Chapter 3: Our Stories Create Community

Chapter 2 explored the natural cycle of warriors protecting their group, village, or tribe, and the community then circling around them—tending to their wounds and hearing their stories.

We humans build strong bonds from the sharing that happens during this cycle. This is the unique genius of our species: our ability to form the most complex communities on the planet.

No other species can grow stronger together like humans can.

What makes that possible?

Language.

And story.

The advanced ways we Homo sapiens communicate and work toward shared goals is what turned our ancestors, from small roaming bands of hunter-gatherers, into the dominant species on Earth.

As our language evolved, it allowed increasingly advanced cooperation among increasingly large groups of us. No other species can work together in such large groups with the kind of flexibility we can.

On top of that, unlike other animals, we have the ability to share information about things that don’t exist at all.

We can not only communicate about what is happening (as many other animals can) we can speak about what has happened—or what might happen.

In other words, we can tell each other stories.

In his book on human history, “Sapiens”, Yuval Noah Harari writes:
“This ability to speak about fictions is the most unique feature of Sapiens language…You could never convince a monkey to give you a banana by promising him limitless bananas after death in monkey heaven.”

"...Homo Sapiens conquered the world thanks above all to its unique language”.

Our ancestors were the worlds best storytellers—strengthening their bonds and advancing their skills as hunters, gatherers, and (eventually) farmers through shared beliefs.

Over time, these beliefs became things like religions, laws, nations, and Constitutions.

In today's world, there's a constant battle over who controls the narratives—the stories that shape our shared beliefs. Every side wants their version of the story to be the one that is heard, honored, believed in and cooperated with.

This external war mirrors a war happening inside us.

There are voices in us fighting over what to believe. Voices confused, angry, or scared by what happened to us, and what could happen next time. These voices cry out to be heard. Sometimes those voices can’t find words. Instead, they get stuck in our body.

If we carry post-traumatic stress, military sexual trauma, or moral injury, part of us has a story that needs to be told.

Taking control of that story is up to us. The stories we’ve written so far can be changed. Changing these stories also affects the lives of the people who matter to us.

When I realized I was never meant to “do it alone,” I began to see that the right communities for me were the ones where my full story wasn't just welcomed or celebrated—it was needed.

If you don’t know who or where your community is yet, finding a place where your full story is needed can guide you there.

By “full story,” I mean one that includes the physical details of our military experience—what happened in our bodies. A full story is in the present tense, told from our direct experience, and includes as much sensory detail as possible.

Here’s an example from one of my experiences in Iraq:

Standard Story:

My platoon had just replaced 3rd Platoon on rooftop guard duty. We were on the roof of the Mosul Hotel, one of the highest points in the city. Guard duty involved scanning the city through high-powered binoculars. I was the first on duty that day.

We were still unpacking our gear on the roof when I heard an explosion, followed by gunfire. I saw that 3rd platoon was being ambushed, just as they left the gated entrance to the hotel. There wasn’t much I could do except watch through the binocs and relay updates over radio. It was almost useless—there was too much smoke, I couldn’t see anything. After 15 minutes, it was over. No casualties. I remember my watch beeping and being surprised that my shift was over. I went and found a corner to lay down in for a few hours until my next turn on watch.

Now here’s that same story, except I’ve put myself back into that memory and re-written it as if I was there again. Doing my best to remember every sensory detail:

Full Story:

My platoon has just replaced 3rd Platoon on guard duty. We’re on the roof of the Mosul Hotel, one of the highest points in the city. Another 24 hours of scanning the countryside with high-powered binoculars. I’m the first on duty.

I’m unpacking gear on the roof... and then—PEH-KOWWR! A sound like thunder splitting a boulder into fragments. The echo rings in my ears. Something big exploded. Pop-pop-pop pop-pop. Gunfire. My stomach tightens. I look towards the sounds and see clouds of dark smoke forming at the hotel gate. 3rd platoon. They’re being ambushed—I need to get down there now. My leg muscles tense, preparing to run down the six flights of stairs. But I can’t. My post is here. I swallow down the impulse to move. Pressing my face into the binocs I strain to see through the smoke, and radio in estimates of where the enemy is shooting from. Pop-pop-pop. My friends are pinned-down. My stomach clenches tighter. Smoke. Shouting. Confusion. Then, in what seems like only a few minutes, it’s over. 3rd Platoon breaks free, heading down the open road. Everyone made it. But I'm feeling strange. Hollow. It’s like I’m too drained to feel happy.

Beep-beep. My watch lets me know: shift over. Already? My body is still wired. I find a corner to lie down in, trying to let the adrenaline drain out before my next turn on watch.

Can you feel the difference there?

When we tell our stories in the present tense, with sensory details, we bring the experience back to life. And that process brings us back to life too.

This "coming back to life" deepens when the people who matter to us hear our stories. It's why having a full story to share with our community is so important. Our communities need to hear what was happening inside our bodies while we were out there defending them. And all of us—whether we deployed or not—were part of that defense.

There is no question that re-living these experiences will be triggering and painful. That’s why I recommend reading through Chapter 5 before starting. We’ll cover how to manage whatever gets stirred up.

Because the goal here is not to re-traumatize ourselves. This is about re-opening wounds so that we can give them what they need to finally heal. The mission is to tell our stories in a way that, in an ideal world, they would have been told when we first came home—fully embodied by ourselves and held by others.

This is a way for the cycle to complete itself. This is a way to honor and release the outdated beliefs we’ve been carrying about who we are and what the world is—so that a new life can take root witnessed by community.

When we're with the right people, we can reclaim command over our life's narrative in a way that grounds us in who we really are.

Said another way, the place of our True Belonging is where we reclaim our True Identity.

It all starts with telling our full story.

Join me in Chapter 4: The Power Of Your Story

"Banana Heaven" photo credit: Ron Kimball