I was a medic in the 5/20th Infantry battalion, I was with Bravo Company, and we were in a Stryker brigade. I was on the line the whole time I was in the battalion, and most of that time was spent in the stryker, either driving or sometimes as the vehicle commander. I recently recorded a podcast with a buddy, Craig Hysell who is the owner of Conviction Training Facility, and co-host of the Conviction Strong Radio podcast. This particular episode we were discussing vulnerability, how vulnerability can be a tool, and how it can allow us to grow beyond our current situation.
For me, the situation of speaking about vulnerability is an onion of sorts; it's multi-layered. In order to have an honest conversation about vulnerability, it is necessary to speak from personal experience, to be vulnerable. As I was talking about vulnerability on the podcast, and relating it to my service as a medic in an infantry battalion, I was pretty uncomfortable giving details about my service; I was feeling vulnerable. (You can hear my hesitation to answer, speaking fairly calculated and rigidly) I personally do not enjoy giving details of my life. I do not enjoy talking about details of my experience in Iraq or as a medic because I view them as a critic. I always feel that I should have done more, or done better. Recalling details of events from nearly 10 years ago is tough enough, but to then prod at the emotions and memories tied to those details, can uncover some shit that has not been fully resolved yet.
Back to the podcast; we were discussing vulnerability and how it can be a tool for growth, connection, and other great things in life. Craig asked me specifically about vulnerability in a war, and I answered that I didn't think about vulnerability when I recalled my time in Iraq. I thought about the durability, the potency, the lethality, the ruggedness, the impervious force that we were. I thought about how comfortable we were within the discomfort. I thought about how controlled we were inside the chaos. We were deployed from June 2006 - September 2007. We were extended from
12 months to 15 months, and we were an integral part of "The Surge". We started our time "in country" in Mosul, then we were sent South to Baghdad, Anbar province, and Diyala province. More specifically, we spent the majority of our time in a city called Baqubah (Diyala province), and we ended our tour there.
When asked about personal vulnerability, I answered with the opposite. I talked about how invulnerable I thought we were as a unit. I talked about the things that most guys likely assume about themselves, and their own unit when in combat; that they're the best. I think that in order to function effectively in a place of combat, or chaos, disorder, or uncertainty you need to assume on some level that you're the "top dog". You're the man, and you can't be fucked with! You control the battle space, you are a superior soldier, (a better marksman, an exceptional medic, etc.) you're the best person there is, for that role, and at that moment! Nothing can penetrate your armor, nothing can slow you down, nothing can take you down or make you lose control.
I can't speak for other guys who have been "down range". I didn't always feel that I was invulnerable. Sometimes in order to keep moving forward, I had to give myself a pep-talk, to remind myself how fortunate I was to be in my unit, and with the guys I was with. We are taught to have confidence in what we do as individuals, and to have complete confidence in the collective ability of the team. This is reinforced over and over in training.
If there's a point to all of this, I suppose it's that we were vulnerable - I was vulnerable, and I feel that again when I talk about it. In the life-cycle of the deployment you start off with concern and worry or fear that anything can happen at any given time and that keeps you sharp. As time in country amasses, your experience allows the fear to wane, and you think less and less of the potential catastrophes - you function more fluidly and focused. Then near the end of the deployment, you get hope back. You've made it this far, and others haven't, maybe you'll make it to the end. That little idea starts growing inside your head and can be intoxicating. You start to feel vulnerable again and maybe even apprehensive, or less bold at least.
I was scared, sure. I spent a lot of time being scared, but not recognizing it at the time. Not the scared that paralyzes you or inhibits your ability to function or to contribute. It wasn't being scared of the overt risks or the potential scenarios that are common in war. It was being scared that you might let down one of the guys, or you may hamper the unit's forward progress if something happens to you. No matter what the enemy could do to us, the most terrifying possibility is becoming a hindrance or worse, to the guys.
I have had difficulty with the transition from my time in the Army, to being a civilian. I don't claim that to be unique, or even worth getting into here. I will say that when I get lost, or into trouble, or if I'm just overwhelmed with uncertainty - I reach out. I get in contact with my senior line medic, one of the guys from the line, another medic, or someone else. I reach out to them to see how they are, to remove myself from my situation for a moment - to reinforce my accountability to others and to ask them for advice. I seek refuge in my safe space, among the guys again - where once I was invulnerable and my best self.
Our podcast is now available on Stitcher and iTunes, just search for "Conviction Strong Radio".
Podcast on vulnerability - http://www.convictiontraining.com/csr-vulnerability-a-virtue/podcasts
