The Courage To Be Seen

There's a before and after. Before, I wore my silence like a helmet. As a medic in Kandahar, I saw men shatter and rebuild under fire. I thought strength meant never showing the cracks. I’d sit in my apartment after shifts, the weight of what I’d seen pressing down, but I’d say nothing. I’m fine. I’d tell myself, and the lie became my armor. I’d help others, but I wouldn’t let anyone see me. I’d hide the tremor in my hands after a nightmare, the way my breath hitched when a car backfired. I thought asking for help was surrender. It was just another battle I’d lose alone.

The turning point wasn’t dramatic. It was a Tuesday in my own therapy office, years later. I’d been working with a firefighter who’d just lost his partner. He sat across from me, eyes raw, and whispered, "I can’t do this alone." And for the first time, I didn’t have a ready answer. I just… broke. Not a sob, but a quiet collapse. Tears I’d held for a decade spilled over. I didn’t try to fix it. I just sat there, shaking, and said, "I don’t know how to do this either."

That’s when it shifted. I realized I’d been carrying the weight of everyone’s trauma, but I’d forgotten to carry my own. brave:The Bravery of Vulnerability wasn’t weakness—it was the only path to real connection. brave:Facing Fear isn’t the absence of fear; it’s showing up scared, with your hands open. I’ve seen the worst, and I’ve seen people survive it. Not by hiding, but by being seen.

Now, I don’t just ask my clients, "How are you?" I say, "What’s one thing you’re carrying that you don’t need to carry alone?" I’ve learned to say, "I need help with this," and it’s not a failure. It’s the bravest thing I’ve ever done.

Here’s what works: Text one person today. Not "I’m fine." Just, "I’m struggling. Can we talk?" It’s not about fixing it. It’s about letting them see you. That’s how you start to heal. That’s how you become someone who can help others carry their load.

— Lois Brown, still serving

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Written by Lois Brown — 05:23, 02 January 2026 (CST)