testimonials |
"You cannot see brotherhood; neither can you hear it nor taste it. But you can feel it a hundred times a day. It is the pat on the back when things look gloomy. It is the smile of encouragement when the way seems hard. It is the helping hand when the burden becomes unbearable." - Peter E. Terzick
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"Life is about growth and change, which is shaped by experiences. Sometimes those experiences are painful memories that have left scars. When an opportunity came around for me to heal those scars, I knew I needed to or I would continue to stay in the current state I was in. What Veterans Healing Veterans from The Inside Out has given me is a safe environment to heal in. I am reminded of what Samuel Adams said prior to the Revolutionary War. He said, "If you love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude better than the animating contest for freedom, then go home from me in peace. I ask not for your counsel nor your arms. Continue to crouch down and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that you were ever my countryman."
With VHV, I am surrounded by veterans and veteran supporters who do not crouch down. They stand tall and they share themselves so that we all can continue to engage in that "animating contest for freedom." Freedom from our past, and the freedom to have a future that is not controlled by our pasts. I heal by words from the experiences of others and myself. I stand among giants." -Aaron |
"This group has made it alright to admit to myself that I have issues which were/are in need of addressing. In the company of my veteran brothers, I have been able to accept my fallibilities. It has provided me a forum where I can verbalize my feelings in confidence. I appreciate that... The group provides a sense of security and camaraderie which is conducive to healing. These guys really to care about me, as I do them. They are my brothers." -VHV group member, US Navy
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"VHV has a writing prompt that asks you to write about an event in your life that produced a feeling of guilt or shame. This was and will remain my soul-saving writing prompt.
My story of shame started when I was fourteen years old, when something happened to me that used to trouble me considerably. I was savagely raped by two men that I knew, and I was forced to do things no child should ever be forced to do. I remember the entire time feeling a fear that I have never felt since.
VHV is the program that is solely responsible for providing me with a platform that allowed me to purge myself of this thing that I thought would haunt my life forever. VHV is responsible for my rebirth into a man that not only loves himself for the first time since he was fourteen years old, but has provided him with a family brothers who love and care about him. I have told my story many times now, and in doing so I have shown others that is is safe for them to share their stories of shame and guilt." VHV group member, US Marines.
My story of shame started when I was fourteen years old, when something happened to me that used to trouble me considerably. I was savagely raped by two men that I knew, and I was forced to do things no child should ever be forced to do. I remember the entire time feeling a fear that I have never felt since.
VHV is the program that is solely responsible for providing me with a platform that allowed me to purge myself of this thing that I thought would haunt my life forever. VHV is responsible for my rebirth into a man that not only loves himself for the first time since he was fourteen years old, but has provided him with a family brothers who love and care about him. I have told my story many times now, and in doing so I have shown others that is is safe for them to share their stories of shame and guilt." VHV group member, US Marines.
"First and foremost I'd like to say thank you for all your time, efforts, and help. I know everyone appreciates it, however for me it's much more than just a self-help group. It's a reconnection with society, my past and something that I thought I'd lost for good. A chance to feel as a part of something greater than myself.
This program has given me more than just the needed insight I was missing of my past experiences, but a stronger bond of community amongst my fellow Veterans. VHV has opened doors that had been long ago sealed, due to fear, reprisal, intimidation, or guilt. Learning how my past traumas impacted my life so profoundly that I was willing to shut others out and bury those feeling so deeply, so they could not be recovered which lead to extremely high levels of guilt and shame.
The term Moral Injury is a new term or concept for me, however it is one in which I've lived most of my life. The emotional toll on my spiritual and moral life was subtle and well hidden behind an immense façade learned early as a youth. I hid from the guilt placed on me by elders who reinforced the misnomer that boys don't cry and to just suck it up.
At the time this sounded right and good, because as I saw it, the grownups all had it together or what seemed to be normal. It was soon to be my normal; which in actuality was a damaged self heading down a deep, dark hole. Because I knew not to speak on my feelings and emotions, they just continued to be buried; filling the vault, leading to short nights and cut off emotions. However, on the surface I seemed to show emotion. Hidden in humor and jovial acts, it was nothing more than a mask. I was then referred to as stoic.
