Yesterday I sat in a room with a group of peers going through my Ladder UPP program and heard some heavy stories. Not the kind of stories where someone had a rough week. Not the kind where things were stressful at work.
I mean the kind of stories where you quietly wonder:
How are you still standing?
How are you even functioning?
How did you survive that?
Maybe you’ve been there yourself. A friend you buried and it’s the anniversary of their passing. A child who dies in your hands. A family crisis that split your life in two. This was the level of life events that all seemed to cascade one after another.
Yet, surprisingly, here is what struck me the most.
It was when we started laughing.
Trauma Does Not Live in Silence
This group in particular meets regularly. It is a small circle that has deepened its connection with one another through intentional conversation and the principles of my Ladder UPP workbook.
Each week starts with the same question: “How was your week?”
Normally, the responses are routine. Not yesterday. One after another, men shared stories that would shake most people to the core. At one point my mind drifted and I remembered a fire chief who once told me about the worst call of his life. A few of their stories were of the same vein.
He had been called to a Christmas Eve family dinner where a mother was choking to death and her family was screaming for him to save her. Upon arrival, he was sure this would be a win. But all too quickly, the win turned into a loss. Even after he realized she was gone, he kept working on her. He didn’t want to rise and face the family.
But face them he must.
How do you tell a family their mom is gone?
Now, years later, what haunted him most wasn’t just the death. It was the cry of the children and the loneliness of carrying it.
The Lie About Strength
There’s a lie still floating around in our culture. Especially in first responder, military, and leadership culture.
The lie says:
Strength means handling it alone, sucking it up, and carrying on.
It is an attitude that destroys people.
It destroys because it denies presence, the best medicine for a grieving soul. Before advice, drugs, philosophy, or therapy, a human needs connection to heal and prosper.
We sometimes make presence too hard. We aren’t sure what to say, so we stay away and wait on them. The reality is that when someone lays something that heavy in front of you, the answer usually isn’t what you say.
It’s whether you stay.
The Moment Everything Changed
After the stories, nobody really knew what to say. So we carried on and did what humans have done forever. We ate together. It didn’t take long for someone to crack a small joke. Quickly, it turned into laughter and smiling faces.
Laughing in the face of things that could not be undone. That’s when it hit me. Every horrible thing that happened that week would have happened whether we met or not. The real choice was all of us being together.
What if we hadn’t been meeting? Some of these men, including myself, might have faced it all alone. And alone is where darkness wins. But together, even grief loosens its grip.
The Power of One Hour
Here’s the actual truth of resiliency and mental fitness. Healing usually doesn’t start with therapy sessions, motivational speeches, or self-help books. It usually starts with something simpler and far more powerful: connection with another human being.
This group didn’t even know each other a couple months ago. Now, here they are, leaning on each other in the heaviest moments of life.
It’s not magic. It is simply structure and intentional connection. Doing what humans were built for, being part of a family, a tribe.
Your Assignment This Week
Here’s a challenge for you. In the next seven days, schedule one hour with someone. It could be coffee, breakfast, lunch, or a phone call. It doesn’t really matter, just take your pick.
The only requirement: make it one uninterrupted hour. And listen, if you tell yourself you don’t have time, you’re lying to yourself. You eat. You scroll. You watch shows. You have the time.
If you take advantage of this hour, I can almost guarantee something will happen. Maybe it will be a laugh laugh, or just a warm grin. You might discuss something painful, or maybe just something ridiculous. Whatever the moment, you won’t be alone. And that is what matters.
There is no stronger medicine sharing the burden we carry than with another.
If a room of men who not months ago were strangers, or if a fire chief can carry a Christmas Eve tragedy for ten years and learn to smile again, then so can you. Don’t delay, make the call face the traumas of life with a smile.
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