The Story Behind Second Mission: From Combat Camera to Healing in the Barn

The Story Behind Second Mission: From Combat Camera to Healing in the Barn

I spent a year downrange with a camera in addition to my rifle.

My job as a combat camera soldier was to document everything - missions, training, the worst days and the best. I learned to move fast, stay small, read a room in a heartbeat, and push my own feelings down so I could keep shooting. The mission always came first.

Coming home was the hard part.

No one really prepares you for the silence after you leave. One day you’re surrounded by your team, juggling tasks, chasing deadlines, and the next you’re standing in a grocery store aisle staring at 20 brands of cereal, wondering why your heart is pounding.

I didn’t have the right words for it back then - hypervigilance, anxiety, depression, moral injury. I just knew I didn’t feel like myself. The camera that once gave me purpose suddenly felt heavy. The stories I’d captured downrange stuck with me in ways I didn’t talk about.

And then I stepped into a barn.

How a Horse Changed Everything

The first time I walked up to a horse after the military, I treated it like a mission. Check your gear.

Watch your angles. Don’t show fear.

The horse didn’t care about any of that.

He cared about my breathing, my posture, my energy. If I walked up tense, he got tense. If I exhaled and softened my shoulders, he did too. No rank. No medals. No checklist. Just honest feedback from a 1,200-pound mirror.

That’s when it clicked: The barn was the first place I didn’t have to explain myself.

No one said, “Just get over it.” No one asked, “So…did you kill anyone?” The horse just stood there, waiting to see if I could be present.

Step by step - grooming, leading, cleaning stalls, learning his quirks—I felt my brain start to quiet down. The barn became my safe AO. The sound of chewing hay, the rhythm of hooves, even the smell of dust and leather…they grounded me in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Healing began in the barn.

Seeing Other Veterans Struggle

As I got deeper into the horse world, I started seeing my brothers and sisters in arms everywhere - at the VA parking lot, in spouse groups, in local community spaces. Different branches, different wars, same look in their eyes.

Some were fighting PTSD, depression, or anxiety alone. Others felt like they’d lost their purpose when they took off the uniform. Many were tired of retelling their worst day to yet another provider. At the same time, research kept coming out showing equine-assisted interventions can reduce PTSD and depression symptoms for veterans, especially when guided by trained mental health and equine professionals.

I started thinking: What if the barn could be more than my hiding place? What if it could be a rally point?

Why “Second Mission”?

The name “Second Mission” came straight out of that question.

Our first mission was service. We raised our right hand. We did the job, whether the world noticed or not. Many of us are still carrying the weight of that.

Our second mission is healing, purpose, and connection—this time, we don’t have to do it alone.

Second Mission exists to help veterans heal, find purpose, and reconnect through the power of horses.

It’s veteran-led, which means we understand the dark humor, the silence, and the “I’m fine” that usually means “I’m absolutely not fine.”

We don’t expect you to show up and spill your guts on day one. We start with simple things:

• Grooming a horse – Learning to read body language and regulate your own.

• Leading through an obstacle course – Practicing trust, boundaries, and communication without saying a word.

• Groundwork in the arena – Moving a horse’s feet instead of always moving your own for everyone else.

• Quiet time in the barn – Leaning on a fence rail with a cup of coffee, just existing without needing to perform.

What Makes Second Mission Different

Second Mission is built by veterans, for veterans. That shows up in a few key ways:

• Mission-minded structure, low-pressure environment - We know structure feels safe. You’ll always know where to be, when to be there, and what to expect. But there’s no formation, no screaming, no pushups. Just clear guidelines so you can relax.

• No “broken toys” mentality - You’re not a project. You’re not here to be fixed. You’re here to reconnect with the parts of yourself the military didn’t have room for.

• Horses as partners, not props - Our horses aren’t tools; they’re teammates. They have histories, personalities, and preferences, just like us. Working with them is about relationship, not control.

• Community over checkbox care - We respect the VA and clinical care. Many of us use it. Second Mission adds another layer: a peer-supported, boots-on-the-ground community where healing happens outside four white walls.

  
  

An Invitation to Your Second Mission

If you’re a veteran reading this and you’re tired - tired of numbing out, tired of pretending you’re fine, tired of feeling like your best days were in uniform - I see you.

You don’t have to show up with the perfect words. You don’t have to be a “horse person.” You just have to show up willing to take one step into the barn.

Your first mission was service. Your second mission is healing. For many of us, healing begins in the barn. - Kristina