Compassion for the Warrior Within: When Survival Makes Self-Kindness Feel Like a Threat

thewayofthewiseowl
Dec 7
8 min read

Compassion for the Warrior Within:

How many times have you suppressed your truth to maintain harmony—while claiming it as love?

I’ve done it more times than I can count. I’ve watched my husband do it, too. I've observed veterans perform this task with a composed expression and a resolute demeanor, as it's a skill they acquire through survival training. You learn to bite down on your pain. You learn to smile through the noise. You learn that love means staying quiet so nobody else has to feel uncomfortable.

But let me tell you what silence really feels like after a while.

It feels like carrying a bag of bricks that no one can see.

It feels like saying “I’m fine” while your chest is a battlefield.

It feels like slowly disappearing inside your life.

There was a moment for me—one of those moments that doesn’t look dramatic from the outside but changes everything on the inside—when I realized my quiet wasn’t peace. It was self-abandonment. I was scared, not strong, so I swallowed my needs, grief, anger, and exhaustion. I was afraid of being rejected. I was terrified of the potential for conflict. I was afraid that if I voiced my opinion, someone might leave.

And I remember thinking: If my voice is the price of keeping people close, then I’m paying too much.

So I spoke. Shaky. Ugly. Honest.

And that day, my healing didn’t start with a perfect plan.

It started with a voice that finally chose me.

Let me ask you something that might sting somewhat:

Where have you been quiet when your soul was begging to be heard?

Compassion for the warrior within is not soft.

It’s not a weakness.

It's not about absolving yourself of responsibility.

Compassion is choosing to treat the part of you that survived with respect.

It’s recognizing that the survival version of you did what it had to do.

And now the healing version of you gets to do something different.

For veterans, especially, self-compassion is not just a lovely idea. It’s a lifeline. It’s the bridge between who you had to be to make it through and who you’re allowed to be now.

Compassion says:

“I see what you carried.”

“I see why you became hard.”

“I see how you learned to stay ready.”

“And you don’t have to keep bleeding to prove you’re strong.”

Why It Matters: Because Survival Without Compassion Becomes a Prison

If you’ve ever loved a veteran—or are one—you already know this.

The war doesn’t always end when the uniform comes off.

Some battles move inside.

Some triggers are invisible.

Some wounds don’t show up on X-rays.

And when self-kindness is missing, the brain goes back to the only thing it trusts: survival.

Here’s what that can look like in real life:

You’re exhausted but can’t rest without guilt.
You feel disconnected but don’t know how to say it without sounding “weak.”
You snap at people you love and hate yourself afterward.
You isolate yourself because it feels safer than trying to explain feelings that you don’t fully understand.
You keep pushing because stopping feels like dying.

Ignoring self-compassion doesn’t make you tougher.

It makes you lonelier.

It makes healing feel impossible.

It makes families feel helpless.

It transforms love into a state of caution rather than unity.

Compassion doesn’t erase what happened.

But it changes what happens next.

1. Why Veterans Struggle With Self-Kindness

Let’s be straight.

Veterans were trained for war, not tenderness.

They were trained to be alert, not soft.

They were trained to compartmentalize, not feel.

Self-kindness can feel dangerous because it requires presence. And presence requires the nervous system to believe it’s safe. For many veterans, safety is not a default setting. Readiness is.

Also—and I say these words gently but firmly—a lot of veterans learned that their value came from performance. From endurance. They learned their value from not breaking. The strength comes from managing it.

So when life gets heavy, the instinct isn’t to be kind.

The instinct is to push harder.

And then they wonder why they feel like they’re drowning.

2. Survival Brain Explained (In Human Words)

The survival brain is the part of you that kept you alive.

It’s the brain that says:

“Stay alert.”
“Don’t trust too fast.”
“Control what you can.”
“Don’t feel too much.”
“If you relax, something undesirable will happen.”

During combat, that brain is a hero.

Back home, it can become a prison.

This is due to the survival brain's inability to recognize the end of the war.

It scans grocery stores like they’re threat zones.

It reacts to loud noises like they’re incoming fire.

It reads a simple disagreement like a full-blown danger signal.

And here’s the kicker: the survival brain hates vulnerability.

So compassion?

Compassion feels like dropping your weapon.

But real compassion isn’t dropping your weapon in a war zone.

You realize you’re home, and you don’t have to sleep in armor anymore.

3. Compassion as Readiness (Yes, Readiness)

Let me flip something for you.

Compassion is not the opposite of readiness.

It is readiness—for the next chapter of life.

If you lack self-kindness, you will continue to fight battles that have already concluded. You will keep punishing yourself for having normal human reactions to abnormal experiences.

Compassion doesn’t make a veteran less capable.

It makes them more whole.

It’s readiness to:

be present instead of numb,
connect instead of isolate,
heal instead of just endure,
live instead of just survive.

If a soldier trains for the battlefield, then compassion trains for peace.

And peace takes practice.

4. Daily Practices: Building Compassion Like a Muscle

You don’t wake up one day and magically trust softness.

You build it like you built endurance—one rep at a time.

Here are practices I’ve seen work in real life, not just in theory:

Name what’s real.
“I’m triggered.”
- “I’m tired.”
- “I feel unsafe.”
- “I need space.”
  
