Veterans: I’m Not Calling You Out, I’m Calling You Back In

Fellow veterans, we need to talk. We need to talk about what you’re doing. More specifically, we need to talk about what you’re doing to yourself, and, by extension, to our Veteran Community.

But let’s get something straight from the start—I’m not writing this to shame anyone. That’s not what this is about. I’m not better than you. In fact, in many ways I *am* you. and you are me. We are each other. We are in this together, and in many ways, we’ve all that we’ve got.

This isn’t a call-out. This is a call back in. Back into the brotherhood. Back into the tribe. Back into accountability. Back into life.

I was inspired to write this article after listening to a fellow Army veteran tell a story that I’ll describe as a redemption arc involving a fellow Soldier who approached her to have a tough conversation about her failings as a leader. She concluded the story by explaining that she realized that the peer who approached her wasn’t calling her out, he was calling her back in. He was calling her back into the profession. Back into the brotherhood. Back into the light. That’s what this article is about.

The Unspoken War After War

We fought overseas, in deserts and mountains, on ships and on the ground and in the air. We wore the uniform with pride. We have the tattoos, war stories, and scars to show for it. But now we’re fighting a different kind of battle—the one between our ears. The one that shows up at 2AM when the rest of the world is asleep. And for some of us, the only weapon we’ve found to fight this battle with ourselves is a bottle of whiskey or a handful of pills, or chasing that adrenaline high through other forms of self-destructive behavior.

Over the years I’ve seen far too many fellow veterans descend into a chaotic world of their own making. Drugs… alcohol… sex… fast driving… anything to get a thrill, or to numb the pain. But here’s the truth nobody wants to say out loud: you’re not “self-medicating,” you’re an addict. Substance abuse is killing more of us than bullets ever did. It’s not glamorous. It doesn’t make you tough. It’s just slow suicide with a full tank of denial. You’ve embraced the culture of “dysfunctional veterans” and wear your self-destructive behavior as if it’s some kind of valor decoration. It’s not. Or, you’ve become the type of veteran who not only does not have the guts to seek the help you need for what’s really troubling you, you also choose to cut yourself off from the support network that you already have.

But… why? You don’t have to live this way.

I get it. You miss the adrenaline. You miss the clarity of purpose. You miss the brotherhood. Civilian life feels like a bad play where everyone’s acting like they understand something they’ve never lived. You feel like your life lacks purpose since you’ve hung up the uniform. But blowing your paycheck on booze and numbing out with whatever drug you can score isn’t going to fill that hole inside you. It’s just going to make it bigger. And taking yourself out altogether isn’t going to help you, or us. So stop pointing that gun, or that bottle of booze, or those pills, or that self-destructive behavior at your head, and come back to us.

If you’re a veteran and this hits you like a gut punch, good. It’s supposed to. Because too many of us are spiraling into the bottom of a bottle, a pill jar, or a grave—and I’m tired of watching the people I served with self-destruct in silence while pretending everything’s fine.

The Accountability We Owe Each Other

This is where I draw the line—not in judgment, but in loyalty.

I’m not calling you out, I’m calling you back in.

Back into the kind of brotherhood that doesn’t just slap you on the back when you’re up, but hauls your ass out of the fire when you’re down. The kind of accountability we had in the teams, in the units, in the platoons. Where your life mattered to the guy next to you—and his to yours.

We’ve got to stop pretending like we can “lone wolf” our way through this. That’s not who we were, and it sure as hell isn’t who we need to be now. You don’t get to tap out just because life on the home front is a different kind of hard. You’re still in the fight, whether you like it or not.

Stop Coping. Start Living.

You owe it to yourself to do better.

Not because you’re broken, but because you’re worth fixing. Because there’s still fight left in you. Because there’s a kid out there who looks up to you. A spouse who’s sick of seeing you numb. A buddy who needs to know he’s not alone. A country who needs you to find your second mission.

You’ve been through worse than sobriety. You’ve survived harder than therapy. You’ve faced down death and come out alive. So don’t you dare act like taking responsibility for your life now is too much to handle.

It’s not weakness to ask for help. It’s weakness to pretend you don’t need it. And it’s cowardice to watch your life burn down around you and blame everything except the man in the mirror.

Answering the Call Again

Veterans, I’m not calling you out to embarrass you. In fact, I’m not calling you out at all. I’m calling you back in—to your strength, your discipline, your honor. To the tribe that still needs you. To the mission that’s not over yet.

We don’t leave our own behind. And right now, some of you are MIA in your own damn lives.

So check in. Call a brother. Go to a meeting. Get sober. Get real. Get up. Stop abusing drugs and alcohol and calling it “self-medicating.” Stop the self-destructive behavior. Stop cutting yourself off from your support network. Stop making yourself “dysfunctional.” Because we need you. And you’re not done yet.

So come back. Come back in.

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Charles Faint served over 27 years in the US Army, which included seven combat tours in Iraq and Afghanistan with various Special Operations Forces units and two stints as an instructor at the United States Military Academy at West Point. He also completed operational tours in Egypt, the Philippines, and the Republic of Korea and earned a Doctor of Business Administration from Temple University as well as a Master of Arts in International Relations from Yale University. He is the owner of The Havok Journal, and the views expressed herein are his own and do not reflect those of the US Government or any other person or entity.

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.