As Joan Rivers used to say, Can we talk?

In the last post, I covered the not-so-smooth landing that brought me out of the Army. Like a lot of former military folks, I’ve had moments—usually over a drink—where I’ve muttered, “I should’ve just stayed in.” But at the time, fresh out of a hospital bed and staring down a mental health diagnosis, I didn’t see a way back to my previous role. And to be fair, neither did the Army.

Mental health—then and now—is treated more as a liability than an injury. They may not kick you out outright, but you’re quietly encouraged to exit stage left. They might reassign you, sideline you, or just make you feel like you’re in the way. Sound familiar? It should. It’s how most of society deals with mental illness: don’t fix it, just guide it out the door.

My PTSD was manageable for a long time. Then I had strokes. If you’ve never had your brain throw a Molotov cocktail into your daily functioning, count yourself lucky. When the wiring changes, everything changes—and if you’re already managing a mental illness, well, now you get to manage it differently. Fewer tools, same fight. Yay, neuroplasticity.

GI Bill Meets Midlife Crisis

When I left the Army, I got a disability rating and access to vocational rehab under the GI Bill. Turns out, there’s not much civilian demand for tank commanders unless you count “leadership skills,” which—thankfully—do come in handy. So I had to reinvent myself.

And for reasons even I don’t fully understand, I picked nursing.

I’d been an EMT before. I liked the idea of a stable job that didn’t involve cutting people out of cars in sub-zero weather. Plus: hospitals have heat. So back to school I went—fifteen years after graduating high school. Talk about a culture shock. Academia had changed. Or maybe I had.

Pre-Nursing: Hunger Games, But with Textbooks

There’s a weirdly competitive atmosphere in pre-nursing and nursing programs. You’ve got the overachievers, the cutthroat GPA chasers, and a general sense that you’re all battling for a golden ticket to nursing school. I walked in older, with life experience—but academically? I was 15 years behind.

I’m not naturally competitive. I was just trying to survive and pass. A utilitarian approach doesn’t always win you points in a GPA war, but I held a solid B average through my diploma program. By senior year, I was flirting with a 3.8–3.9. Not bad for the old guy in the back row.

And for the record: grades don’t always reflect bedside skill. I’ve met some straight-A disasters in scrubs.

So This Is Nursing

One of the great things about nursing is how many flavors it comes in. Don’t like what you’re doing? Try another specialty. And I did—dialysis, med-surg, critical care, homeless outreach, psych. Eventually, psych found me more than I found it.

But let’s talk about the social ecosystem of nursing, because it was a rocky road.

Nursing is still seen—by some women, even—as a “woman’s job.” As a guy in a small, local program, I never quite shook the feeling of being an outsider. Early on, I was accused of “hating nurses” because I made an offhand comment in class. That launched a whole investigation. No one ever asked me what I meant.

For the record, I don’t hate nurses. I hated the cliques and the mean-girl energy that reminded me of high school lunch tables. My way of processing things—Army-style directness—didn’t translate well. Nursing has a lot of people who don’t appreciate bluntness, even if it’s honest. And while I did adapt, it was rough. I changed jobs more often than I should have, trying to find a fit.

There’s a loneliness in being on the team but not of the team. Maybe that was just my perception—but perception becomes reality when you’re the one sitting alone in the break room while everyone else bonds over personal health updates you didn’t want to hear.

Becoming the NP

Despite all that, I still wanted to be a nurse practitioner. It had been my goal since day one. So, after 20 years in nursing, I went back to school.

NP school was tough—again. I worked full-time in critical care while finishing a distance learning program. It was grueling but worth it. My first job out of NP school was as a hospitalist on an inpatient psych unit. That experience deserves its own post—and it’ll get one.

Wrap-Up

I apologize for the gap between posts. Writer’s block happens, especially when the things you’re trying to write about sit heavy on the chest.

This is just the framework. I’ll flesh out the more specific and wild stories soon enough.

Until then—be the kind of person your dad (because it’s Father’s Day Sunday), your dog, and let’s not forget your mom—would be proud of.