Chapter 9: Warriors Returning to Our Senses

The next step is adding sensory details back into our story—especially how our bodies reacted when things went down.

That’s how we start to uncover the body’s version.

It means stepping back into those overwhelming moments—and tuning in to the sensations that were alive in our bodies at the time. Once we reconnect with those sensations, we wake the story up—it stops being frozen in time and becomes something we can actually feel.

Our body is like the black box on a plane, storing everything that happened during our time in Service. Even when our mind went blank, the nervous system kept recording.

Now we’ll go back through what we wrote and add the sensory details we missed the first time around.

This is how we unlock those records, and finally hear the story our body has been waiting to tell.

 Embodied Redemptive Storytelling

Step Nine: Use the Seven Sensory Recall Questions. 

We’re going to revisit the past event you wrote about and ask,

The Seven Sensory Recall Questions:

1. What was I smelling?

2. What was I hearing?

3. What was I tasting?

4. What was I touching—or feeling on the surface of my body?

5. What was I seeing?

6. What sensations were happening inside my body? (Examples: tingling, tension, numbness, shakiness, heaviness, etc.)**

7. What thoughts were running through my head?

Now, go back to what you wrote earlier. Re-read each line and imagine yourself back in that moment, like it’s a daydream. Ask the Seven Sensory Recall Questions as you go.

Write down any new details that come up and add them to your story.

Here's an example:

Draft from Chapter 7: (The first-person draft)

A car is pulling up to me at the checkpoint. Looks like another Iraqi local. Middle-aged, male. I lean my head down to the passenger side window, point to my M4 and ask, “Ayu 'aslihatin?” <any weapons?> . He shakes his head no. I point to the glove compartment and say,  “Aiftah hadha”. He seems confused. My eyes scan around while I wait for him to respond. Wait, what is that? Is that a rifle barrel poking out from under the passenger seat? Ahh shit, c’mon dude, why not just say something? A voice in my head says ‘He’s not a threat. He looks like he's a father. Let him go to his family’. Another voice says “What if I’m wrong? What if he shoots someone on my team?” I notice he looks worried. I raise my rifle, point it at him and shout down the road to my squad leader, 'Need some help here!'

Revised draft after applying the Seven Sensory Recall Questions:

A car pulls up to the checkpoint. The afternoon air is so hot it smells hot. Looks like another Iraqi local. Middle-aged. Male. My flak jacket presses into my uniform. My brown undershirt is soaked with sweat underneath it. I lean my head down to the passenger side window. “Ayu 'aslihatin?” I ask . He shakes his head no, eyes locked forward, staring out the windshield. I point to the glove compartment. “Aiftah hadha”. He seems confused. My eyes scan around waiting for him to respond...wait, what is that? Is that the tip of a rifle poking out from under the passenger seat? Ahh shit. It is. My heart starts pounding. C'mon dude, why not just say something? I notice a faint trembling in his rigid body. Tingles crawl up my arms. He's afraid of me. The power I have over this old man is suddenly clear. A voice in my head says "He’s not a threat. He's probably a father. Let him go to his family". Another voice says “What if I’m wrong? What if he shoots someone on my team?” He's starting to look more tense and worried. I raise my M4 and point it at him. Dammit this feels wrong. But what choice do I have? Turning my head down the road, I shout, “Need some help here!”

Why This Process Matters

Notice how, when I put myself back into the memory and asked the Seven Sensory Recall Questions, new details naturally came out!

The goal here isn’t to embellish or “tell a good story.”

It’s to capture—as accurately as possible—what was happening in our body and mind during those intense moments.

Instead of trying to influence what shows up, we’re letting the sounds, smells, thoughts, and sensations resurface and become clear again.

This helps our survival brain make sense of what happened. It’s no longer too much, too fast. Now, we can digest those old emotions and nervous system messages—one bite at a time.

The more sensory details we feed our survival brain, the more vividly the past comes to life, and the more our nervous system can reframe its relationship to that moment from a place of safety in the present.

I’m reminded of something Dr. Bessel van der Kolk wrote in The Body Keeps the Score:

The trauma that started “out there” is now played out on the battlefield of their own bodies, usually without a conscious connection between what happened back then and what is going on right now inside. The challenge is not so much learning to accept the terrible things that have happened but learning how to gain mastery over one’s internal sensations and emotions. Sensing, naming, and identifying what is going on inside is the first step to recovery.

Everything changed when I could look at my old pain without trying to protect myself from seeing it. Writing my story this way helped me do it at a pace I could handle.

It’s like recovering the black box from a downed plane. Even in places where our memory goes blank, the body’s been recording the whole time. This kind of writing helps us crack open that black box—not to relive the crash, but to finally understand the flight.

We’re building the full story now, one piece at a time. The body’s version is finally part of it. Nothing left behind.

Let’s keep working on it together.

Go back to your first-person draft. Read it and picture yourself in that old situation. Let it play like a movie. Hit pause along the way. Ask the Seven Sensory Recall Questions, and write down any new details that come back to you.

When you’re ready—and your draft reflects what your body remembers—move on to Chapter 10: Two Antidotes to Pain

Additional Mission Support:

If it feels right, kick off your shoes. Let your bare feet meet the earth. Now and then, pause—like you’re tracking something. Let your attention move through your senses, one at a time. Enjoy the feeling of being in a body, out in the unpaved wild.

This practice doesn't just help me feel more alive, it sharpens my ability to recall and capture sensory details in my writing.

I think of it as hunting for the moment.

As I walk, I’ll ask myself:

• What’s the air carrying toward me?
• What’s brushing against my skin?
• What’s getting stirred up in me?
• What does this place taste like?
• Am I relaxed and ready for any surprises?

I’m tracking moments where I feel fully alive—where I'm living completely through my senses.

For me, this happens most easily in places untouched by roads, buildings, or phone notifications.

Few things in life activate my senses like being in raw, untamed nature.