My ‘post-traumatic growth’ a decade after Afghanistan
Ten years on from his final tour, Dominic Nicholls speaks to Army veterans about civilian life
Ten years ago this month I deployed to Afghanistan on my last operational tour as a British Army officer. Even with a decade’s hindsight, that seven months still sticks out as one of the most intense periods of my life. I left the Army five years after Operation Herrick 13 for new opportunities. Transitioning back to civilian life has not been without its difficulties. Home life was fine, as was becoming a father, but work felt flat and directionless. I struggled not to react to behaviour and values at odds with those of the close-knit teams I was used to in the Army. I eventually spoke to a counsellor.
It seems after 23 years in the Army I am very drawn to risk, adrenalin and conflict. Perfect for a defence and security correspondent – as I am at The Telegraph – or a nightmare for an editor?
Am I missing the single-minded focus of operations? Are the characteristics that enabled me to thrive in the military utterly incompatible with civilian life? I thought I’d better ask those that were in Afghanistan at the same time as me.
Veterans minister Johnny Mercer said he was “still adjusting every day” to life after the intensity of combat.
The 39-year-old minister, who served three tours of Afghanistan, overlapping with me on the last one, said deploying on operations “makes you realise how so much of life comes down to luck”.
“You could be patrolling next to a guy and a random burst of gunfire hits him, not you. How do you rationalise that? You can’t. It makes you lose your fear. Now, I’m not worried about not being liked, but I worry about other things around family life. I get annoyed when the kids argue about which breakfast cereal to buy. It’s stupid stuff like home insurance that keeps me awake.”
Toby, 40, another friend, said he reflects a lot on his military service, particularly the “very clear purpose” of our tour in Afghanistan.
“We all knew what we were pushing towards. That’s something that doesn’t often exist away from that environment. That makes working with people much more difficult.
“It’s rare to find that common cause. That’s when I feel like I’m on my own or I’m pushing against people.”
He looks back on the decisions he made during the operation. “I made all of those decisions without doubts at the time. With the benefit of hindsight and mature consideration, I wonder ‘did I convince myself that was right?’ That plays a bit more on my mind.
“Is it guilt? Is that the right word? There were things out of my control that went wrong, for which I have massive regret.”
Tom, an Apache attack helicopter pilot, told me: “I think of those six months a lot.” Discussing that tour will trigger “replays”, he says. “I will not sleep well for a few nights.”
He still remembers what he calls his “bad judgments”. I would say they were decisions taken with the best of intentions, given the situation and available information at the time.
He describes escorting a Chinook helicopter to collect an injured American soldier. After pickup the Chinook headed to Camp Bastion for specialist medical help. Tom’s Apache peeled off to attack a High Value Target that had just been spotted.
“The Americans called up again to say they had another casualty coming to the same Helicopter Landing Site, and could the Chinook come back? I decided not to call the chopper back, thinking it better not to extend the flight time for the first casualty but told the Chinook to drop off and come back for the second casualty.”
The US Marine died of his injuries on the HLS.
“A sand storm prevented me making any useful contribution to the HVT engagement. I didn’t help anyone that day.
“Back home I didn’t communicate well. It was only when, a year later, sleep became interrupted and tears were unexplained that I put my hand up. The team at Colchester mental health unit were the best. The cognitive therapy seemed a bit quirky for an alpha soldier but I gave it a go and it certainly helped.”
A lot of my friends say it is sometimes difficult to relate to others without similar experiences.
James speaks most openly about that time with people he served with, sometimes to his wife’s annoyance: “They’re the ones that you trust, the ones that you listen to. They’re the ones who understand your context.”
He says he was “twitching” on his return from Afghanistan. Eighteen per cent of his troops suffered lifechanging injuries on the tour, but all made it home. However, speaking later to injured soldiers that had served in his squadron, either in rehabilitation units or at home undergoing long-term medical treatments, was hard.
“The lights had gone off behind their eyes, because they’re clinically depressed and they’ve been told their careers are coming to an end. I was being treated for PTSD [and] the thing that really bothered me was that feeling of responsibility for people I really gave a s--- about, and the unwillingness to put that down.”
He set up Mission Motorsport, a charity that uses the automotive industry to help those affected by military operations.
“It’s natural to be shaped by the things you’ve experienced, it would be inhuman if you weren’t. Herrick 13 was a traumatic event in the lives of many people who were on it.”
James says that by focusing on “post-traumatic growth”, rather than post-traumatic stress disorder, “you can be better as a result of these things. You can be more balanced, more patient. You can hold your family more dearly. You can care more about the plight of other people. You can be a better individual. I firmly believe post-traumatic growth is something we should be promoting in our people.”
Josh Goldberg of the veteran-led
Boulder Crest Foundation, based in the US state of Virginia, says the concept of PTG, rather than a specific diagnosis of PTSD, is a better way to help individuals who have experienced extremely stressful episodes in their lives.
The core symptoms of PTSD – hyperawareness, intolerance to mistakes, a sense of numbness and disconnection, being quick to anger – are helpful self-preservation tools for a soldier on a battlefield, but do not translate well to life back home.
Creating a diagnosis of PTSD, so that treatments could be better directed, was sound, but the label has overtaken the purpose and can, itself, become a burden.
Instead, PTG, a term first coined in 1995 by Dr Richard Tedeschi of the University of North Carolina, suggests an individual’s struggle to make sense of life after a trauma can lead to “more authentic, fulfilling and purposeful” lives, Goldberg explains. “It’s not that trauma is good
‘Are you struggling with what you’re coming back to, or coming back from?’
– it’s not, but it’s inevitable in all our lives, especially in the warrior class – people who sublimate instincts of self-preservation to protect and serve other people.
“Some veterans struggle with the idea that their experiences may have value and not just be a dark period that [they] hope to never revisit. The question is: are you struggling because of what you’re coming back from, or what you’re coming back to? Post-traumatic growth is both a process and an outcome.”
In the decade since I served in Afghanistan I’ve learnt to reflect, to set that period in the correct context and try to learn from the experience. Anything less is a wasted opportunity at best and potentially damaging at worst. Most significantly, I’ve learnt to not be afraid to talk and seek help.
“Don’t ever be shy of getting help,” Tom, one of my oldest friends, agrees. “Better still, get help as a matter of course before you need it.”