Brass & Unity, page 22
“Because good mothers get help when they need it.”
“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”
Tina laughs. “I know. As much as I don’t agree with it—the cannabis is helping?”
“It’s helping more than anything.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess. I still don’t approve of it.”
“I know you love me regardless.”
My computer buzzes. “Oh, hang on a sec, Tina, Mom’s calling on FaceTime.”
“I have to go anyway.” Tina gets up and gives me a quick hug as I answer the call.
“Hey, Mom!”
“Kelsi, you’ll never guess what just happened.” She has the biggest smile on her face.
“What? Why do you look so happy?”
“You know I’m driving for Kevin Hart’s tour right now?”
“Uh-huh, yes.”
“You need to come to the show in Vancouver, because he wants to meet with you!”
“Um, Kevin Hart does?”
“Yes! I’ve told him all about what you’re doing, and he wants to meet you!”
“Oh my God, Mom, really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Thank you!”
“I gotta go, sweetie, but I’ll see you there.”
***
Backstage at the Rogers Arena in Vancouver, I’m full of nerves as Kevin Hart’s tour manager introduces us.
“We really enjoyed the show.” My voice quivers, but Brady shakes his hand like they’re old friends.
“Well, thank you for coming out. Your mother tells me that I need to meet you and see this jewelry you’re making.”
Hoping he can’t tell how sweaty my palms are, I pass him a box of bracelets that I’ve made for him and his team. “These are for you.”
“Thank you.” He starts to look at them, studying them closely. I can’t believe Kevin frickin’ Hart is trying on my bracelets.
“Hey, these are great.” He turns to Mom with a wide, toothy smile. “You were right, Cathy!”
I let out a quiet sigh of relief. “I’m glad you like them.”
“Kelsi,” he turns all his attention to me, “tell me about your company and where you want it to go.”
“Well, I served in Afghanistan and was medically discharged with a diagnosis of PTSD. I tried a bunch of things over the years to help me get better, but making jewelry was the first one that really worked. Brady had the idea to use spent casings in the design, we patented the Warrior bracelet, and the rest is history.”
“Very cool,” he says.
My shoulders start to relax. “I want to donate profits to veteran programs to do something about the suicide crisis facing vets right now.” I look him straight in the eye. “I want my friends to stop killing themselves.”
We chat for a few more minutes until it’s time for him to go. “Can we grab a photo?” Brady asks.
“Of course! Tag me, and I’ll share it.”
I’m practically vibrating with excitement. ”Oh my God, thank you!”
“I have one word of advice, though,” he offers with intense focus as he puts on a bracelet. “Change the name from Her Wearables. Make it unisex, because if you want men to wear them too, you should think about that. Anyone can wear these.”
We walk away from that meeting completely amped up about our business.
That night, Kevin Hart retweets our photo of him with his bracelet to his twenty-four million followers. In his tweet, he tells his followers why they should support us and how my company is helping vets.
“I have an idea for a new name,” Brady mentions as we watch Twitter blow up after Kevin’s tweet. “He’s right, it has to be something gender-neutral.”
“Whaddaya got?” I ask.
“I like the word ‘brass,’ because it’s really military-sounding, but we can’t really do anything with that for a trademark.”
“It sounds cool, though!”
“Yeah, right? I did some brainstorming, and I kind of like the sound of Brass and Unity. It combines military and bringing people together, which is what you’re doing.”
“Brass and Unity,” I repeat. “I love it!”
Popularity
Oh, Kelsi, what a wonderful favor you’ve done
for me!
A celebrity has shared your business.
Now you have to pretend that you are an actual entrepreneur!
And you know that’s going to come with a lot of stress.
Stress that you can’t handle.
Wait right here while I wrap my hands around your throat and remind you who’s boss.
Pacing the kitchen floor, waiting for Brady to get home from work, I bounce Jack on my hip. Finally, I hear him come in and rush over to give him a kiss. “You’re never going to guess what happened today.”
“Hey!” He reaches out for Jack. “What happened today?”
“I got a phone call from one of Beth Behrs’s people.”
“Beth Behrs, the actress from 2 Broke Girls?”
“Yes!”
“Cool! Something to do with Brass and Unity?”
“Yeah, so she has an equine therapy program for sexual assault survivors and wants to work with us to raise funds.”
“That’s awesome, Roo!”
“But it gets better.” I take a breath before I blurt, “She’s going on Ellen’s Twelve Days of Christmas Giveaways and wants to bring our jewelry on the show.”
“Babe! That’s insane!”
“I know! We’re going to help so many people.”
Still balancing Jack, Brady gives me a huge hug, and when he pulls away, he wipes a tear from my eye. “Do you feel happy, Roo?”
The smile on my face says it all.
***
It’s now 2019, and I’m in my dressing room, getting ready to step onto the stage of The Doctors. Fixing my dark brown hair (I long ago said goodbye to the blonde of my childhood) I take a deep breath. I smooth my hands over my long dress and think about what I’ll say. I can’t believe I am in Los Angeles and about to appear on live television.