  You can’t be compassionate with a feeling you refuse to admit.
Talk to yourself like someone you’d protect.

If your friend approached you with the same pain, would you consider them weak?

No.

So stop talking to yourself like an enemy.
Create a 5-minute decompression ritual.

Not an hour. This should not necessitate a complete shift in lifestyle.

Five minutes.
sit in your car before going inside
- breathe with one hand on your chest
- pray, if that’s your way
- listen to one grounding song
  
  Please guide your system to understand that we are safe at this moment.
Move the stuck energy.

Trauma lives in the body.

Walk. Stretch. Lift. Dance in the kitchen.

Movement tells the brain: I’m not trapped anymore.
Practice “compassionate truth.”

Not just kindness. Truth.
“I’m not okay today, and that’s okay.”
- “I need help, and I’m still strong.”
- “I don’t want to talk right now, but I love you.”
  
  Compassion isn’t fake positivity. It’s honest care.

5. How Families Can Support Without Losing Themselves

If you love a veteran, listen close.

You are not their therapist.

You are not their punching bag.

You are not supposed to shrink so they can feel big.

Support starts with understanding and boundaries.

Here’s what helps:

Learn the patterns without personalizing them.

A trigger isn’t about you, even if it lands on you.

Don’t absorb what was never yours.
Invite honesty, don’t demand it.

“I’m here when you’re ready” goes further than “Talk to me right now.”
Celebrate small steps.

A veteran choosing to rest, open up, or ask for help is a big deal.

Notice it.
Encourage professional support with respect.

Not as a threat.

As an option.

“You don’t have to carry this alone.”
Take care of your own nervous system.

Love doesn’t mean self-erasure.

The healthiest thing you can do for them is stay whole yourself.

Families don’t heal veterans by fixing them.

They heal by walking beside them — and refusing to abandon themselves in the process.

My Story / How I Overcame It

I acquired compassion through the challenging experience of bearing everything by myself.

For years, I thought being strong meant being silent.

I thought loving meant keeping the peace at my expense.

I thought if I needed too much, I would be too much.

But the day I finally spoke up, something shifted.

Not outside of me first — inside of me.

I realized:

My needs weren’t a burden.

My truth wasn’t a threat.

My voice wasn’t “drama.”

It was dignity.

And as a wife of a disabled veteran with chronic PTSD, I’ve watched how survival brain can turn inward. I’ve watched the self-judgment. The internal wars. I've observed that a warrior tends to show more compassion towards strangers than towards himself.

That’s part of why I created the “Battle-Tested, Forgotten Veteran” movement. This is due to the fact that a significant number of our warriors return home with heavy hearts, still striving to earn their rightful place in society.

What changed in me — and what I teach now — is this:

You don’t heal by being harder on yourself.

You heal by being honest with yourself and kind enough to stay.

Key takeaway: Your voice is not the problem. Suppressing it is.

And compassion is what gives your voice somewhere safe to land.

How-To Guide: Start Where You Are

You don’t need to become a new person overnight.

You just need to stop abandoning the one you are.

Try this:

Catch your inner drill sergeant.

Write down the harsh things you say to yourself.

Then ask, “Would I say this to someone I love?”
Replace punishment with curiosity.

Instead of “What’s wrong with me?” ask:

“What happened to me?”

“What do I need right now?”
Build a “safe list.”

List people, places, songs, routines that ground you.

Use it when your system is spiraling.
Do one compassionate act daily.
drink water
- take meds on time
- step outside for air
- say no without apologizing
  
  Small care becomes big change.
Speak one truth out loud each day.

Even if it’s just to yourself.
“I’m overwhelmed.”
- “I miss who I used to be.”
- “I’m proud of myself for making it this far.”
  
  Your nervous system needs to hear your honesty to start trusting you.

Benefits / Pros and Cons

Benefits of practicing self-compassion:

Less shame.
Better emotional regulation.
More connection in relationships.
Increased resilience without burnout.
A nervous system that learns peace is possible.
A sense of worth that isn’t tied to performance.

Challenges (the real stuff):

Compassion can feel unfamiliar, even unsafe.
You might feel guilt when you rest.
You might think you’re “weakening.”
Old training may fight you.

How to overcome the cons:

Start small. Don’t argue with your brain — educate it.
Remind yourself: This is retraining, not failing.
Let compassion be practice, not perfection.

Conclusion

If you’re a veteran, hear me:

You were built to survive.

But you were not built to suffer forever.

Compassion is not a luxury for you.

It is a form of coming home to yourself.

And if you love a veteran:

You don’t have to be silent to be supportive.

You don’t have to disappear to be loyal.

You get to be real, too.

So today, journal this:

“Where have I been quiet when my soul was begging to be heard?”

Then sit with what comes up.

Not to judge it.

To witness it.

To honor it.

To finally stop leaving yourself behind.

Because your truth doesn’t need permission — it just needs your voice. 🌿

5 Journal Prompts for Reflection

Where did I learn that being strong meant being silent?
What parts of me are still living in survival mode, even though I’m safe now?
How do I typically treat myself when I’m struggling — and what would compassion look like instead?
What is one truth I’ve been afraid to speak, and why?
How can I support the warrior within me (or someone I love) without abandoning myself?

If this post spoke to you, explore more reflections, articles, and podcast episodes at https://www.wayofthewiseowl.com.