From the moment we put on the uniform, we become part of something bigger than ourselves. Whether it’s the military, fire service, law enforcement, emergency medical service, or a wide range of other vital first responder professions, we step into a role where others depend on us. We are the ones who stand between chaos and order, who show up when things are at their worst, who push through pain, exhaustion, and fear because the mission—the job, the team, the bond between comrades always comes first.
We take pride in being reliable and the people that others can count on. It’s been ingrained in us from day one—don’t be the weak link or don’t be the one who needs help.
For a long time, I believed that. I lived by it. If someone else was struggling, I was there in a heartbeat. But, when I was struggling, I kept it to myself. I told myself I was okay. I pushed it down. I convinced myself that asking for help wasn’t an option because, “What if people started looking at me differently?” “What if they stopped trusting me to have their back?”
It took me a long time to realize I had it all wrong. Trust, unconditional trust, isn’t built by being the one who always offers help. It’s built by being willing to ask for it.
The Mindset That Holds Us Back
The military and first responder worlds thrive on toughness. We wear it like armor, both literally and figuratively. We get conditioned early on: Don’t complain. Don’t show weakness. Just keep going.
It makes sense. When you’re in the middle of a firefight, pulling someone from a burning building, or responding to a call where seconds mean the difference between life and death, you don’t have time to stop and process your emotions. You shove them down and keep moving because someone else might pay the price if you don’t.
That conditioning doesn’t just stay on the job—it follows us home. It embeds itself so deeply that even when we’re struggling we refuse to admit it. We believe that asking for help is a weakness.
For years, I fell into this trap. If I were struggling, I saw it as my personal problem to fix. I had survived worse. I had seen worse. I told myself that if I just kept pushing, it would get better. But it didn’t. It just wore me down, little by little, until I didn’t even recognize the weight I was carrying anymore.
What’s worse, I knew how to spot the signs in others. I could see when a buddy was withdrawing. I could tell when someone was carrying too much. And when that happened, I was the first person to step in and say, “Hey man, you good?” But when it came to me? I stayed silent.
If I admitted I needed help, what would that mean? That I am weak? That I wasn’t as tough as I thought? That maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t as in control as I wanted to be?
Why We Focus on Offering Help Instead
There’s a reason so many of us are comfortable being the helper but not the one who needs help. Helping others keeps the focus off us. It allows us to maintain the image of strength without exposing the cracks in our armor. It lets us feel like we’re still in control.
And, if we’re being honest, it’s easier.
It’s much easier to sit with someone else’s pain than to acknowledge our own. It’s easier to say, “Let me help you with that,” than to say, “I’m not doing okay either. I need help.”
But here’s the problem: When we never allow ourselves to be on the receiving end of help, we don’t just isolate ourselves, we set an impossible standard for everyone around us. We reinforce the idea that struggling is a sign of failure, that the only acceptable role for a warrior is to be the one who carries the load, never the one who asks for relief.
That’s how we lose people. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve lost friends who never asked for help. I’ve had moments where I wondered if I was headed down the same road.
The irony? The people we trust the most, the individuals we’d lay down our lives for, would never see us as weak for reaching out for help, but we convince ourselves they would. That lie is what keeps so many of us suffering in silence.
True Strength Comes from Asking for Help
Here’s what I’ve learned the hard way: Strength isn’t about carrying everything on your own. It’s about knowing when to share the load.
It takes more courage to say, “I need help,” than to pretend you’re fine. Anyone can fake toughness, but real strength comes from honesty—from trusting someone enough to let them see behind the mask.
For the longest time, I kept everything locked in my head – every memory, every weight I carried, every damned thing I told myself I had to handle alone. If I shoved it down deep enough, I’d be fine, but all it did was eat away at me.
It wasn’t until I started talking— I mean really talking—that I realized how much power those unspoken thoughts had over me. The disclosure, the act of actually saying things out loud and putting words to what I had buried—was the first step toward healing. Once I let those thoughts out, they weren’t just mine to carry anymore.
That’s the part we don’t talk about. We instinctively think we must “fix” ourselves in silence, but healing doesn’t happen in isolation. It occurs in connection. It happens when we stop letting the weight of unspoken pain dictate our lives.
The first time I admitted I wasn’t okay, I expected to feel weaker. I expected people to look at me differently. They didn’t. Instead, they showed up for me the same way I had always shown up for them. They didn’t see me as weak—they saw me as human. That moment changed everything.
If you’ve never heard of Brené Brown, I highly recommend watching her TED Talk, “The Power of Vulnerability” (click here to watch). She discusses how vulnerability isn’t a weakness but rather a source of strength. She says, “Vulnerability is not winning or losing; it’s having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome.”
Miss Brown’s words resonate with me because, for years, I equated vulnerability with weakness. But what I learned—and what Brené’s work so powerfully reinforces—is that vulnerability allows us to connect with others and truly heal. When we choose to be vulnerable, we’re not exposing ourselves to shame; we’re offering others the opportunity to support us. That’s what builds trust and that’s how we become stronger.
How Warriors, Like Us, Can Ask for Help
I know that asking for help can sometimes feel impossible. If you’re struggling, here are some ways to break the silence:
1. Start Small – You don’t have to unload everything simultaneously. Just saying, “Man, I’ve been having a rough time lately,” can be enough to start a conversation.
2. Talk to Someone Who’s Been There—Sometimes, it’s easier to talk to another veteran or first responder—someone who doesn’t need an explanation, someone who gets it. There are veteran support groups, peer networks, and crisis lines run by people who’ve walked the same path.
3. Don’t Wait Until You’re in a Crisis – Most of us wait until we’re at the breaking point. I’ve been there. But trust me, reaching out before you hit rock bottom makes all the difference.
4. Use Actions, Not Just Words – If talking feels impossible, show it in other ways. Train with a buddy. Grab a beer and a cigar with someone in your inner circle. Invite someone to the range. Sometimes, the connection starts with just being there.
5. Accept Help When It’s Offered – We’re good at offering help, but we suck at accepting it. If someone reaches out, don’t brush it off. A simple “Yeah, I could use someone to talk to” is enough. You don’t have to carry everything alone.
If we want to break the stigma around asking for help in the veteran and first responder communities, it starts with us—not by telling others to reach out but by doing it ourselves. We must show that trust isn’t just about carrying the load—it’s about knowing when to share it.
So, I’ll leave you with this: Who do you trust enough to ask for help? If your answer is no one, it’s time to change that.
I am here to tell you that you are never alone on this journey. No matter how heavy the weight feels, there are others who have carried it too—including me. We’re on this journey together and you don’t have to walk it in silence. If you ever need someone to listen, understand, or just remind you that you’re not alone, you can always reach out to me via this blog. I’ll be here. Always.
Until next time, struggle well my friends!
~Grim
What are your throughts?