No Tourniquet for a Broken Heart: from Corpsman to Counselor

If there is anything that the Navy taught me, besides hurrying up and waiting, it was the idea of always being flexible. I remember my Recruit Division Commander cheerfully drilling into our heads, “Semper Gumby!”

When I first joined the Navy (in 2004), I was adamant that I would help treat the wounded and travel the world on a ship, visiting the world’s beaches. The joke was on me, though, because I ended up doing neither. I spent my deployment at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany interviewing wounded servicemembers to collect the information needed to treat and move through the triage line. I did not have the opportunity to make triage decisions. I did not get to change bandages, sail the world, or visit beaches.

After my deployment ended, I was looking forward to transitioning back to civilian life. But life came fast at me. Civilian life welcomed me with a deep depression and an unplanned pregnancy. The depression progressed into a very dark period in my life, one that yearned for death and finality.

However, I enrolled at the local VA hospital to get help and became something of a wounded-healer wannabe. I would go to countless groups that seemed pointless and never-ending therapy appointments with some really awesome counselors, social workers, psychologists, and psychiatrists who would scratch their heads at my case. This experience volunteering to help fellow veterans at the hospital helped me realize my life’s calling, and I am currently working toward earning my master’s in clinical mental health counseling.

I figured out what it means to become a veteran. Transitioning back isn’t about changing your resume; it’s about translating your mission. The Corpsman in me still wants to triage and protect. The Counselor in me knows that healing isn’t a linear "treatment plan." The Woman in me is finally learning to create a life that honors both.

We often talk about "mental fitness" in the veteran community, but let’s be real—it’s not about being "tough" enough to ignore the pain. It’s about being strong enough to acknowledge it. Whether you’re with friends sharing a coffee or in a therapy room sharing a secret, your service gave you a foundation. Now, you get to choose what you build on top of it.

If you’re currently in the "in-between"—that space between who you were in the service and who you are becoming—know this: The skills that made you a great servicemember are the same ones that will make you a great healer, parent, or entrepreneur. You just have to learn to point that compass inward for a change.

You acquire the strength to heal while in uniform, but the real healing begins the moment you hang up the uniform. I have learned that there is no tourniquet for a broken heart or a chest seal for a moral injury. Instead, I have presence. I’m learning that "saving a life" doesn’t always happen in a frantic Golden Hour; sometimes, it happens over weeks of building trust, rewriting old stories, and finally giving ourselves permission to feel the things we spent years suppressing.