that taunt your heart, never much more than an
exasperating mirage in the distance. I know the monumental
frustration of having a nervous system that makes your reaction time
drop down to light speed for the slightest little nothing, that makes
your heart pound in your chest and your insides shake like an
explosion under the surface, and how others don't get much of any of
it because it really is all under the surface. Isn't it?
No
one really sees that battlefield but you. Even doctors and experts,
they might mean well but in the end it's really just you. I know too
well how it can throw your faith in everything and everyone
upside-down, make you question, scan and search, and look over your
shoulder so much it exhausts you.
Then,
after having your body finally succumb to the forgetful relief of
silent sleep, being torn from it to wake suddenly in the muddy,
miserable trenches of deep distress. I know the incredible strength
it takes to haul yourself out of those holes, to press onward,
bearing the leadened dead-weights of thought and limb and heart,
without knowing for certain which way to turn through the fog.
I
know what it is to wish with all your heart this wasn't your reality,
to pour yourself into making things right and having them come out
all wrong.
Worst
of all, I think, is knowing what it is to bear the responsibility of
PTSD, of effect after effect on the people that you love, on family,
on friendships, on people you respect and admire and cherish,
wrestling to believe you're even worth having around if you're going
to cause them so much trouble and pain.
I
also know one very important thing that has made all the difference.
I know what it is to persevere.
Perseverance
requires grit, strength, tenacity, determination. When a fighter gets
in the ring, even if he goes down round after round, getting pummeled, it's the grit and steel in his determination as he picks
himself back up, over and over again that earns our admiration and
respect.
You
see, I also know what it is to literally spend thousands of hours of
effort at trying to make a dent in this thing, to make a difference
of some kind, any kind. I know exactly what it means to put your self
and your hope out there on the line every single time you try.
And
after my experience with the 22 Push Up Challenge, seeing so many
people participating and encouraging awareness of Veteran PTSD and
suicide, seeing people that I know and served with putting themselves
out there, getting on the floor along with so many others to
accomplish the goal together, I know that there is a unique power and
strength in numbers and in being a part of something bigger than
yourself. During those few moments each day while I'm counting out
push ups, I'm not alone.
Normally
saying all of this would be unthinkable. I'd much rather show up and
deal with being in the ring without anyone knowing a thing about it.
I'd rather face it in the dark so no one has to see any of it. In
fact, having a light on it is unnerving beyond what even I could have
expected, but this is about someone else’s need. It’s about hope.
It's about grit and perseverance and the self-respect that is gained
in recognizing them. It’s about purpose and strength in our numbers
as we step up, and stand together.
Finding
the voice to put this into words has been a lot like being a recruit
all over again. I doubt I would have ever made the decision to speak
up were it not for those who showed they cared, who got down to do
those push ups day after day, just like the leader who gets down in
the dirt beside you during boot camp and keeps you going, or runs at
your side so you keep moving forward.
The
idea was to raise awareness and have a meaningful impact on the hard
reality soldiers face. I believe we're on the right track and that
there is still so much we can do to accomplish that goal and keep the
momentum going. So...
I
challenge anyone who wants to step up, who wants to try in some way,
particularly those who already participated in the Push Up Challenge,
to think about what more you can do to have a personal impact.
Consider encouraging veterans to share their stories. Check the
following links or do some research to find something that is
relevant to you. Call it the Step Up Challenge if it helps.
Enlist
yourself in helping the enlisted who put their lives on the line for
others. They have powerful experiences and successes to share that
can help lift others out of the trenches. They need to know how much
the world needs them, how much we all need to hear their voices and
of their perseverance. I know I do.
(Formerly)
Private Macfarlane of The Canadian Grenadier Guards
"Honi
Soit Qui Mal Y Pense"