What I've been able to do since being in VHV is recover those emotions and feelings, good and bad, that were long forgotten yet a big part of my personality. I have always denied having PTSD, largely because I did not understand or truly know its meaning. Sadly, I most likely had PTSD and Moral Injury prior to enlisting in the Navy, only to exaggerate any symptom that I may have had. Of course, it was my normal; I did not know or understand any other way. Being able to put my finger on something that actually made sense for the first time is what VHV has given me. And a great sense of belonging with the ability to help others with similar issues and just being there for other Veterans."
-Charlie
This program has given me more than just the needed insight I was missing of my past experiences, but a stronger bond of community amongst my fellow Veterans. VHV has opened doors that had been long ago sealed, due to fear, reprisal, intimidation, or guilt. Learning how my past traumas impacted my life so profoundly that I was willing to shut others out and bury those feeling so deeply, so they could not be recovered which lead to extremely high levels of guilt and shame.
The term Moral Injury is a new term or concept for me, however it is one in which I've lived most of my life. The emotional toll on my spiritual and moral life was subtle and well hidden behind an immense façade learned early as a youth. I hid from the guilt placed on me by elders who reinforced the misnomer that boys don't cry and to just suck it up.
At the time this sounded right and good, because as I saw it, the grownups all had it together or what seemed to be normal. It was soon to be my normal; which in actuality was a damaged self heading down a deep, dark hole. Because I knew not to speak on my feelings and emotions, they just continued to be buried; filling the vault, leading to short nights and cut off emotions. However, on the surface I seemed to show emotion. Hidden in humor and jovial acts, it was nothing more than a mask. I was then referred to as stoic.
What I've been able to do since being in VHV is recover those emotions and feelings, good and bad, that were long forgotten yet a big part of my personality. I have always denied having PTSD, largely because I did not understand or truly know its meaning. Sadly, I most likely had PTSD and Moral Injury prior to enlisting in the Navy, only to exaggerate any symptom that I may have had. Of course, it was my normal; I did not know or understand any other way. Being able to put my finger on something that actually made sense for the first time is what VHV has given me. And a great sense of belonging with the ability to help others with similar issues and just being there for other Veterans."
-Charlie
""I'm the oldest of four but the only one born inside my grandparents’ home in Blevins, Arkansas. My grandfather was primarily a farmer, and also a school bus driver. The only thing I own today is a portion of that land. It's been in our family for over 140 years. There were eight uncles, one aunt and my grandmother (who named me), in the house. My mother and I moved to Nashville, Arkansas with my father's parents and his baby sister when I was three. We traveled the 25 miles back to the country regularly.
My father's father was a professional carpenter by trade, and revered guitar playing preacher. He built his five-bedroom home from the ground up, along with the five churches he ministered in various Arkansas towns. I played the bongos and sang with my grandparents and Aunt Jean when we attended those churches, I was officially Pa-Pa and Big Mama's baby. Those were my first and best memories.
My grandfather took me everywhere with him. When we were on the road traveling, he would always ask, "You wanna feed the gas or guide the wheel, Bub?" That's what he called me, "Bub." His question gave me an option to either guide the Cadillac's steering wheel or mash the gas pedal. I was only four or five and too little to reach both at the same time. He made me feel special, as if nothing in this world mattered more to him than me.
Pa-Pa gave me my first puppy: a black and white collie I named Blacky. On our street I had two sets of cousins. One set lived a block away, the other only two blocks. Pa-Pa put the training wheels on my brand new blue bike. I'll never forget riding down to my cousins' houses with Blacky always following closely. Pa-Pa gave me my first haircuts which were never painful like the ones we paid for. He took me to work with him. We would drink orange soda and eat Lorna Doone or Fig Newton Cookies. His favorite then, my favorite today.
Abruptly, my parents and I moved 1,000 miles to Cleveland, Ohio. School records indicate me being five years old. We repeatedly relocated, and I would eventually attend 14 schools by 5th grade. There were aunts, uncles and cousins I had never known. But their acquaintance didn't quell the psychological and emotionally difficult transitions from school to school, or neighborhood to neighborhood, Ultimately, I would encounter a lot of fights. A whole lot.
By caravan, we returned to Arkansas then to Nashville to my grandparent’s home: three aunts, two uncles, my parents, little brother, and 18 cousins. My grandfather, Pa-Pa, Reverend Leo Dojo Williams had passed away at the age of 60. I was eight years old, and unaccustomed to or had any association with death.
