03/30/2026
One of the most difficult transitions I’ve endured was going from Army to civilian life.
I was a young soldier at 20, trying to function in a life I fled at 17.
And then it happened again in my 40’s when I moved away from the department where I had ascended to Chief, obtaining every certification in reach, to a hyper vigilant civilian, in a town where the local good-ole-boys department didn’t want an outsider with my ambition in their ranks.
They still don’t! 😂
Abandoning the Tribe — why transition out of military and first via Linked-In
March 27, 2026
I had seen the cliff coming for six months before I fell off it. I thought I'd prepared well.
I was wrong.
Fourteen years in the army. The last five in Special Operations. Four tours of Afghanistan. I was physically relatively uninjured, apparently psychologically intact, financially prepared, and moving back to a newly built house near family. By any measure I had set myself up well.
Within six months, I was coming apart.
What followed was years of trying to understand why. Not just the symptoms — the nightmares, the hypervigilance, the rage in crowded places — but the deeper thing underneath. The thing that felt less like trauma and more like grief.
I was grieving the person I used to be. And I had absolutely no idea how to become the new person I'd apparently become overnight when I took the uniform off for the last time.
It took me years and a significant amount of research to understand the psychology of what actually happened. When I finally did, it made complete sense. I'm sharing it here because I think it will make sense to a lot of you too.
The distillation of society
Military and First Responder recruitment doesn't just select people. It distils them. The physical, psychological and cognitive requirements for entry filter out a significant portion of the broader population. The successful recruit enters not as a representative sample of society but as a member of a genuinely higher-functioning cohort in the attributes required for the role.
Here's the part that matters: once inside that cohort, you recalibrate. The broader societal bell curve disappears from view. Your new cohort becomes your norm. High and low performance are now defined relative to your unit, not relative to society at large.
This process repeats itself with each career milestone — promotion, posting, selection for specialised units. Each time, the individual recalibrates upward.
The consequence of this is that when a military member eventually leaves and re-enters the broader civilian population, they are returning to a bell curve they long ago stopped benchmarking against — and one that can feel frustratingly unfamiliar.
Social Identity Theory — why the Tribe becomes everything
Military and First Responder training is explicitly designed to strip away former civilian identity. The military objective, as described in the academic literature, is to "strip away the vestiges of civilian identity and transform men and women into soldiers." This isn't incidental — it's the point.
What is operating psychologically during this process is Social Identity Theory. We define ourselves in relation to our groups. The more we invest in a group, the more our identity becomes fused with it. In military and first responder contexts, this fusion goes deep — shared risk, shared sacrifice, shared language, shared dark humour that nobody outside the tribe would understand.
The psychological concept here is Identity Fusion — "a visceral feeling of oneness with the group wherein the personal self joins with the social self and the borders between the two become porous."
Rudyard Kipling captured it in one line:
"For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack."
When you are fused with a group at this level, you will do things for that group — sacrifice comfort, safety, even your life — that you would never do for a mere employer.
Contingent Self-Esteem — when your worth lives in one domain
The third piece of the puzzle is what psychologists call Contingent Self-Esteem: the experience of deriving your entire sense of self-worth from performance in a single life domain.
In an elite military or first responder role, your self-worth becomes inseparable from your performance in that role — as evaluated not just by yourself, but by the people in your unit whose opinion matters most to you.
When you're performing well and receiving the respect of people you deeply respect, your self-worth is high. When you're not — or when the role itself is removed — your overall sense of self-worth collapses with it.
The unplugging
When these three things are operating simultaneously — Social Identity Theory, Identity Fusion, and Contingent Self-Esteem — the individual has, over years of service, become comprehensively moored to their military or first responder identity.
The moment of discharge or retirement unplugs all three at once.
You are removed from the group your identity is fused with. You are removed from the domain your self-worth depends on. And you are inserted into the very out-group — civilians — that your in-group spent years defining itself against.
When I looked back at my transition through this lens, it wasn't surprising that I struggled. What was surprising was that anyone expected it to be straightforward.
This isn't just a military problem
Everything I've described applies equally to law enforcement, paramedics, firefighters, correctional officers and any other high-identity, high-cohesion occupation where the work becomes the person.
It's also worth noting that research suggests 44–72% of veterans experience significant transition stress — difficulties with employment, relationships, adjustment to civilian life — regardless of whether they have a PTSD diagnosis. The majority of first su***de attempts by veterans occur post-separation, not during service.
We have built an entire support infrastructure around PTSD. We have built almost nothing around transition stress — which affects a far larger percentage of people leaving service.
The starting point is understanding
I'm not going to wrap this up with a neat solution. Transition is complex and the rebuild takes time. But in my experience — and in the experience of the veterans and first responders I've worked with — the single most useful thing is simply being able to name what's happening.
You're not weak. You're not broken. You're not failing to be resilient.
You're a highly trained, deeply tribal human being who has been unplugged from everything that gave your life structure, identity and meaning — overnight, with almost no preparation or support.
That's not a personal failure. It's a predictable psychological response to an objectively brutal set of circumstances.
If you want to go deeper on the practical roadmap for navigating it, I've put together a free chapter and Transition Suck Factor calculator that gives you a personalised score across the 9 key factors that predict how hard transition will hit. [link in comments section]