Beyond this door there are bright lights, and questions, and a live studio audience. But I am strong. I’m reminded of that every time I look at the bracelet on my wrist—I’m winning.
My phone vibrates from the coffee table, and I pick up. I smile when Watson’s face flashes across the screen:
Knock ’em dead, Kelsi.
Thanks, bud.
Let me know when it airs.
Will do. Hey, Watty?
Yeah?
Thank you for always being there for me.
Ditto, Burns.
In my reflection, as I apply my lip gloss, I still see the girl who was bullied on the playground and betrayed by someone she trusted, and I see the young woman who fought bravely on the front lines in Afghanistan. But I also see a wife, a mother, a friend, a daughter, a sister, a lover, and a businesswoman. I see a veteran who is doing something to make the world a better place, which is all I ever wanted to do.
I don’t see a broken soldier. I see a warrior. I see a survivor.
Wrong
You will always belong to me—
No, I don’t belong to you, PTSD. You belong to me. Fuck you.
TWENTY-SIX
Healing
October 2020
In 2020, I started to do things a bit differently. We decided to start a podcast called “The Brass & Unity Podcast.” My goal was to be able to have conversations with people who had wild life stories of heroism, triumph, struggle, and recovery that others could learn from. Come at it from a mental health lens, but with a twist and give listeners a chance to resonate with the guest. The goal was to be able to get others to give me completely different interviews than they had given other shows. To date, I believe I have been able to do that, and I plan to keep doing it for the rest of my life.
I wanted something different from what was already out there in the podcast world. Vulnerability, real raw vulnerability in all ways. I set out to do this in October 2020, and one of the first sponsors who came on board was called “Combat Flip Flops.” One of the owners of this company is named Matthew Griffin, he was a U.S. Army Ranger, went to West Point, and worked on combat missions abroad. Brady and I had seen this amazing company on the entrepreneurial reality television show called Shark Tank a while back, and it was founded by two Army Rangers.
Brady suggested I reach out to them in an email, thinking they might be a good fit considering both brands and companies were working to make the world a better place. Within a few days, I got an email back.
“Hey, Kelsi! Casings in sunglasses, and casings in our flip-flops, we go together like peanut butter and jelly.”
I was thrilled when I got this message; at this point, I hadn’t thought I’d get a response, little alone so quick. Great customer service over there! I knew if I wanted to have this podcast take off, I would need top tier guests—serious hitters in their perspective spaces. Whether it was science, health, military, business, or otherwise.
So I took another risk and wrote back:
“Hey, Griff, would you like to be a guest on the show as well?”
To my surprise again, I got an email back the same day.
“Absolutely, Kelsi, when?”
“Next week?”
“Done.”
WHOA! That’s when the nerves kicked in; I got him booked, but now I needed to make sure I was ready for this interview.
That week, Griff was scheduled to be one of the first guests on the show. I had done some research on this guy, and he was solid as hell. Army Ranger, West Point grad. I knew what I had to do: Breathe and act like I’ve done this my whole life. Key word: act.
My mother and a few teachers (not all, ha ha) used to say, “let her talk, she will use her voice for something big one day.”
The day of the interview came around, and I thought I was ready. Sure I was ready for the interview, but what came after was something I couldn’t have made up even if I tried.
Griff leaned into the camera with a soft compassionate smile and was looking at me as if I had something on my face. He said “Kelsi, how ya doing?”
“I’m great, why do you ask?”
“Let’s try that again,” he says.
I was taken aback; I hadn’t had someone ask me like that since Dr. Passey.
“Seriously, how are you doing?”
At that exact moment, it all came flooding forward, and I broke down; I cried and said, “I don’t know, I’m trying so hard to move forward, but it’s not getting any better. I’m doing everything I can and yet it’s just not enough”
Griff leaned in and said, “Okay, well, have you ever heard of a medicine called ayahuasca?”
I replied “yes,” but wasn’t quite sure what it was or how it could help pull me from the slow decline that just never seemed to end.
He leaned in a little closer and said, “Let me tell you a little about ayahuasca and this organization called Heroic Hearts Project.”
After our interview, Griff spent another hour of his time explaining to me what this plant-based medicine was and how it was helping not only him but so many veterans around him. He said he could connect me with the founder of Heroic Hearts Project and see if they could put me on a retreat.
I remember just saying “YES, PLEASE,” over and over. I didn’t wait a second, didn’t speak to Brady about it, and just said yes.
It was this moment in time that I’ll never forget. The fork in the road, the new path.
A week later, I was on a call with Jesse Gould, the founder of Heroic Hearts Project, going over what the medicine was, where it was, and how his project could help me. I didn’t think I could get any better, I had come to the moment in my life where I figured, well this just is what it is. Little did I know, this, this was just the beginning of my true healing in a much deeper and profound way.
