By Matt Spaid, Founder of Operation Antifragile
There’s something that’s been weighing on me ever since I left my last fire department. I haven’t talked about it much, but I feel like I need to now. Not for drama, but for truth. Maybe there’s someone out there who’s been through something similar and will feel a little less alone.
For years, I was the unofficial mental health advocate at my department. I didn’t want to be, especially after what I had been through in Oklahoma; but, guys would come to me for help and I felt a need to be an advocate for those that were silent. I also became essentially a “Training Officer”, often being assigned to train up our rookies. No official title, but guys would come to me for either mental health advice or training advice. Quietly. Privately. I’d listen, offer resources, or just be someone who understood. Word spread, and people from other departments and other veterans started reaching out too. It wasn’t a burden, as I knew that it was helping them and giving them solutions when it can be difficult to find answers.
So when a woman offered to come teach a mental health class for our crew, I pushed to make it happen. The department didn’t want to pay her, even though she just asked for gas money since she was driving about 5 hours to get here. I said I’d cover gas out of my own pocket, but maybe the Union would cover it. The union agreed, however they did not have the money for her in time, so I paid her. The union eventually reimbursed me, but it was like pulling teeth. Meanwhile, this woman provided great information and offered her clinic as a free resource for anyone that needed it. We provided workout supplements, journals, and t-shirts for the guys and thought that firefighters might actually enjoy this class with some free gifts and a message that could save lives.
Still, some of the guys complained. Not everyone, but the disrespect was apparent. Rolling their eyes. Laughing about it. Saying they got nothing out of the class to her face. As if taking care of your mind after trauma was a joke. Maybe they’ve never lost anyone to mental health problems…
I let it slide. Not because it didn’t bother me, but because I knew I was fighting a longer war. Plus, I hate fire department drama.
A bit of background…
On Memorial Day, my former First Sergeant, now the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, announced that a future Navy ship would be named the USS Helmand in honor of those who fought in Helmand Province, Afghanistan.
He shared a story from our time there. My friend Stanley was killed during a Quick Reaction Force (QRF) mission after one of our sniper teams hit an IED and we had multiple wounded. The Taliban often planted secondary IEDs because they knew we’d come running to help our wounded. Lance Corporal Cody R. Stanley triggered one of those and it killed him. He was only 21 years old.
We also lost my Platoon Sergeant, Staff Sergeant Leon H. Lucas, on the following deployment to Now Zad. It was something that gave me a lot of survivor’s guilt, because I wish I had been there. Many of the guys I spoke with in my platoon also wished I had stayed in and gone on that next deployment.
Stanley had been in my fireteam when I originally was assigned to my unit in Weapons Company and I was his Team Leader. His death rocked us all, but especially our mutual brother, Rogers, who was very close to Stanley. Our original Weapons Company platoon always stayed close and many of us still talk to this day.
Fast forward to recent times, and I’d been helping Rogers through his own battles, both physical and emotional, through Operation Antifragile. We trained with sleds, worked around a similar nerve injury, and did what we could to heal. I was also helping other friends that were struggling.
Around that time, I left a training rope at the firehouse. I’d been filming sled work videos to send out as remote coaching. I hoped someone else might use it too, since the sled is such a good tool for firefighters. However, the next shift the rope magically vanished! Hmm, where could it have gone?
Nobody usually touched that gear. But suddenly -poof- it was gone. When I asked around, no one knew anything. Of course.
Cue the rumors.
“He’s pissed about the rope.”
Nah-I just wanted my stuff back. I wasn’t playing games.
And guess what? The rope magically reappeared next shift. Amazing.
Drama, Disrespect, and the Breaking Point
Things escalated. The union president kept contacting me even when I asked him to leave me alone. I was wanting to focus on family time when I was off and was also just starting Operation Antifragile. I received a phone call that I really wish I hadn’t answered on my son’s birthday. I answered it because I thought if I didn’t, then he would think I’m mad at him and start more drama. I thought it would be a random “what’s up” phone call, but instead he “needed to address rumors” that I might be leaving the union.
I’d had a private conversation with a couple guys months before. I was thinking about leaving, gathered information, and decided to not leave pretty much the same day…and then it was done. And now it was gossip. Middle school behavior. I was sick of it.
So I voiced my frustration on the union page. “If you have a problem or a question for someone, then go to them. The union president shouldn’t have to waste his time or my time for gossip”. I also informed the rest of the guys about Operation Antifragile, as some were still unaware of what I was doing.
And that’s when a guy I thought I was close with, a guy I had helped, commented publicly:
He called me a “combat veteran” crybaby, adding that everybody’s sick of your PTSD and operator syndrome bull*****…etc.”
It hit me like a brick. After everything I’d done for the department, the union, and that individual…I was now the punchline.
I didn’t want to be the “Mental Health Guy” when I started there…but I saw guys hurting (including this individual). Guys would come to me privately and say they thought they were dealing with PTSD. So, I decided to take action and help.
