Old World War soldiers rarely spoke about the wars they fought, at least not the parts that left them forever changed. They’d tell funny stories, share moments of camaraderie, but when it came to the true horrors they witnessed, the silence was deafening.
I remember my grandad doing the same. He would share light-hearted moments from his time in the war, but whenever I asked, “What was it like?” he’d simply respond, “You don’t need to know,” followed by a long, distant stare.
As I grew older and eventually became a soldier myself, I began to understand why veterans stayed quiet. It’s not that they didn’t want to share—it’s that PTSD made it nearly impossible to put those experiences into words. And often, we don’t want to pass on the terrible things we’ve seen to those we care about. Trauma is difficult to understand, even more so when it’s your own.
This blog may evoke strong emotions, but the message is clear: talk to someone. Because silence can be just as destructive as the trauma itself.
The Weight of Silence: My Own Journey with PTSD
In 1993, I was serving with the Royal Military Police in Fallingbostel, Germany, where at that time, the
Cheshire Regiment was stationed. The Cheshire Regt had just returned from Operation Grapple 2 in Bosnia, where they had seen things that defied human comprehension—ethnic cleansing, a nightmare that left many visibly shell-shocked. We know it as PTSD or now probably CPTSD. These men had seen horrors beyond words, and how could anyone truly understand?
Photograph provided courtesy of the ICTY.
When my turn came in 1994 during Operation Grapple 4, I experienced a different Bosnia. Although it was officially “peaceful,” there was still danger everywhere, especially as you travelled further up-country. I’ll never forget Mostar, where mortars regularly flew across the town, each side launching them over the river. We were stationed in an old school, right in the heart of the city—not the target, but far from safe.
One day, we escorted an aid convoy to a small village. As we waited for the trucks to unload at a warehouse, everything changed in an instant. A mortar exploded 20 metres above us. I woke up lying on the ground, dazed, while others were sitting up around me. The shockwave had knocked us all off our feet. In the chaos, we somehow managed to get the convoy out, half unloaded but safe.
Back at base, there were no injuries, and what a story we had to tell—among ourselves, anyway. Those of us on that tour could talk about it because we understood. But when I returned home, I didn’t share any of it with my family. I didn’t want them to worry. I didn’t want to burden them with the gruesome realities of war. How could I explain the evidence of ethnic cleansing that I had seen? Or the fear of being shot at while trying to help? There are no words that I can find to explain this.
Instead, like the old soldiers, I boxed it all away, deep inside me. But the reality is, those boxes don’t stay sealed forever. PTSD has a way of creeping back into your life when you least expect it. You can’t just put it all away and pretend it never happened.
How PTSD Creeps Into Everyday Life
That same year (94), Forrest Gump was released. I went to see it in the cinema, like many people. But during one of the war scenes, something changed in me. The realistic sound of explosions on the big screen, amplified by surround sound, triggered something deep inside. I felt anxious, the bass reverberating through the cinema making me feel as if I was back in Bosnia. My rational mind knew I was safe, but my body wasn’t so sure. I was about to walk out, bu then the scene changed, and I managed to calm down.
At the time, I didn’t mention it to anyone. I chalked it up to a one-off, an unexpected reaction. But that wasn’t the last time PTSD would sneak up on me.
A few years later, I took my young son to a fireworks display. As the fireworks lit up the sky, that strange fear – anxiety returned. My senses screamed at me to get away, but my rational brain fought back. I couldn’t let my son see me scared. I stayed, but I avoided fireworks for years afterward. Eventually, the anxiety around explosions faded, which was fortunate given my later career attending many EOD power of explosives demonstrations. Not everyone is so lucky.
This is how PTSD works. It’s not always a loud voice shouting at you. It’s a quiet, creeping unease that hits when you least expect it, sometimes in the most mundane situations.
The Brotherhood of Silence: Soldiers and Emergency Services
As a soldier, and later as a police officer, I found solace in the unspoken understanding between colleagues. Amongst ourselves, we didn’t need to explain every detail because others just “got it.” There’s a brotherhood, a shared experience of trauma that doesn’t require words. We’d have a few beers, laugh, and put it to bed. But that doesn’t mean the trauma went away.
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and Complex PTSD (CPTSD) are incredibly common among military personnel and emergency service workers. The constant exposure to life-threatening situations and the emotional toll of being the one people rely on creates an intense pressure that many of us bottle up. We’re conditioned to be strong, to not show weakness, and to “get on with it.” But the weight of that silence is crushing.
I’ve been fortunate throughout my career. I had experienced colleagues to talk to, people who knew when to check in or when I needed a reality check. But what happens when those support systems aren’t there?
The Erosion of Support in Emergency Services
Over the years, budget cuts have hit the emergency services hard. With fewer experienced officers available and not being replaced, newer recruits lack the guidance and support they need to cope with the trauma they encounter. Officers are now stretched thinner than ever, facing trauma after trauma, with no time or space to process what they’ve experienced.
I’ve heard stories of Employee Assistance Programme (EAP) operators—civilians—reduced to tears by the harrowing stories officers have shared. These workers are expected to handle trauma they’ve never faced, leaving many officers feeling unsupported and more isolated than ever.
We need more robust systems in place. There are fantastic organisations like PTSD999, Tough to Talk Police care uk and Trojan Wellbeing that offer much-needed support, even the newly launched Op Grindstone – crossfit sessions for serving and veteran members, run by veterans for a good workout but importantly a chat & check in over a brew at the end.
But we need more. The current system is failing those who serve, and the consequences are dire.
You Are Not Alone: The Importance of Talking
The truth is, PTSD isolates you. It makes you believe that no one else will understand. But the reality is, there are so many people out there who do understand, who have lived through similar experiences. You don’t have to carry this weight alone.
There are charities and support groups that can help, many run by people who have been through it themselves. One-to-one therapies, peer support, and counselling are available to help you process your trauma. You don’t have to explain every detail. They will understand. You are not alone in this.
If you or someone you know is struggling with PTSD or CPTSD, don’t suffer in silence. Reach out. Contact me at Rik@Cptsdrelief.co.uk for support and guidance. Together, we can break the silence and start the healing process.