Chapter 6: No Story Left Behind

In the last chapter, “Emptying the Pack,” we started unloading the everyday stresses we’ve been carrying. You might already be feeling more confident about expressing what’s been bottled up inside.

Beneath those smaller rocks are bigger ones, stories still waiting to be heard.

They’re the stories we haven’t fully faced yet. Experiences from our past that still feel raw, confusing, or unresolved. These stories come from our hardest moments in uniform—moments still echoing in our bodies and minds.

It’s time to go deeper. No part of our story deserves to be left behind.

In this chapter, we begin working with those bigger stories. We’ll take each step carefully. Our goal isn’t to relive the pain. It’s to help these events make sense, so our nervous system can feel safe and in control again.

Every Soldier Carries Stories

Our bodies are living, breathing records of what happened to us during our time in uniform, and the meaning we gave those events.

In my experience, two things decide whether these stories stay stuck in us and keep causing stress:

1. Does the story make sense? Or is it still confusing, chaotic, or too intense to even think about?
2. Does our nervous system feel confident we could handle a similar situation today? Or is it still worried we’d be overwhelmed?

When past experiences don’t make sense, or leave our nervous system uncertain about what would happen if they were repeated, these memories can haunt us.

That's because part of our brain—the survival-focused “lizard brain”—keeps a record of every overwhelming or dangerous experience we’ve faced. It uses that information to prepare us for “next time”.

After we've gone through a dangerous experience, it's like our survival brain is trying to answer two questions:

• How did I end up so vulnerable or powerless?
• What can I do to prevent that from happening again, or be better prepared next time?

Until those questions are answered, that part of our brain stays on high alert, worrying it could all happen again.

It doesn’t matter if the threat came from combat, sexual assault, public shame, moral injury, or childhood abuse. Our survival brain keeps track of it all.

Our survival brain holds on to the past because it’s trying to protect us. It won’t stop worrying until it understands what happened and believes we are capable of facing a similar situation successfully.

Later, we’ll cover how to rebuild confidence in handling future threats.

In this chapter, our focus is on helping our nervous system understand what happened.

To do that, we'll write the first draft of a story that got left behind.

Embodied Redemptive Storytelling

The First 7-steps:

Step One: Get Support. 

The Department of Defense is our largest agency for a reason: successful missions need support. It's no different with the writing we're doing here.

Have at least one trusted person—a friend, spouse, therapist, or fellow Veteran—who can have your back as you write.

This isn’t work meant to be done alone. Revisiting these memories can stir up irritation, anger, sadness, sleeplessness, or overthinking.

On the upside, these reactions mean we're on the right track. This writing is designed to bring them up. If nothing surfaces, we might not be writing about the right memories.

However, we were never meant to face these memories without support. Writing our stories isn't about healing by ourselves in isolation. One of the main reasons parts of us stay stuck in the past is because we try to handle them on our own. 

Before starting, find at least one teammate—someone you can talk to, laugh with, or just sit quietly with. They don't need to be physically present all the time, just available 'on call'.

Having someone who deeply listens isn't just comforting—it’s essential. Painful experiences from war, sexual assault, moral injury, or childhood abuse happen inside broken relationships. They tend to fully heal only in healthy, trusted ones.

If this step feels tough, visit Chapter 10: Two Antidotes To Pain for tips on moving forward. Then come back here.

No matter what, you're not alone. 'No Story Left Behind' Zoom meetups happen monthly (starting Winter 2025). We go through these steps together in a group. Click the blue subscribe button at the bottom right to sign up.

• Note: If you need immediate support and can't reach your people, contact the Veterans Crisis Line. Dial 988 then press 1, or text 838255. It's available 24/7 via call, text, or live chat at https://www.veteranscrisisline.net/

Step Two: Prepare your tools. 

For most of us, that means grabbing a pen and paper.

For me, writing by hand slows things down and helps transfer the pain to the paper in a way that typing can't duplicate. Sometimes, when I'm writing, it feels like the emotional charge and pain drain from my body right onto the page.

