Beyond the Uniform - Now what?

A reflection from a man trying to find his footing in a strange world.

There are things I didn't expect to miss.

The subtle weight of my beret, the hurry up and wait. The regimental mottos carved into stone, pride etched into your bones by repetition, tradition, and the long shadow of sacrifice.

Or maybe it’s the quiet routine of police work, the radio chirping to life, the weight of the tac-vest in summer. Or the flags mounted in the Parade room, symbols of order, honour, and service. Hell, even the little things: the polish on your boots, the morning briefings or after action reviews, or hooking up for Jav.

And then, one day… it’s gone.

You don’t walk past the flag anymore. You don’t wear the team patch, or the badge, or the weight of responsibility in the same way. You’re not part of the duty rooster with a call sign. You’re not attending the briefings or receiving orders.

You’re just here - in civvies, in silence, in a house that feels too quiet.

And it hits you:

You didn't prepare for this part.

It's not the trauma. It's not the panic attacks. Not the rage, the shame, or the sleepless nights.

It is the disconnect. Where did it all go? Why do I feel like this?

The feeling that all those things that helped keep you motivated, that you were apart of something, duty, honour, structure, standards, ceremony, camaraderie, have been stripped away. And in their place is a world that feels… loose. Unaccountable. Untethered. Confused.

You go from carrying the weight of service to watching others shrug off their responsibility. From living a life of consequence to watching people hide behind desks, procedures, and excuses.

And now, standing outside of all that, you start to question: Did it ever matter?

I don't write these things because I’ve got it figured out. I write them because I don’t have a clue.

Because if I don’t lay this stuff out and look at it, read it over and over again, and try to make sense of it, it festers. And I’ve already seen what happens when you let that rot take hold. When you keep everything bottled up inside.

This isn’t therapy. This isn’t closure. It’s structure. It’s a framework. It’s a fight to hold the line internally, when the external structures and motivation is gone.

I'm falling back on the leadership principles, not out of nostalgia, but out of necessity.

Seek and accept responsibility?

Know your people and promote their welfare?

Lead by example?

They weren’t just professional checkboxes. They were a blueprint for success.

And now that everything else feels foggy, those old rules are how I’m trying to navigate life again, just pointed inward this time.

Seek and Accept Responsibility? It's about taking ownership of my situation and working to improve it. Knowing my people? That’s about showing up for those who matter most to me and acknowledging my own mental health issues. Seek self improvement? That’s whether I can live with the man in the mirror, did I earn my keep, even on the bad days? And there are bad days.

There are days I want to burn it all down. Days I feel like a fraud. Days I wonder if everything… was for nothing.

Because when you’ve seen how the sausage is made, when you’ve held the line and you begin to break, it fucks with your head. It leaves you wondering if you were stupid for believing in all of it to begin with.

But then something inside you fights back. Something stubborn. Something still intact.

And it says:

You were just someone who gave a shit.

There’s a kind of moral injury that comes from feeling like you no longer belong to the tribe you gave your life to. Not necessarily because you failed it, or it failed you.

But, if you’ve ever sworn an oath… If you’ve ever stood at attention facing the Flag… If you’ve ever walked into a scene not knowing what was waiting and went anyway.

Then you know something that many don't. That integrity matters more than image. That actions mean more than words. That there's a standard, even when nobody’s watching.

So yeah, I miss the symbols. I miss the flag, the badge, the camaraderie. And even if I’m not wearing the uniform anymore, I can live like I’m worthy of what it stands for. I can do the right thing not the easy thing.

Not every day.

Not perfectly.

But honestly.

So as I read this, and try to sort my own mess out, trying to make sense of what comes after, trying to remember who I am without the badge, or the rifle, or the team.

Not weak.

Not broken.

Just me.

And even if no longer in uniform:

Duty still matters. Honour still matters. Integrity still matters. Humility still matters. Respect still matters.

The symbols we used to associate with these values may be gone.

But they still matter.

And we get to live like we stand for something other than our experience.

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This reflection draws on my experiences growing up on the lakes and rivers of Muskoka, leading countless self-directed wilderness excursions, and later retiring as a Sergeant in the Canadian Armed Forces and in law enforcement as a Tactical Officer. The Tactical Camper philosophy is built from a lifetime of outdoor exploration, operational deployments, specialized tactical training during 22 years of uniformed service, and years of PTSD recovery — adapted to guide resilience, preparedness, and leadership in everyday life.