Battling Depression: Finding Strength in Every Struggle

Depression is a battle I didn’t ask for, but it’s one I face with a warrior’s spirit. Some days, it feels like a quiet whisper, barely noticeable. Other days, it roars with the force of a storm. But no matter how it shows up, I’ve learned one undeniable truth: I am stronger than it.

It took me years to understand that battling depression isn’t about pretending everything is fine. It’s about acknowledging the struggle, accepting that there will be difficult days, and choosing to move forward anyway. Resilience isn’t about avoiding the lows—it’s about rising from them.

I’ve been through many storms in life, and each has taught me something different. Some battles have left scars, but those scars tell stories of survival, grit, and growth. I learned to embrace the tools that help me through the rough days: connection with people who understand, therapeutic practices, and finding moments of stillness in the chaos.

For me, depression is like walking with weights on my shoulders—heavy and unyielding. But over time, I’ve realized that I don’t have to carry the burden alone. I’ve learned to lean on the lessons from my military career, where integrity, courage, and honor shaped who I am today. These are the values that keep me grounded, no matter how hard things get.

I’ve faced challenges that pushed me to my limits, both physically and mentally. But it’s in those moments of darkness that I found my inner strength—the part of me that refuses to give up, no matter how tough the battle. Depression might knock me down, but it will never define me.

Instead of letting it drown me, I’ve chosen to live with purpose. To fight for what matters. To take each day one step at a time, knowing that every step forward is a victory in itself. Every setback is a lesson, and every challenge an opportunity to grow.

If you’re walking a similar path, know this: You are not alone, and your resilience is already within you. Keep pushing forward. Find your reasons to rise, even on the hardest days. Because resilience is not about never falling—it’s about always finding the strength to stand again.

And that’s exactly what I’ll keep doing. Always forward.

A Journey of Healing and Resilience

Growing up, I was surrounded by strong military men who guided me into adulthood. They taught me about duty, honor, and resilience. My mother, who was just fifteen when she had me, did her best with the little knowledge she had. I know she loved me, but her youth meant she couldn’t always provide the guidance I needed. Despite this, I don’t harbor any ill feelings towards her or the other adults in my life. They did the best they could with what they knew.

Now, in my mid-40s and having retired from the military ten years ago, I find myself on a different kind of mission. My journey now is one of healing and self-discovery. Through various therapies, I’m learning to retrain my brain and heal the wounds of my past. In many ways, I’m reparenting myself through my children.

Every day, I strive to teach my inner child the values that my military leadership instilled in me—resilience, integrity, personal courage, honor, duty, and respect. I try to pass these lessons on to my children, but I often stumble and make mistakes. There are moments when I feel lost, only knowing what I know and doing the best I can.

However, it’s in these moments of struggle that I find the most growth. The discipline I learned in the military helps me navigate this healing journey. I remind myself that it’s okay to not have all the answers, to not be perfect. What matters is that I’m trying, that I’m committed to healing and growing.

Through this process, I’ve come to understand that healing isn’t linear. It’s a journey with ups and downs, successes and setbacks. But with each step, I’m becoming more whole, more at peace with my past and more hopeful for my future. And in teaching my children about resilience and strength, I’m healing my inner child, one lesson at a time.

And Justice for All

Do you remember the Pledge of Allegiance? “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” I can’t remember what I ate last week for dinner, but I sure do remember the Pledge of Allegiance I recited every school day in the third grade. Anyway… moving on.

In July of 2020, I met with the leadership of the New Mexico Army National Guard, driven by a need to personally confront them with hard questions about their moral courage, their integrity, their inaction regarding my 2012 whistleblower inspector general complaint, and my wrongful discharge. I asked for a formal review and reconsideration of the “investigation” by the NM Inspector General, and for the restoration of the retirement benefits that were stripped from me. I also requested a meeting with my former leadership, seeking some semblance of the guidance and respect I once believed they embodied. My request was met with silence. These officers and senior enlisted leaders were figures I once revered, symbols of resilience and sacrifice—ideals encapsulated by the shout of “BATAAN” that concluded every meeting, a reference not only to the historic death march that my godfather survived but also to a harrowing battle that epitomizes endurance in adversity. Yet, when it came to addressing grievances from one of their own, those cries seemed to echo in a void, highlighting a disconnect between professed values and practiced behavior.

The battling Bastards of Bataan

What followed was not straightforward engagement but the formation of a board composed of four members—one of whom had previously exhibited bias. Before attending the board, I notified the general counsel of the bias and asked for that member to be removed. The general counsel responded and advised me that the person would be removed. During the board proceedings, instead of addressing the substantial issues raised, the general counsel accused me of creating a conspiracy theory. You can’t create a conspiracy theory about something that’s already been established. This wasn’t just a dismissal but a profound invalidation of my experiences and concerns. To add insult to injury, after receiving hours of my testimony and reviewing over 500 pages of supporting documentation, the general counsel notified me that the previously removed member would now continue to participate and have an opinion on the decision. This is moral injury in its rawest form.

