In a war zone, every decision, regardless of how small, could kill you. Movies show a soldier stepping right instead of left while fighting the enemy and getting killed, but it’s less complex than that. It’s deciding to go to eat at 0700 hours instead of 0715 hours, and a rocket hits the chow hall. It’s a tiny decision to drive close to the right curb instead of the left when an Improvised Explosive Device (IED) blows up and maims your turret gunner. Regardless of how calm a war zone seems, a tiny action can have an outsized reaction.
The Spec Ops Community Outreach Program
Those in the special operations community live with the above but take it a step further. They actively put themselves in situations to confront the enemy on their own terrain. They train for nearly every scenario, attempting to mitigate risk in a zero-sum game; one will go home alive and the other will not. Everything is studied, analyzed, and assessed in seconds while on target. They’re switched on. There’s no greater high in the world.
Days later, they’re sent home where they’re asked to change diapers, buy groceries, and pay bills like “normal” people. The bathroom faucet is leaking, and the minivan is out of gas, so he drives to Home Depot, still switched on. Every piece of trash on the road is a possible IED, the guy in plumbing looks like he’s hiding a weapon, and the old lady pumping gas in front of him definitely has explosives in her trunk by the way the back suspension is lower than the front. He makes a plan for neutralizing each, alternative routes home, and items near him he can use for cover. This is Operator Syndrome.
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So, what the hell is Operator Syndrome? It’s the inability to “switch off,” stand down, or settle in, mentally, emotionally, or behaviorally when no longer in a combat zone. It’s not PTSD, and it’s not secluded to military operators. Law enforcement, especially those in high-stress, high-crime areas or those being sent to quell protests. If you’ve seen it on the news (cough, Minnesota Border Patrol), the men and women conducting operations could develop Operator Syndrome. In short, it’s a survival instinct, necessary to do a job, and the inability to turn it off when not.
No One Talks About Operator Syndrome
To become an operator, you have to be a bit of a psycho. That’s not an insult, it’s the truth. You volunteered to be trained at the highest level, close with and kill the enemy, and come home to eat mashed potatoes with your family. Then, you do it again every few months for years until you retire, get a new job, or are sent home in a casket. That’s not normal. It’s awesome, and full kudos to those who do it, but it’s not normal.
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There’s also a culture of toughness and self-reliance in the operator community. I talked to a member of SEAL Team 6 in 2005, and he explained it to me like this: ‘Every run, swim, gun range, and physical activity was watched by your team. If I only did 55 pullups when everyone else did more, I’d hear the chatter among the team. It stressed me out. Regular people couldn’t do 55 pull-ups with John Cena pushing their legs, and he was worried about what his team thought of it. These are tight-knit communities, but they are ultra-competitive and, as a result, extremely stressful.
They feel like they can’t talk to anyone about it. It’s understandable. The things these men do on a regular basis are exceptional, and who would understand why only doing 55 pullups isn’t sufficient? Any regular human is going to say something stupid like “that’s more than I can do,” which is no help at all. It’s easier to keep it inside, let it fester like an open wound, and release it whenneeded. The alternative is looking weak in front of your team, and that’s not going to fly.
Symptoms of Operator Syndrome
Operators go into places they don’t know and execute missions. Every building has a different layout, so they adapt to their environment to survive. After prolonged exposure to this, they begin to lack the ability to turn it off. It’s not weakness; it’s not failure; it’s the human and physiological response to being in danger, carrying over into non-mission environments.
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This can manifest in a number of ways, but it comes down to control. This is not a desire to lead; it’s a need to control the situation as much as possible to avoid risk. Innately, we know we can’t control anything, but we can control the variables to increase the probability of a positive outcome. An operator may not know where a staircase is in a building, but they can train for nearly every scenario of where one might be, who is on it, and how to neutralize it – control the variables.
In contrast, when at home, there is no way to control the variable of your daughter fighting you about eating broccoli at dinner. Even if he could, by storming the kitchen, holding her mouth open, and moving her jaw to chew the vegetable, he can’t. That’s not normal. If he wants to stay married, he won’t. That’s where it gets fuzzy – the desire to control, making a plan, mentally preparing, and not doing it – is a symptom of Operator Syndrome. It’s a feeling that every situation, even the dinner table, is a military objective.
To avoid that feeling, they may be easily irritated, unable to relax, quick to try to take over a task (impatient), or unable to relate to “normal” concerns. A common catch phrase is “no one’s dying so it’s not a big deal.”
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Chasing the Dragon
Most soldiers want to go to war. It’s what they signed up for, trained for, and want to test themselves. Those who experience it usually don’t talk about the fighting as much as they do about the brotherhood and bonds with their fellow soldiers. Operators, bored with the mundanity of regular life, will volunteer to go back over and over again. To them, war is intoxicating even as they know it’s toxic.
In this way, being an operator is their identity. This doesn’t mean they walk around with a sticker on the back of their truck saying, “Look at me, I’m an Operator.” It means they embody their job, and it embodies them, so it’s difficult to separate the two. If you’ve ever met a vegan who wouldn’t shut up about Beyond Meat, you know this is a normal human instinct. The difference between the vegan who keeps trying to force you to eat tofu and the operators is that the operator’s time serving will end. They retire or leave their job. This is why many of them become Private Military Contractors; it allows them to return to a combat zone and make more money. Plus, it beats trying to become a Vet Bro and starting a podcast.
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Sadly, the cost of Operator Syndrome may strain or end relationships. Some turn to substance abuse, while others hyperfocus on other things like physical fitness or a hobby to the point where they neglect those who matter the most to them.
There is an Outlet
There is a way forward for those with Operator Syndrome. They have the skills to change their behavior. They’ve proven that by being the most highly trained, lethal warriors on the planet. They can use that tenacity and focus to kick its ass.
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First, they’ll need to differentiate between being vigilant and paranoid. The old lady pumping gas next to you is not a threat. Neither is the Home Depot worker in plumbing. Take a breath, and the physiological reaction will subside over time. After reptation, it will stop manifesting as often.
Talk to their buddies. I know. No one wants to be the guy who brings up emotions, but if they’re feeling a certain way, they can nearly guarantee the guy who fought next to them is also. He may still rib them about the time he only did 55 pull-ups, but he’ll listen.
Finally, they should ask for help. It’s ironic that most service members don’t like to ask for help, but if asked, are the first to assist. Remember that. I’m not saying they have to see a therapist and draw pictures of birds in a nest – they can if they want – but asking for help is good. Most people won’t fully understand their situation, but they’ll damn sure try or find someone who does. No one gets through life without help; if anyone deserves it, operators do.
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