By Dani Pettrey

Too many veterans are fighting an invisible war — not a physical war, but one inside their minds. They experience constant pain and loneliness, even in a room full of people.

The U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs’ 2024 “Suicide Prevention Annual Report” found that veterans die by suicide at rates significantly higher than non-veterans — 58% higher. According to Stop Soldier Suicide, 17 veterans die by suicide every day. Mental health challenges such as post-traumatic stress, depression, and substance use disorders are closely tied to that risk. Yet what rarely makes headlines is how those struggles ripple outward — how spouses, children, and entire families carry the hidden wounds alongside the veteran.

I remember sitting in my bedroom. My two little girls needed their mom, and I felt I had nothing to give. No hope. I sat on the edge of my bed, a shadow of myself, begging God to heal me. I had always wanted to be a mom — and I was — but I’d received what I viewed as the worst diagnosis: depression.

How would I break through the darkness, the silence, the unending feeling that I had nothing left to give and that my family would be better off without me? I was at my breaking point. But little by little, I found hope — my medication started working, my counselor was wonderful, and joy slowly returned. I still have periods when my depression flares. It’s a battle that never fully disappears, but I know God has me and will give me the grace to pull through.

I don’t wear a uniform, but I know what it feels like to fight a battle no one can see. Most can’t understand the weight of battling an invisible war — or the toll it takes on everyone it touches.

Depression taught me what silence can do. It isolates, it distorts, and it convinces you that reaching for help is weakness. I’ve felt that same lie that echoes through veterans’ stories — men and women trained to be strong, told to push through, who come home and feel they can’t admit they’re hurting. The truth is, no one can keep fighting alone forever without rest or relief.

Transitioning from military service to civilian life can be jarring. Purpose, structure, and community — once so clear — can vanish overnight. Many veterans return carrying trauma that doesn’t fade when their service war ends. The VA reports that more than half of veterans who died by suicide had a diagnosed mental health or substance use disorder. Behind those numbers are people — parents, partners, children — each who are all struggling to hold on while the world moves on.

But the invisible war doesn’t stop with the veteran. Families fight it too. Spouses often become caregivers. Children can sense tension but often don’t have words to express it. Everyone tiptoes around the silence. Research shows that families of veterans face higher risks of depression, anxiety, and even suicide. When one person serves, the whole family serves. When one person suffers, the whole family feels it.

That’s why our national response has to move beyond slogans and awareness months. It has to focus on connection and care.

First, we must break the stigma that keeps veterans — and anyone struggling with mental illness — from asking for help. Strength isn’t silence. Strength says, “I can’t do this alone.”

Second, support must include families. When a veteran enters treatment, their loved ones should be part of the process. Counseling, education, and family-based programs make healing more sustainable.

Third, we must ensure access — timely, affordable, quality mental health care — for every veteran and every family member who needs it.

I’m not a veteran, I am a veteran spouse, and I understand despair. I know what it’s like to wake up and feel like you can’t face the day — and I know the slow, sacred work it takes to find hope again. It’s what countless veterans and families do daily: they keep fighting, quietly and courageously, for the light.

If you’re a veteran, please know this: your story matters. If you love a veteran, thank you for standing in the gap. And if you’re struggling, reach out. You are not a burden; you are a life worth saving.

When the armor comes off, the fight doesn’t end — but it doesn’t have to be fought alone. Together, with compassion and courage, we can ensure that no veteran, and no family, faces the darkness in silence.

Dani Pettrey is a best-selling author and mental health advocate based in Florida. She writes about faith, courage, and the quiet strength it takes to overcome life’s unseen battles.