Article by: Matt Spaid
I’m forever grateful for my friend, Rev. Kris.
When I was waiting on a retainer to deploy again to Iraq as a contractor, I had an unexpected opportunity to start finding myself. During that time, I joined a gym and began private counseling. My therapist encouraged me to take a survey to explore faith traditions. The result came back with Buddhism as the number one match. I’d always been spiritual, but not religious. I was raised Catholic, but it never truly resonated with me. For the first time, I felt like I had found a path that fit me. That’s when I began going to the Dharma Center in my neighborhood. Who would have thought I’d find a Buddhist temple in the middle of Oklahoma City?
That’s where I discovered real healing. Sometimes there was a loud drum playing during meditation that they warned could be difficult for veterans. But instead of avoiding it, I used it as a tool. I focused past the booming sounds, training my mind to stay calm through the triggers. It helped me more than I could have imagined.
Years later, during one of my worst operator syndrome episodes in Oklahoma, I found myself wandering those same streets in a state of confusion and pain. This was after I had been wrongfully terminated and held against my will for ten days in the VA hospital. I couldn’t stay at home because my son was only five or six months old, and I was too out of my mind to be around him. My wife would ask me to pick up milk, and I’d end up wandering off in a daze. I wasn’t living on the streets, but I was functionally homeless in my own life. As I walked, people would look at me with fear or disgust…
I walked to the Dharma Center, where Reverend Kris, a Buddhist reverend and an old friend, answered the front door. She immediately saw that I was in crisis. On the surface, most people thought I was doing fine. True, I was a very resilient person…but I needed help. I’d been hired quickly by another department and looked stable from the outside. But inside, I was still stuck in operator mode, my nervous system wired for combat and firefighting, unable to shift back into peace.
Back when I first started attending the Dharma Center, I had noticed a framed passage on the wall that felt like it was speaking directly to me:
“When the iron bird flies, and horses run on wheels, the Tibetan people will be scattered like ants across the World, and the Dharma will come to the land of the Red Man.”
— Padmasambhava, 9th Century Tibetan Buddhist Mystic
“Oklahoma” is a Choctaw word meaning “Land of the Red Man.” Pretty remarkable that this prophecy was written in the 9th century.
That day I was stuck in Operator Mode and wandering the streets, Kris smiled and told me I looked like a surfer. I remember nodding, “Yeah, a surfer,” before walking away, still restless. I wandered down to the bridge on I‑44, where I met a homeless man. I gave him my shirt and some water, then kept moving.
As I walked, old injuries flared up…all reminders of Iraq and Afghanistan. The whole experience felt like I was back on patrol again.
Eventually, I found myself at the Vet Center in OKC. These centers are designed to be separate from VA hospitals to encourage veterans to seek help confidentially. Shirtless, dazed, and confused, I was reminded that you don’t just suddenly become bipolar/schizophrenic, and that quitting psych meds cold turkey could be dangerous. The counselor handed me a large orange shirt to wear, then called Kris and my dad. Together, they took me back to the VA hospital.
But when I arrived, still clearly in crisis, the staff asked if I was suicidal or homicidal. I told them no. Their response: “We’re sorry, Mr. Spaid. We can’t help you.”
At that moment, I felt completely hopeless. The system had no place for me unless I was actively trying to end my life or someone else’s.
Thankfully, I eventually found a way forward. When I arrived at Camp Hope in Houston, I still thought I was going to be doing some sort of mission. Instead, I was surrounded by peers who understood. I began to find my footing again through strength training, meditation, breathwork, service work, peer support, and professional guidance. These practices helped me restore balance when nothing else could.
The road wasn’t easy. I experienced horrible migraines while weaning off psych meds, along with other painful side effects. That’s why so many veterans get stuck on these medications. Some absolutely need them, but not everyone does.
That’s why I started Operation Antifragile: to break the trauma cycle and give veterans and first responders the tools, support, and community I once desperately needed.
Strength doesn’t always come from standing tall. Sometimes it comes from walking through the fire, stripped down and broken, and finding the courage to keep moving forward.
If you’re struggling, know this: you’re not alone, and healing is possible.