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Battleback: The Week I Almost Walked Away From
- Karen McKenna
- 4 days ago
- 5 min read
I Nearly Didn’t Go.
Even now that feels a bit ridiculous to say, because the week I spent at the Royal British Legion’s Battle Back Centre at Lilleshall has ended up being one of the most important things I’ve done in a long time. But in the days leading up to it, I was very close to sacking it off.
Before I Got There
A good mate of mine, another veteran dealing with Complex PTSD, pointed me towards the course. He’d been on it not long before and, if I’m honest, what stuck with me wasn’t just what he said, it was how different he seemed. Calmer. Lighter. More like the bloke I knew before things got on top of him.
That was enough to get me to sign up.
But as the date got closer, my head started doing what it does best. I started thinking about who would be there. People with proper, visible injuries. People missing limbs. People who, in my mind, had a clear reason to be struggling.
Then I looked at myself...all limbs present and correct.
And I started to feel like a bit of a fraud. Like I had no right to be there. Like I’d be taking up space that someone else probably needed more than me. By the time I arrived, I wasn’t just nervous, I was all over the place.
Turning Up Anyway
I remember pulling in and seeing two women in wheelchairs and thinking, “Right, that’s it, I’ve made a mistake here.” I was very close to turning around and getting straight back in the car.
My partner walked me to reception and told me it would be alright. She was being strong for me, but I could tell she wasn’t completely convinced either. Still, she got me through the door.
I checked in, got shown to my room, dumped my kit and went back out to say goodbye.
One last hug, a few quiet words, and off she went.
And that was that. No easy escape route anymore.
A Room Full of the Same Feeling
Back in reception, people were gathering, and it didn’t take long to realise I wasn’t the only one feeling like this.
You could see it on everyone’s faces. No one really making eye contact. Everyone pretending not to look at each other while absolutely looking at each other. Trying to work out who was who and what they’d been through.
Different stories, same sort of feeling hanging in the air.
The First Turning Point
We got split into groups and taken off for introductions. Anyone who’s been in the military knows how that goes. Stand up, say your name, give a bit of your background. Not exactly anyone’s favourite part of the day.
One of the instructors said something at the end that stuck with me. He said by the time we left, we’d all be in a better place than we were right then.
At the time, I remember thinking, “Yeah, alright mate, we’ll see.” Turns out, he wasn’t wrong.
Wheelchair Basketball
First activity was wheelchair basketball.
I didn’t really know what to expect, but it ended up being the moment things started to shift.
Being put in a wheelchair changes your perspective pretty quickly. It takes away all that internal comparison nonsense. Suddenly it’s not about who’s got what wrong with them, it’s just a group of people trying not to crash into each other while chasing a ball.
It was harder than it looks, absolutely knackering, and strangely good fun.
More importantly, it broke the ice. People started laughing. Properly laughing. You could feel the tension drop a notch. That was the moment it started to feel a bit different.
The Week Unfolds
From there, the week settled into a rhythm. Morning walks around the grounds, breakfast, then into the classroom for a chat before heading off to the day’s activities. Lunch, back into the classroom again, then the afternoon session, followed by another chat before dinner and winding down for the night.
At first, those classroom sessions weren’t something I was looking forward to. Sitting in a room talking isn’t really my thing. But they turned out to be a big part of it.
Nothing forced, no pressure, just a space where people could talk if they wanted to, or just sit and listen. As the week went on, people started opening up a bit more. You realised pretty quickly you weren’t the only one thinking the way you do.
It helped make sense of things, in a way that’s hard to explain. Not because anyone was fixing anything, but because you weren’t carrying it on your own for once.
The activities were what brought everyone together, but those chats are what made it stick.
Climbing stood out because of the trust involved. Holding someone’s rope focuses your mind quickly, and watching people with physical injuries get themselves up that wall was something else. It makes you realise how much of it is in your head.
Golf was completely new to me, but with a bit of guidance I managed not to embarrass myself, which I took as a win.
Seated volleyball was chaos in the best way. By that point we were starting to relax, take the mick out of each other, and actually enjoy it.
Archery was one of my favourites. Something about the focus and simplicity of it just clicked.
Cycling meant a lot because it’s always been my thing, but what stood out was seeing everyone else out there as well. Different bikes, all adapted in their own way, and everyone getting involved. No one left out.
Camaraderie
Somewhere along the way, without anyone really noticing when it happened, we became a team.
The same group of people who couldn’t look each other in the eye at the start were now laughing, taking the mick and backing each other up. That sense of camaraderie, the thing a lot of us miss after leaving, started creeping back in.
And I’d forgotten how much I’d missed it.
The Hardest Part
The last day came around quicker than any of us wanted. A few final bits, a group photo, a bit of a chat, and then it was time to go.
Saying goodbye was the hardest part.
It sounds daft, but in a few days you build something real. There were handshakes, hugs, a few watery eyes, and the usual “keep in touch” that, this time, you actually mean.
What This Week Meant
I went into that week convinced I didn’t belong there. Convinced I wasn’t bad enough to need it.
I was wrong.
It’s not about who’s worse off. It’s about giving people a chance to rebuild a bit of confidence, reconnect with others, and remember that they’re not on their own.
For me, and for everyone else there, it did exactly that.
Final Thought
If you’re sitting there thinking it’s not for you, or that someone else needs it more, or that you’ll feel out of place, I thought all of that as well.
Still worth going.
Because the hardest part isn’t the week. It’s turning up.
To find out more about the support the RBL could offer you, visit the Battle Back page on their site:
A Final Note
That week didn’t just stay at Lilleshall.
It’s part of the reason MindfulStep exists. Getting veterans back out, back together, and into places where things feel a bit simpler. Fresh air, shared experience, no pressure.
If you’re struggling, or you know someone who is, don’t leave it too long.
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