If writing gets too hard, voice-to-text can help. I've found that speaking painful memories—especially while taking a walk outdoors—can sometimes be easier than writing them. The voice recognition on my phone usually captures what I'm saying pretty accurately.

For me, typing the first draft feels too disconnected—like I’m skimming over the deeper emotions. But if the emotional distance typing provides feels right, go with it.

The goal is to find whatever makes it easiest to start: writing, typing, or voice-to-text. You can always switch methods later.

Creating a 'writing space' is another important part. Fill it with things that make you feel cared for. For me, it helps to have my dog, 'Trucker,' nearby, along with my favorite snacks and some instrumental music.

Being surrounded by these comforts makes it easier to enter the heart of painful memories. So get comfy.

Step Three: Choose an event 

Pick an intense event from your past.

Choose one that feels challenging to revisit—but not so overwhelming that it shuts you down. That’s the 'growth zone,' where transformation can happen. Start with the toughest memory you feel ready to handle.

When I'm unsure which memory to choose, I'll ask myself questions like:

• “What was the worst thing that happened to me in the military?”

• “The greatest loss I felt was…”

• “The most intense or overwhelming moment I can remember is…”

• “A part of me is not comfortable with how I acted when…”

• “The most awful memory I have is…”

Sit with each question for a moment. If nothing surfaces, move on. The first memory that hits you with a strong emotional charge—that’s the one to write about.

If there are too many awful memories to choose from, just pick one. We’ll bring home every story we need to. One sentence at a time.

And if a non-military memory comes up and feels important, trust your instincts—write about it. Our bodies keep the score and they often guide us towards the stories that need attention.

Step Four: Set a 25 minute timer. 

Set a timer for 25 minutes. 

It gives me a clear container to work in. Having a time limit relaxes my hyper-active mind—and short attention span—and helps me focus on finishing the mission.

Step Five: Let it Out.

Write about the event—what happened, and what you felt in the moment. Focus on the emotions you had during the experience, not your thoughts afterward.

When the timer starts, I don’t stop for anything less than a real emergency. I don’t overthink. I don’t worry about spelling or grammar.

I don’t edit anything to make it “safer”. I don't try and impress anyone.

This is the ‘classified’ version—no censoring. We unload the darkness, agony, gore, anxiety, and horror onto the page. No one ever has to read it—unless we want them to.

This one’s for us. Don’t hold anything back.

Let it out.

Step Six: Take Five (Breathe Deep and Slow). 

When that timer goes off, I take a five-minute break.

First, I check my breathing. I let my attention sink into my lower belly. I keep it there until my breathing slows. It helps calm my nervous system after re-entering intense memories.

Breathing deep and slow before continuing helps make sure we don’t go too far too fast.

I also move my body for a few minutes—whatever feels good. A walk, a few pushups, playing ball with my pup, or just sitting in the sun.

And if the discomfort feels too strong at any point, stop for the day. Check in with whoever’s got your back.

Step Seven: Repeat until complete.

Repeat Steps Four, Five, and Six until you’ve written out all the details of the memory.

Some memories take one session; others take several days.

The important thing is to finish the story. 

Some stories will be short.

That’s okay.

Here’s an example of a short memory I wrote:

It still bothers me how I confiscated weapons from Iraqi civilians who hadn’t committed any crimes. I remember one guy in particular. He was just another middle-aged Iraqi local passing through our checkpoint. I used my limited Arabic to ask him if he had any weapons in his car. He shook his head no. I asked him to open the glove compartment, but he seemed confused and nervous. That’s when I noticed the barrel of a rifle sticking out from under the passenger seat. I remember thinking, "Ahh shit c’mon dude, why not just say something?" The old man didn’t seem like a threat, but I couldn’t take any chances. I pointed my rifle at him and called to my squad leader for backup. It was uncomfortable to watch him get increasingly worried because, in my gut, I didn't sense he was a 'bad guy'. He looked like a father. It didn't hit me until later that I was possibly taking away his ability to protect his family. I just couldn't risk him using that weapon against one of my team.

