Think back to a conversation where the words didn’t flow easily. Perhaps you were with a family member, friend, or colleague. Maybe you were standing in a group just listening. Do you remember the feeling as silence invaded the space? I certainly do.
Two years ago, while attending a meet and greet event here in Calgary, I approached a small group of individuals discussing what they did for a living. When my turn came, I explained I was a retired Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer.
Before I could continue, I was interrupted and asked, “How do you weed out the weak ones…you know, the ones that are struggling to do the job?”
I stood there dumbfounded, wondering how anyone could ask that question to a First Responder. The rest of the group fell silent. Looks were exchanged, feet shuffled, and arms folded. It was a terrible, awkward moment for me, but at the same time, one of the most important in my mental health journey.
My brain went into overdrive as her words echoed in my head. I tried to make sense of it…
Weak ones? I’m not weak…
How dare she? She doesn’t understand…
How do I respond? I don’t know…
It was the not knowing that really got me. I had no idea how to respond. I had only ever discussed my PTSD diagnosis in safe places, with empathetic people. This was new territory, and I was not prepared. I have no idea what I said, but I do know, it wasn’t much. I felt I had let both myself and the First Responder community down. I excused myself from the group and joined another.
Conversations about mental health can be uncomfortable. If we are to remove the stigma, we must break through the silence. That awkward silence. Instead of running from it, we can learn from it. I did. I needed to find responses that would appropriately address unfair assumptions. I needed to stand up for those of us who sacrifice so much. I realized the narrative surrounding First Responders and mental health needed to change.
Today that scenario would look much different. I would encourage understanding by explaining that we all need to redefine what weakness means. I would disclose that I have PTSD and explain I am not weak, but rather strong for having endured. Who knew that an awkward silence moment, could change my life?
Do you have an awkward silence moment that taught you something? I’d love to hear from you.