Next steps for me are to submit an application to the Army Board for Correction of Military Records (ABCMR). My quest for justice thus far has drained my savings and tested my resilience. I started a GoFundMe so I could hire an attorney to advise me on how to navigate the complexities of the ABCMR process, as I will need an exception to policy regarding the statute of limitations, hindered by delays and inaction from officials who failed to fulfill my Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) requests. I suspect that the investigation they were supposed to conduct on themselves never actually took place. It’s hard to provide a copy of an investigation that doesn’t exist.

My story lays bare a troubling gap between the ideals that military organizations uphold and the reality of how they may respond when those ideals are called into question by their own members. It prompts a necessary conversation about integrity, accountability, and the support systems within such institutions. How can military organizations foster a culture of true resilience and integrity if they falter at moments that demand these qualities the most? My story isn’t just about a failed engagement by the New Mexico Army National Guard—it’s a reflection on the broader challenges of ensuring that the values we champion are the values we live by.

As I continue this blog, sharing both the triumphs and trials of my military career, I do so not only to document my own journey but also to offer a voice to others who may feel as lost and heartbroken as I have felt. This isn’t just my story—it’s a reflection of many who serve and struggle, who fight battles long after leaving the battlefield. Through sharing, we find strength and perhaps, a path forward together.

Currently, there is no established treatment for moral injury, as it is considered a wound to the soul.

Listen to my full story here: https://www.youtube.com/live/1y75KOPl3FA?si=71jT6DtDn2uh-gGt

Echoes of Resilience: Finding Strength Through Shared Stories of Survival

Trigger Warning: Please be advised that the following content includes discussions and depictions of sexual assault which may be distressing for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

At 18, I turned to my cherished Madrina (God Mother), seeking solace from a deep-seated pain that stemmed from a sexual assault when I was 14. The path to healing seemed obscured, especially after finding little understanding among other adults. My Madrina, understanding the gravity of my struggle, suggested I confide in my Padrino (God Father). Despite my reservations, given his advanced age and the distance that separated me from the source of my trauma, I approached him.

My godfather, a revered veteran who had survived unimaginable hardships as a prisoner of war during World War II, offered his ear and heart. In our conversation, he shared his own harrowing tale of survival and loss, drawing parallels to the resilience of the human spirit. He revealed the depths of his suffering during the Bataan Death March, not for sympathy, but to illuminate a path forward for me. I’ll never forget these words “The Japanese soldiers tortured us in ways that they thought would take away what made us men” he then told me the story about how he was held down and forced to watch as they cut off his testicles. “They thought they took away my ability to have children, but look at me right now, sitting here talking to my daughter”. Through his story, he imparted a profound lesson about the indomitability of our inner selves, regardless of the external forces that seek to challenge us. 

This exchange with my godfather became a cornerstone of my journey toward healing. He demonstrated that vulnerability and strength are not mutually exclusive but are intertwined in the fabric of resilience. His experiences, marked by both pain and triumph, taught me that our past does not dictate our future. 

His legacy of courage and compassion continues to inspire me. It reminds me that, in facing life’s adversities, we can draw on our experiences to find strength and understanding. His life story, a testament to overcoming, guides me through my own challenges, reinforcing the belief in the enduring power of the human spirit to heal and thrive. 

Always forward.

The Hidden Gift in Disappointment and Betrayal Trauma: A Testament to Courage.

I’ve been reflecting deeply on the paradoxical blessing of disappointment. It’s a common experience to feel a sense of shame when we encounter failures, rejections, or the end of relationships. I recently fell into this trap myself. However, it’s crucial to recognize that disappointment is actually a testament to bravery. It signals that you had the courage to invest emotionally, to strive, and to pursue your desires wholeheartedly.

Yet, there’s another layer to this, particularly when disappointment stems from betrayal. Betrayal trauma occurs when someone we deeply trust or depend upon lets us down in a profound way. This type of disappointment is not just about unmet expectations but a profound violation of trust. It shakes the foundation of what we believed was secure, questioning our judgment and our capacity to trust.

Nevertheless, even in the throes of betrayal trauma, there’s a hidden gift. It’s an opportunity to confront our deepest vulnerabilities and fears, to understand our capacity for resilience, and to ultimately grow from the experience. Just as disappointment in other areas of life shows we dared to dream and reach for what we wanted, navigating through betrayal trauma reveals our strength to face profound emotional challenges, learn from them, and emerge stronger.

So, celebrate yourself. In a world where apathy and half-hearted efforts are all too common, you’ve shown that you’re willing to be fully present and engaged, even at the risk of pain. That’s not just brave; it’s profound.

Always forward.