The Journey That Built Papabird - Joining the U.S. Army
What started as an honest attempt to get my life on track — at a time when I felt like I was headed nowhere — turned into something far greater than I ever expected. I took the advice of an older gentleman I worked with. I wish I could remember his name, because what he told me ended up being the best decision I ever made: to join the military.
At 22, I thought I had the world figured out. The truth was, I didn’t even know myself, my strengths, my weaknesses, my limits. One thing I learned quickly: I was way too full of myself. The military changed that. It taught me discipline, humility, perspective, and being a member of something bigger. I was a member of a team. It showed me just how different military life was from the civilian world — and how much I was capable of if I simply applied my mind.
Those lessons became a double-edged sword later on. Life after service tested me in ways I couldn’t have imagined. But I learned that trust isn’t freely given — it’s earned. I learned that working as a team can take you farther than any one man ever could alone. And above all, I learned to trust in myself, to remember what I’d been taught — because those lessons helped keep me alive.
I served in Iraq, Korea, and flew countless sorties with the Air Force out of Qatar. I loved it so much that after leaving the military, I returned as a government imagery analyst and even deployed as a civilian. It wasn’t the smartest move I ever made, but after everything, I was ready to hang up my boots. Readjusting was not easy.
Transitioning Out and Adjusting to Civilian Life
As my time in the military neared its end, it couldn’t come fast enough. While I was proud of the years I spent serving my country, I was more than ready to move on. I had grown tired of the daily “games” and bureaucracy that often come with military life. Yes, those systems serve a purpose, and I understand and respect them, but after a while, they wear you down.
I’ve always believed it takes a certain kind of person to make it through 20 years and earn that retirement. That just was not me. I served nearly eight years with honor, and when the time came, I was ready to take the next step.
Before separating, I made sure to line up a civilian job. I didn’t want to fall into the same trap that so many veterans face — getting out without a plan and becoming stuck or lost. The job I found was good, not great. It paid well enough, but it didn’t take long for me to realize I was just a number, a cog in the machine making money for someone else. That was a hard pill to swallow, especially coming from a culture where your team has your back and your work means something, everything.
As a government contractor, I saw how much the company was making off my work, double what I was being paid. Living and working in Washington, D.C., doing the “dog and pony show” for a company that didn’t care about me, made me miss the military in a way I never expected.
So, I volunteered for a deployment through that company. Was I putting myself in harm’s way again? Yes. Was I still only seeing a fraction of the pay they were billing for my role? Absolutely. But the deployment came with a bump in salary — and more importantly, it gave me purpose. I felt like I was making a difference again, on my terms, in a way that mattered more than anything I could do sitting behind a desk stateside.
The Hardest Battle
Adjusting to civilian life was the hardest battle I’ve faced — even more difficult than the horrors of combat or accepting the possibility that I might never make it home at all. Mentally, it felt impossible — and that was something I couldn’t accept. I had endured the hardship of combat, survived deployments, and pushed through things most people will never understand. So why was this so much harder?
The truth is, I was ashamed. I turned my frustration and pain outward. I became cold, short-tempered, especially with strangers. I felt like everyone was out to irritate me, to push my buttons, even though deep, deep down, I knew that wasn’t the case.
Then came the day I hit my breaking point — the day I seriously knew I wanted to end it all. The pain, the memories, the overwhelming weight of being so different from the world around me... it became too much to carry.
People often ask, “Why didn’t you get help?” But what most don’t realize is that, at the time, mental health struggles among veterans were still a new and often overlooked issue. Awareness is growing, but slowly. And while there are more programs and nonprofits today than ever before, we still lose an average of 17 veterans a day to suicide. That number is heartbreaking, and for 22 straight years, more than 6,000 veterans have died by suicide annually. Veterans face a 58% higher risk of suicide compared to those who haven’t served. This is all information that I knew before I ever reached out for help.
However, I kept telling myself I was fine. That there was nothing wrong with me. I couldn’t admit something might be broken inside, because I didn’t know how to live with that truth. And that denial came at a cost.
The lives of my two children — the two people I love more than life itself — will never be the same. That’s something I’ll carry with me forever. The thought that their childhoods might be haunted by my pain… it nearly broke me beyond repair.
!!!!!! IF YOU ARE STRUGGLING AND NEED HELP, REACH OUT. THERE ARE ALWAYS PEOPLE TO HEAR YOUR VOICE. PLEASE CALL or TEXT 988 FOR THE SUICIDE AND CRISIS LIFELINE. PRESS 1 IF YOU ARE A VETERAN, IF NOT, STAY ON THE LINE AND SOMEONE WILL BE THERE FOR YOU!!!!!!!!
