Elizabeth Heaney
  • Home
  • About
  • Blog
  • Media/News
  • Events
  • Contact

BLOG

Touching And Difficult Encounters

10/8/2014

Comments

 
People ask me what was the most touching (or most difficult) thing about working with the military, and there’s innumerable rich or challenging moments I could list on both sides of that question. I’ll mention a few in my next posts . . .

I’d just finished a briefing to a large auditorium of soldiers, telling them about the counseling services I offered on the base. I kept emphasizing that it was confidential – nothing would go in their records. My cell phone rang as I walked back across the base to my office.

“I just heard you talk about your program. I never knew we could get counseling that wouldn’t go into our records.”
I assured him: no notes, nothing in his files, his commanders would never know he talked to me.

“I’ve been desperate. I’ve been praying for something that would help me. I think this might be it,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “When can I come in?”

“I’ll be in my office in ten minutes and  . . .” I said; before I could finish my sentence, he said, “I’ll be there.”

A few minutes later, the high-ranking officer dropped into the chair across from mine and put his head into his hands. When he looked up, his black hair was swirled and spiked from the way he’d pushed his hands through his hair. His face looked sadder than any face I’d seen in a long time, his eyes filled with angst and his mouth tight with tension.

He began to talk about an issue he’d been struggling with for years – an issue that would interfere with his career if it became known. Recent work assignments had dramatically increased his stress levels, and he was beginning to crumble with the tension of his personal issue and the job stress. He had never spoken to anyone about his concerns, and he cried as he told me about how unbearable things had started to feel.

When our time ran out on that first day, I asked if he wanted to come back the next day. He wordlessly nodded and thanked me profusely as he left my office. The next day, he again poured out all the anguish he’d been trying to manage. He came in a third time in that first week. I felt like I was watching him find some steady ground under his feet after years of treading roiling, dangerous waters of stress and secrets.

A few days after his third session, he called to let me know he’d been temporarily assigned to a distant base for a project. He told me our conversations had been greatly helpful, and he would call me as soon as he returned.

Weeks passed, and I didn’t hear from him. I thought of him often, and kept hoping he was still doing well. The day before I was leaving that base to move to a new assignment, he called to tell me he was back from his project and wanted to continue our exchanges. When I told him I was leaving and wouldn’t be able to talk to him, he instantly got choked up, “What am I going to do? I need to talk to you.”

I assured him he could continue his work with the counselor who was replacing me. “But I don’t want to talk to someone else. You already know me. You already helped me. I don’t want to start over again.” I heard the despair creeping back into his voice.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, “I have to hand you off to the new counselor.”

According to my contract, I was not allowed to have contact with service members once I left a particular base. While I could see the reasoning behind this restriction (wanting soldiers to access the arriving counselor rather than trying to work long-distance with the departing one), I chafed at it. And in this instance, as the officer said good bye and hung up, I felt bad for sticking with the rules. All the reasonable logic in the world didn’t weigh an ounce when up against the anguish that man was swimming in.
To this day, I wonder what happened to that officer.
I wonder if he got more help.
I wonder so often how he’s doing and how that issue unfolded.

And I feel I made the wrong choice.
I stuck with the rules; I did my job as assigned.
And I regret it.

Previous Comments:

Sara pearson says:
October 8, 2014 at 4:05 pm
Beautiful beautiful beautiful
So huge
Yes yes
And arriving here at a perfect time
Thank you
Elizabeth says:
October 12, 2014 at 12:41 am  (Edit)yes, it was a huge experience, all around. Perfect word for it. Huge.

Bob says:
October 8, 2014 at 5:31 pm 
I expect that he, like dozens of us, continue to talk to the Elizabeth now living in our mind and heart. Talking with you creates a safe and sacred space. We change for the better. You set the bar high, and gift us by reflecting our best self. We get to take him and you with us when we leave. Thank you.
Elizabeth says:
October 12, 2014 at 12:42 am 
And such a humbling opportunity, too – to sit with such vulnerability, such sincere difficulties. The honor was mine . . .

danny johnson says:
October 8, 2014 at 7:11 pm 
the military at it’s best unfortunately….one can only hope you opened a door he would continue to walk through…
Elizabeth says:
October 12, 2014 at 12:43 am
Oh, I hope so . . . Hope he walked through that door, yes.

Karen says:
October 10, 2014 at 9:14 am
I agree with Bob. You touched his life, like you have ours, and that made a difference. Your article is right on, and I have been in the same spot a couple of times. Very difficult to handle.
Elizabeth says:
October 12, 2014 at 12:43 am 
Thanks for understanding, Karen – I know you ‘get it’ so deeply. Thanks.

Linda Hansen says:
October 10, 2014 at 9:14 pm 
I am touched by the honesty of this story…
You must know how risky it is to love this way and have to let go
I admire your willingness to open your heart so fully to these service members
Love
Linda

Elizabeth says:
October 12, 2014 at 12:45 am 
Well, it was the only way to truly ‘meet’ them. They were being so sincere in asking for help, so brave in stepping forward like that. It called on the same bravery from me. Thanks so much for the comment . .
Comments

    Enter your email address:

    Delivered by FeedBurner

    Elizabeth Heaney - Author

     Clinical Psychologist, teacher,  private counselor. She speaks and writes about her work with service members.

    Archives

    August 2017
    April 2017
    February 2017
    September 2016
    August 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    July 2015
    June 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    May 2014

    Categories

    All
    Combat Veterans
    Coping With Loss
    Events
    Interview
    Military
    News
    PTSD
    The Honor Was Mine
    Therapy
    The State Of Things Interview
    Torture
    Veterans
    Writing

    RSS Feed

Home | About  |  Contact
All content (C) Elizabeth Heaney except where noted. All rights reserved, 2016.
Web design by GraphicMedia Design
Photos used under Creative Commons from SurfaceWarriors, New Jersey National Guard, USAG-Humphreys, JobsForFelonsHub, Elvert Barnes, unukorno, Elvert Barnes
  • Home
  • About
  • Blog
  • Media/News
  • Events
  • Contact