When the Words They Need Are the Ones You Never Say

“I just want to know you are proud of me.”

What? I had told him over and over, hadn’t I? I told him how good a recruit he was. I pointed out all the times he had gone above and beyond, along with ways to become even better. I told him I’d gladly have him as my partner. I told him he wouldn’t have any issues becoming a cop. That said it all, didn’t it?

I had given him every objective indicator. I had told him how great he was, balanced with areas for improvement. I praised him as a rookie while being honest about his flaws and blind spots. I gave him the tools to grow and excel. I gave him everything—except what he needed most. I provided all the evidence but never the conclusion. I gave him everything except that affirmation he so desperately needed.

Those words—”I just want to know you are proud of me”—stopped me in my tracks.

“OF COURSE I AM PROUD OF YOU! I told you x, y, and z…” But I had given him the why without the what. His words shook me because they were all too familiar. They echoed my own flaws, my blind spots, and my obsessive-compulsive mind.

I grew up emotionally and mentally manipulated. I grew up physically abused and forgotten. I developed an unnatural ability to manipulate others. I score higher than average on the psychopathy scale. One of my parents could likely stand beside the likes of David Koresh, Jim Jones, and other charismatic cult leaders. I’ve been told more than once that I might have that same ability.

I realized how much I hated being manipulated and vowed not to do it to others. So, I started offering the “why” without the “what.” I began giving the evidence—both for and against—and left others to draw their own conclusions.

I honed this skill among the Green-Eyed Giants. At such a critical point in life, I learned that life offered no absolutes. Decisions were made in fractions of seconds, based on limited information, in a game of odds in an ever-changing world. The “why” became everything. Ideas were meant to be challenged. People could change. Life was fragile, always one breath away from being stripped away without warning.

Yes, kid—I am proud of you. I am proud of all my partners. I am proud beyond words of my wife. I am proud of so many people. I know I don’t say it enough, but I’m trying. I’m trying to find that balance—to let people know I’m proud, that I love them, that I care deeply. That I want them to be better, stronger, happier with every passing day.

My words are meant to motivate, but they are rooted in a love my voice often fails to express. As I write these words, tears well in my eyes. To think that my words carry so much weight—it’s a gift and a crushing burden. That every word spoken in love might still bring pain.

If you’re reading this—whoever you are—life is too short. Never leave words unspoken, because there may never be another chance. Your words today could forever change someone’s life.

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Jake Smith is a law enforcement officer and former Army Ranger with four deployments to Afghanistan.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.