Chapter 9 - Disclosure Is Not Disgrace
On the second anniversary of that dinner, Cerise attended a small veterans’ mental health event in Washington, D.C.
No cameras.
No speeches for donors.
Just service members, clinicians, and families learning how to speak about invisible injuries without shame.
Cerise stood near the back in civilian clothes.
Dark blazer.
Simple blouse.
Hair still neat.
Phone in hand.
A young sergeant approached her after the panel.
“Major Vale?”
Cerise turned.
“Yes.”
The sergeant looked nervous.
“I heard what you said during the Q&A. About disclosure not being disgrace.”
Cerise nodded.
The young woman swallowed.
“My dad says if I put therapy in my record, I’ll never be trusted again.”
Cerise felt the old dining room around her for one second.
Harold’s beer glass.
Vesta’s pointed finger.
The word PTSD turned into a threat.
Then she looked at the sergeant.
“Your father is wrong.”
The woman’s eyes filled.
Cerise continued, “The right people want accurate records. The wrong people want shame they can use.”
The sergeant nodded slowly.
“Did it hurt your career?”
Cerise answered honestly.
“Some people tried to.”
“And?”
“They failed.”
The sergeant laughed once through tears.
May you like
Not because it was funny.
Because relief sometimes sounds like disbelief.