Finding Peace Within
The Day After and Weeks to Come
The day that nearly ended everything was long, heavy, and emotionally draining — a day that felt like it would never end. But in the end, my mind, once again, pulled me back from the edge. It wasn’t my mind that got me into that place — it was my failure to listen to the truth inside my heart.
And then, in the darkest moment, my children’s faces appeared clearly in my mind. That was all I needed. All I cared about. I just wanted to hold them, tell them I loved them, and never let go.
Shortly after, I checked into a VA mental health treatment facility for a week. There, I participated in both group and one-on-one therapy sessions. With each session, I felt something shift inside me. The pain, the weight, the emotional pressure that had become a constant presence — it started to loosen. Slowly. It wasn’t an overnight transformation, but there was progress, and I could feel it.
When I was discharged, I returned to my regular routine. That movement I had felt? It stopped. I told myself I could handle it alone, with what little I had learned in that short week. I was wrong.
Things quickly spiraled back to the same dark place I had fought so hard to climb out of. I knew I needed to do more. I had read that veterans with PTSD could benefit from having a service animal. As a lifelong dog lover, I started looking into it. The process was exhausting — full of misinformation, false leads, and dead ends. I almost gave up.
Then someone gave me a name: Mrs. Sue Warwick, Licensed Clinical Therapist. At first, I thought it was another empty lead — but it turned out to be the turning point in my life.
From our very first meeting, Sue saw something in me. I might have come to her for help getting a service dog, but she enrolled me into the VA’s Psychosocial Rehabilitation and Recovery Center (PRRC) program. That gave me access to weekly one-on-one therapy with her, as well as group sessions and valuable tools for recovery.
Sue also continued helping me navigate the service animal process, tirelessly advocating on my behalf. She didn’t just do her job — she poured her heart into it. She had helped countless other service members before me, including real-world traumatic events on active duty bases here in the States.
She reminded me that I mattered to the world, and especially to my children. She made sure to include them in ways that would help protect them from the long-term effects of my trauma. She taught me to recognize my triggers, how to identify when I was on the verge of spiraling, and most importantly, how to take control of the outcome once I was triggered.
Sue Warwick is a vital part of my story. I truly believe that if our paths hadn’t crossed, I wouldn’t be here to write this today.
Many people in my life have given up on me — some who mattered deeply, and others who didn’t. I’ve made peace with that. I’m not perfect, and I’ve never claimed to be. But I live my life by the values the Army instilled in me from day one of basic training:
Loyalty. Duty. Respect. Selfless Service. Honor. Integrity. Personal Courage.
There comes a time when you have to cut out the toxicity and start over. And for me, that time came — painfully, but necessarily.
Why Photography?
To be honest, photography has always been a passion of mine—even before I joined the military. I seemed to have a natural eye for capturing moments, knowing instinctively how to frame a shot and what made an image stand out. I stuck with what I loved photographing, even when life got busy.
For many years, photography remained just a hobby. I rarely had the time to focus on it seriously—it was something I did for myself. But the more I leaned into it and explored the artistic side, the more I noticed something powerful: my daily triggers and stressors started to feel less overwhelming.
I had tried many outlets as forms of therapy, and they all helped in their own way. But photography was where my true passion took root. To anyone going through a difficult time, I say this: don’t ignore what you’re feeling. Face it. Talk to someone you trust. Take time for yourself. And most importantly, do something you love. Let your passions become your form of meditation—your healthy outlet.
One of the most important lessons I ever learned came from Mrs. Sue, who taught me something deceptively simple: breathe. Those deep, diaphragmatic breaths help regulate the nervous system and shift your body from a state of stress into calm. When you’re relaxed, your focus, clarity, and decision-making improve.
You’ll need that kind of deep breathing less often if you have a healthy outlet to manage your stress. For me, that outlet is photography. I don’t worry if others like my work or compare it to someone else’s. When I look at my photos, I see more than just an image—I see my stress and emotions released and captured in time. Whether it’s a blooming flower or the perfect paint job on a classic car, each photo is a reflection of my journey.
Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I truly hope you enjoy my work. If you feel inspired, please visit my shop. Your support not only keeps me going—it helps me grow my therapy through photography. My ultimate goal is to raise enough through sales to start a program supporting other veterans in crisis. With your help, I believe that’s possible.
Thank you again—
-Papabird