One psychiatrist argues that soldiers suffering from PTSD may be the unsung champions of strength in gender identity.
After each day of working to help young combat veterans, hooked on opiates, take care of one problem (drugs) in the face a bigger one (PTSD), I find myself thinking of those who claim that gender roles have become confused.
My first thought? I must have missed that memo.
Most of the veterans I see are men who have done anything but compromise their masculinity. Many spend their days tormented by the fear that they will consider themselves “less of a man” as a result of the memories and emotions that haunt them every day. They worry that they are less than decent partners, less than decent fathers, less than decent providers, even less than decent humans. The notion that these feelings have no end in sight is equally frightening.
Like many “traditional” men, they obsess over who is “number one” and who is “number two.” Unlike the “traditional” men that most of them had once envisioned themselves to be—“number one” par excellence, the best of the best— many now hide, daring to step foot in the local WalMart only at 3:00 a.m., fearing that everyone they meet will come to the conclusion that they left their “best of the best” in a Middle Eastern desert.
The multiple “end of gender” theories could be quite liberating to most these men. It could relieve them of some of the overwhelming responsibilities that so many of them feel, and open them up to connections that can truly heal.
Many of these men don’t desire such liberation, however, let alone wait for it. For them, the “end of gender” is a culturally-sanctioned excuse for being “number two.” Nothing more.
At the same time, I know these young men know something more about the “end of gender.” Maybe they know better than most of us, as do their sisters in combat, that there are places in the soul where gender, race, sexuality, religion, whatever, all stand united.
I have to wonder, however, if the rest of us will find their knowledge all that liberating.
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All trauma victims—of all sexes, all races, at all times—understand, from the soul outward, that the world can change in an instant; that whether we like it or not, vulnerability is our human lot; that being ripped away from those we love , just being ripped apart ourselves, will indeed, without exception, mark us forever.
Many combat veterans, however, man or woman, know other truths as well. They know that love—of their brothers and sisters in arms, of their families, of themselves—can cause destruction too, can cause them to destroy. They have seen that destruction first hand. They have heard the cries. But they know they did not destroy wantonly. They know that war makes “choice” a ludicrous word. They know that in another time, another place, none of this would ever have happened.
Yet they cannot escape what they know: they have played their part in that destruction. This is not who they are. Yet, in a way, a horrifically true way, it is.
This is what keeps many combat veterans up at night. They have realized that Joseph Conrad wrote a documentary, not a novel, when he penned Heart of Darkness. They may know deep down they are still worthy of love, that they are still good. But they wonder. This is what haunts them as they stand outside their bedrooms, their homes, their places of worship, even their WalMarts.
They have been to a place where those who enter never depart as the same person. Most are burdened by the circumstances of that transformation, the memories of when, where, and how it all changed. But they are to be envied, not for what they’ve seen or heard or have had to do, but for what they have learned, through sacrifice, as the meaning of “gender identity.” They, most of all, know that any “end of gender” theorizing is ultimately irrelevant—that, to refute such theories, they can just keep doing what they’re doing: that is, try to recover and move forward, every day, every hour.
Rodney Deaton is a psychiatrist with a private psychotherapy practice who also serves as the Interim Clinical Director of the Substance Abuse Treatment section of the Richard L. Roudebush VA Medical Center, both in Indianapolis. The opinions expressed in this piece are his own and not a position of any branch of the United States government.
—Photo familymwr/Flickr
I am a combat veteran of multiple deployments in different theaters; however, I am most likely retiring soon. I was diagnosed with PTSD prior to my last deployment to Afghanistan and upon return have been changed to Severe PTSD, not exactly. Anyway, my reason for writing was that I don’t feel gender comes into play with any of my issues or the issues or the soldiers I counsel and advise. The issues that come up are based normally around hyper-vigilance and tendencies toward aggression. Those issues are what, in my opinion, keep most of us out of crowded, active areas,… Read more »
Wonderful piece. It’s fascinating how the very notion of masculinity is simultaneously contributing to the symptoms experienced by PTSD patients yet also offers hope in the form of a reformulated masculinity that has learned the hard way that compassion and trust can and do exist alongside stoicism and the warrior ethos.
Beautiful treatment of the painful transformation from outer armor to inner strength. Sweet reframing of a feared liability into deep new power. May these guys all get there.