Just over a month later, I would be on a plane to a retreat with Heroic Hearts Project. I had little to no idea how much this experience would change my life, who I was, and who I would grow into. Once I landed, I was met with open arms by Griff and several of his special operations friends. These friends quickly became my pack, and people I could lean on for the rest of my life. They came from all walks of life, different cultures, and different upbringings. Different past careers in and out of the service, with one common denominator: We were all looking for relief in a deep way. A way that some just hadn’t found yet, while some were further down the path.
We drove out to the location we would be at for the next three nights, where we would drink Ayahuasca in what are called ceremonies and learn things about ourselves in a very raw and vulnerable way. We would spend some time getting to know one another, why we were there, and what we were looking to get out of the ceremonies. At this time, I couldn’t picture some of these guys being so open and vulnerable, but by the end of that weekend, I realized strong men don’t hold their emotions in, they let them out and feel. That’s true strength and courage.
The first night of ceremony was the most nerve racking. I had never felt anxiety like I had that night.
“Are you ready?”
“As ready as I will ever be, please just help the pain go away,” I said.
We waited for night, the stars in the sky were so clear, clearer than I had ever seen. The deep blue and bright light of the moon, the crisp air and sounds of animals in the trees. Something felt different. There was a moment I felt as if everything in my life was now out of my hands, out of my control completely. My life, like the rest of those humans walking one in front of the other into the yurt, would change the second I stepped my foot across that doorway. Almost into another world, one I couldn’t see or touch, yet one that was there sitting and waiting.
I walked slowly, cautiously over to my place in the yurt. I get comfortable on my four-inch bed with a blanket, and a bucket beside me in case I need to purge. I look over to my left, my right, and the guys across the yurt and smile, take a moment to thank my friend who introduced me to the medicine. This was my chance, my time to sit and give over control to something else. I had tried the prescribed medication—so many meds—the fitness, the food, the overall health, but I was not getting better.
The Mistro, as some call them, or shamans to others, took their place in the yurt and began blowing smoke all over themselves, cleansing and preparing the medicine.
I watched with such intensity, repeatedly saying over and over, “I’m open, I’m here, please help me heal this pain.” My heart was heavy, it felt like someone was standing on my back holding me down, pulling me down to the depths. So much of my pain was inside, and it was becoming too heavy to carry any longer. The Mistros handed the container of Ayahuasca, after blowing smoke cleansing the container, to the assistant. We sat and waited as we were called one by one to the middle of the room where we would sit and be given a cup filled with this dark thick liquid.
I watched each person go one by one until it was my turn. I was so nervous at the thought of doing something wrong.
Had I made the right choice?
I couldn’t back down now, so I took a moment and once again asked for help. I lifted the cup and poured back the entire amount and swallowed quickly. I stood up, said thank you, and made my way back. I saw everyone leaning up against the side walls, so I climbed onto my bed and did the same. My stomach began to turn, I was hot and then cold, hot again and felt weak. My anxiety was too much, and within twenty minutes I knew this wasn’t going to stay in my stomach. I could feel it creeping up on my esophagus to the back of my throat and into my mouth. I quickly swallowed, and waited. Again it began to creep up once more, I swallowed again and I kept looking across the room, and another veteran saw this and had a little smirk. Again, I could feel it coming up, this time I couldn’t hold it any longer,
“BLAAA,” into the bucket the ayahuasca went. I was so embarrassed, I truly tried to keep it down, but my body couldn’t bare it.
Yuck, the taste was just as bad going down as it was coming up!
We were all now ready, waiting to begin this journey.
The lights went down, and we sat in pitch black, waiting for the medicine to “open up.”
“BREATHE.”
“What?!”
“BREATHE.” I heard the voice from somewhere keep repeating.
Oh, here we go. I was feeling something now. It’s incredibly hard to describe in words, a feeling that only when felt could be understood. At first, I just kept hearing these words over and over—as if I wasn’t breathing? I thought for sure I was breathing.
I looked down and thought, Oh ya, I’m for sure breathing, right? Right??
I was being told to take a deeper breath in and out, in and out. This instruction was coming from someone, somewhere, I couldn’t place from where, but I felt my lungs expand as far as they could and then out like I was filling a hot air balloon. Over and over. The deeper the breath the further I began to fall into the medicine.
The colors and visuals were overwhelming as the healers sang their prayers, the patterns and spinning motions making my eyes roll back.
I was taken on a journey so deep that I feared for a second I couldn’t come back. That I wouldn’t; like I had finally done it. Like I had pushed myself over the edge. That edge that was in the back of my mind when I couldn’t take the pain of living any longer. My body was still but my mind was gone, it was black. Absolute nothingness, the emptiness, the depths.
I felt something powerful take over my body; I began purging over and over. The assistant would come over and blow smoke in my face to relieve the pain I was feeling during the intense purging, allow me to catch my breath while I purged. I thrust my head in and out of my bucket, gasping for any air I could get. I had lost consciousness, and only right before I began to vomit once again would I come back into my body.