That’s it. That’s a complete memory. Notice that I kept most of the focus on the event as it happened—what I did, what I saw, and what I felt at the time. I didn’t include a lot of my later thoughts or judgments, except for a brief mention in the first and second-to-last sentences.

For now, the goal is to focus on the moment itself: what happened, what you felt in your body, and what was happening in the environment around you.

What would have been caught on a video camera?

Later in the series, we’ll reflect on what these past events meant to us. Right now, the focus is on capturing the raw memory. This isn’t about blaming or judging ourselves—or anyone else. Just write what actually happened.

It doesn’t matter if your memory fills three pages, three paragraphs, or three sentences. Write what you can remember. Focus on the physical sensations in your body and the external facts. Try to leave out 'After Action Review' type thoughts, unless they were part of the moment itself.

Final Notes

Some memories need more than one 25-minute session to write out fully. Starting out, I suggest not doing more than two sessions (60 minutes total) a day.

Why? Because writing for 30–60 minutes, the way we’re doing it here, has been shown in multiple studies to help with post-traumatic stress. The VA website has articles like this one, this one, and this one, summarizing these findings.

Keep in mind that opening old wounds too fast can backfire, leading to overthinking or shutting down emotionally. If things get too intense, ground yourself by focusing on what you can see, hear, and touch. Come back to your breath. Then reach out to your teammate.

Rest is also key. Our minds and bodies need downtime to process what comes up. Sleep is where our subconscious usually does that.

I learned the hard way that there’s a difference between wallowing in pain and productive grieving. Feeling old pain wasn’t helpful until I learned how to manage it. What made the difference was letting those hurts be fully felt—at a pace I could handle. 

This kind of writing is one way we can revisit intense memories and digest them without overwhelming ourselves.

Writing like this isn’t the only way to work through past trauma, but it’s a great starting point. It's the first technique we’re exploring for a reason. Having a complete story about a tough experience from our past creates the most helpful foundation I know of for all other kinds of healing. And it’s simple, free, and something we can do almost anywhere.

With that freedom, staying focused can be challenging. The desire to distract ourselves will come up. I can’t tell you how often I’ve suddenly needed to clean the house, check the news, or organize my emails, right before I'm supposed to be sitting down to write. Don’t freak out if this happens to you too. It’s natural. It’s just the brain trying to avoid discomfort.

Take a breath and remind yourself—it’s only 25 minutes. Even if all we can do is sit quietly for that time, holding the intention to write, we're making progress. Every session is a step closer. Even if we can't write a word, we're building the habit of showing up. Over time, these small efforts shift how we carry the past.

To recap: 

1. Get Support

2. Prepare Your Tools

3. Choose an Event

4. Set a 25-Minute Timer

5. Let it Out

6. Take Five (Breathe Deep and Slow)

7. Repeat Until Complete

Start now, with Step One. Lean on your support. Write about the most stressful event you can handle with as much detail as possible. Focus on what happened, not the thoughts and feelings you’ve had about the event since then.

Once the story is fully written, take a moment to acknowledge your work.

Completing this first draft is a huge step! It means you've begun the process of giving your experiences a voice, which is a key part of letting go of the weight you've carried alone.

We’re gonna build on this draft in the next chapter. By the time we’re done, the challenges you've faced will be fading memories—not threats your survival brain needs to keep you on high alert for.

Follow these steps until your first draft is complete. Then move on to Chapter 7: Rebuilding Trust in the Present.

Additional Mission Support:

If you’re curious about the science behind this kind of writing, this 6-minute video is a great intro. It's a conversation on the benefits of writing about past trauma.

The ideas in this video are inspired by the work of James Pennebaker, author of  Expressive Writing: Words that Heal .

That book has been a big help to me personally. If you decide to read it, I recommend the updated version: Opening Up By Writing It Down