I called him. No answer…but he kept texting and antagonizing me, so I told him I was done with him and blocked him. I called the union president, shaking with rage. I may have said something like, “I’ll kill this dude.” Not literally. Just an expression, one of those heat-of-the-moment, emotional releases we say when we’re pushed past our breaking point. Plus, I’m a Marine…we say KILL just to say Good Morning to each other.
He said, “Oh, I wish I hadn’t heard that”.
I clarified it right away saying, “Dude, give me a break. I’m just upset. I’m thinking about Stanley and all of my other brothers I’ve lost.”
But suddenly… I became the threat. I was depicted as a crazy combat veteran with PTSD and I might go on a “rampage”. They told the employee that said those comments to stay home in case I attacked him even though he lives far out of district. However, I am inside of the City. Did they bother to check on me? I had served honorably, worked my way up to Captain and worked multiple hurricanes and catastrophic events. I was hurt, but the city didn’t care.
And all of this was happening while my personal life was under serious stress. I’d also been sick with severe GI distress, but didn’t know what was causing it at the time.
My son was dealing with bullying. It’s something he’s faced since starting school. That alone is enough to keep a parent on edge. On top of that, my wife severely broke her finger on her dominant hand. It required surgery, pins, and a full cast. All of this hit around the time of both of our kids’ birthdays. Having a Mom down at that time is very difficult…
But, let me be clear…I get it. Everybody’s going through something. I wasn’t using this as an excuse or trying to throw a pity party. In fact, when the drama started, I asked the guys talking behind my back, “Hey, maybe he’s got something personal going on?” I wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt.
The truth is I was worried about the guy who made those nasty comments.
When no one would talk to me, I started to wonder…had he regretted what he said? Had he hurt himself? Taken his own life? That thought consumed me.
But, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Instead, the silence was because I was being treated like a threat.
Like I was the problem.
The Real Danger
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I was locked into “operator mode.” That switch had flipped and if you know, you know. I knew in my gut: I have to walk away from this job before it breaks me. So, I sent an e-mail to the secretary saying, “I quit. You were cool…thanks for that.”
Nobody checked on me. Nobody asked if I was okay. I received a text message from the chief the next day saying to “call him when I was ready.”
Apparently, they told the guy who insulted me to stay home because they were afraid I might hurt him. Word spread. People said the city thought I might come in and go on a rampage.
Let me be clear:
I have served this city with honor. I’ve fought fires, worked multiple hurricanes, cardiac arrests, wrecks – you name it. I’ve shown up when it mattered for others and never missed a call.
And not once did I ever threaten anyone. Yet somehow, the narrative became that I was unstable. Dangerous. A “damaged vet.”
Not a protector. Not a leader. Not a brother.
Just a liability.
Even after things cooled down, I asked to meet with the chief. He brushed me off and said he “might be around later.” That’s when it really sunk in: they never cared. I reached out for help with the Employee Assistance Program hoping to work with a psychiatrist or counselor because of what I was dealing with and received no response. I’m not sure if this was a failure on the city, or the program, but either way the systems we have in place to care for our Veterans and First Responders are failing.
Here’s the hardest part…I don’t want to hurt anyone. But, when I get in those modes, I LOOK scary. My eyes change. My muscles are tense. I can’t stop scanning…but, I’m scared. Scared that if I don’t stay hyper-vigilant, I might unintentionally harm someone I care about or that someone will get hurt if I am not hyper-vigilant. That’s why I isolate myself. I know I need to get in a safe environment and restore my chemical imbalances. When I see other people, I can tell I frighten them…and it just makes me sad.
It reminds me of when I checked into the hospital and the nurse’s hand was shaking as she checked me in because they thought I was going to hurt them when all I wanted was some help.
That’s why I created Operation Antifragile…so people like me don’t have to walk through this alone.
Why I’m Sharing This
I’m not writing this for sympathy or to point the finger. The individual that said those disrespectful comments has since reached out and made amends…however, it’s still no excuse. Those comments hurt me, my family, and hurt the men and women I served with and was incredibly disrespectful to the ones that made the ultimate sacrifice.
I’m writing this to make a positive change and because I know there are others out there who’ve been vilified for the same reason: you’ve survived more than most can imagine, and now you’re seen as broken.
You’re not.
You’re human.
You’ve been through hell.
And you’re still here—trying to serve, trying to help, trying to protect.
We need cultural change. In the fire service. In the veteran community. In our society.
We don’t need to fear trauma. We need to understand it.
We don’t need to dismiss operator syndrome. We need to treat it.
And we sure as hell don’t need to mock the ones who are doing the work to heal.
If you’re reading this, and you’ve ever been made to feel like a burden for what you’ve seen or felt or endured -I see you. You’re not the problem.
You’re part of the solution.
And so am I.
Let’s keep building something better. Stay Antifragile.