I remember the huge chapel, in fact, I have seen it as an adult. There were more cars and more people than my little eyes had ever seen. Everyone couldn't fit into the chapel. People lined the street filing in one by one to get a glimpse of this revered man. Our family sat in the front row. My aunts, Big Mama and mother wept hysterically. My cousins were crying, wiping away tears. I remember feeling left out and consciously faked tears because everyone else appeared to care more about Pa-Pa than I did. I walked by the casket, my grandfather looked peaceful, like he was asleep.
I remember the moist ground at the cemetery, and strangely, the scent of pine trees. The entire ceremony is a blank for me except for the casket lowering beneath the earth. My Aunt Jean took my hand to leave, but I did so reluctantly. I remember this moment as if it were yesterday. I said, "We can't leave Pa-Pa down there!" She squatted down to my level, and tears started streaming down her face, and replied, "Baby, we're gonna have to leave Pa-Pa." That did not make sense to me. I snatched away from her and yelled, "I'm not leaving him!"
I ran back to the grave site. She followed me and tried to console the inconsolable. Seeing my father walking towards me made me surrender. I simply collapsed to the ground and started weeping. He picked me up and I wailed incessantly. The further he carried me away from the grave, the louder I cried. I had never nor have I since wept for any reason as I did that day. I was devastated. Heartbroken. My beloved Pa-Pa was buried down in that ground, and I would never see him again." - Randal
My father's father was a professional carpenter by trade, and revered guitar playing preacher. He built his five-bedroom home from the ground up, along with the five churches he ministered in various Arkansas towns. I played the bongos and sang with my grandparents and Aunt Jean when we attended those churches, I was officially Pa-Pa and Big Mama's baby. Those were my first and best memories.
My grandfather took me everywhere with him. When we were on the road traveling, he would always ask, "You wanna feed the gas or guide the wheel, Bub?" That's what he called me, "Bub." His question gave me an option to either guide the Cadillac's steering wheel or mash the gas pedal. I was only four or five and too little to reach both at the same time. He made me feel special, as if nothing in this world mattered more to him than me.
Pa-Pa gave me my first puppy: a black and white collie I named Blacky. On our street I had two sets of cousins. One set lived a block away, the other only two blocks. Pa-Pa put the training wheels on my brand new blue bike. I'll never forget riding down to my cousins' houses with Blacky always following closely. Pa-Pa gave me my first haircuts which were never painful like the ones we paid for. He took me to work with him. We would drink orange soda and eat Lorna Doone or Fig Newton Cookies. His favorite then, my favorite today.
Abruptly, my parents and I moved 1,000 miles to Cleveland, Ohio. School records indicate me being five years old. We repeatedly relocated, and I would eventually attend 14 schools by 5th grade. There were aunts, uncles and cousins I had never known. But their acquaintance didn't quell the psychological and emotionally difficult transitions from school to school, or neighborhood to neighborhood, Ultimately, I would encounter a lot of fights. A whole lot.
By caravan, we returned to Arkansas then to Nashville to my grandparent’s home: three aunts, two uncles, my parents, little brother, and 18 cousins. My grandfather, Pa-Pa, Reverend Leo Dojo Williams had passed away at the age of 60. I was eight years old, and unaccustomed to or had any association with death.
I remember the huge chapel, in fact, I have seen it as an adult. There were more cars and more people than my little eyes had ever seen. Everyone couldn't fit into the chapel. People lined the street filing in one by one to get a glimpse of this revered man. Our family sat in the front row. My aunts, Big Mama and mother wept hysterically. My cousins were crying, wiping away tears. I remember feeling left out and consciously faked tears because everyone else appeared to care more about Pa-Pa than I did. I walked by the casket, my grandfather looked peaceful, like he was asleep.
I remember the moist ground at the cemetery, and strangely, the scent of pine trees. The entire ceremony is a blank for me except for the casket lowering beneath the earth. My Aunt Jean took my hand to leave, but I did so reluctantly. I remember this moment as if it were yesterday. I said, "We can't leave Pa-Pa down there!" She squatted down to my level, and tears started streaming down her face, and replied, "Baby, we're gonna have to leave Pa-Pa." That did not make sense to me. I snatched away from her and yelled, "I'm not leaving him!"
I ran back to the grave site. She followed me and tried to console the inconsolable. Seeing my father walking towards me made me surrender. I simply collapsed to the ground and started weeping. He picked me up and I wailed incessantly. The further he carried me away from the grave, the louder I cried. I had never nor have I since wept for any reason as I did that day. I was devastated. Heartbroken. My beloved Pa-Pa was buried down in that ground, and I would never see him again." - Randal