What 25 Years as a Military Psychologist Taught Me

When I first became a psychologist, I don't think I could have imagined where the profession would take me. Over more than 25 years working in military psychology, I've worked in offices and clinics, on military bases and aboard ships. I've supported people through difficult periods in their lives, assessed suitability for demanding roles, worked alongside leaders and teams, and spent a considerable amount of time thinking about how people cope, adapt and continue functioning when circumstances are less than ideal.

There have been formal roles, operational deployments and plenty of professional milestones along the way. But when I think about what the work has taught me, it's rarely the formal parts that come to mind. It's the people and the conversations. Often the unexpected ones.

Psychology Doesn't Always Happen in a Consulting Room

Some of the most meaningful conversations I've had as a psychologist haven't taken place in a psychology office. At sea, there is no consulting room in the traditional sense. Support might happen on the bridge, in a passageway, over a cup of coffee or during a quick conversation between duties.

Sometimes someone will stop you because they have something on their mind. Other times a seemingly casual conversation gradually becomes something more important. I've learned not to underestimate those moments.

Psychology can sometimes become very focused on appointments, assessments, interventions and formal processes. All of those things matter. But people don't necessarily choose the most convenient time or place to talk about the things that are troubling them. Sometimes the most useful thing you can do is simply be available when they do.

Trust Comes Before Advice

Working in military environments taught me very early that being a psychologist doesn't automatically mean people will trust you. Trust has to be earned. People want to know whether you understand something of their world. They notice whether you listen before offering an opinion. They notice whether you're genuinely interested in them or simply working through a process. And they usually know when you're trying too hard.

Over the years, I've become less interested in having the perfect thing to say and more interested in understanding what is actually happening for the person in front of me. Often people don't need an immediate solution. They need somewhere to think out loud.

People Are Often More Capable Than They Realise

Military psychology inevitably brings you into contact with people experiencing difficult circumstances. I've worked with people facing loss, uncertainty, relationship difficulties, demanding work environments, operational stress and major life transitions.

What has stayed with me is not simply how people struggle, but how often they adapt. That doesn't mean difficult experiences are somehow good for us, or that everyone emerges stronger because of them. I've become wary of neat stories about resilience that make adversity sound like an opportunity for personal growth.

Sometimes difficult things are simply difficult. But I've also seen people discover that they can tolerate uncertainty, ask for help, make difficult decisions and adjust to circumstances they would once have thought beyond them. Often they already possess many of the resources they need. They just can't always see them when they're in the middle of something hard.

Context Matters

One of the privileges of working as a military psychologist has been seeing people in the environments in which they actually live and work. It changes your understanding. Behaviour that might look puzzling when viewed in isolation can make considerably more sense when you understand the culture, the workload, the relationships, the expectations and the pressures surrounding it.

The same is true of teams. A group of individually capable people doesn't automatically become an effective team. How people communicate, whether they trust one another, how leadership is exercised, and whether people feel able to speak honestly all matter.

I've become increasingly interested in that space between the individual and the environment. Rather than asking only, What's going on with this person?, it can be equally important to ask, What's going on around them?

Leadership Is Often Quieter Than We Imagine

I've spent much of my career working with leaders or occupying leadership roles myself. My understanding of leadership has changed considerably over that time. I once associated leadership more readily with confidence, decisiveness and having answers. I now think some of the most effective leadership is much quieter.

It's noticing what's happening in a team before it becomes a problem. It's asking a question rather than immediately providing an answer. It's being willing to change your mind. It's creating an environment where someone can say, "I'm not sure," or "I think we've got this wrong."

And sometimes it's recognising when the people around you know more than you do.

Experience hasn't made me believe that good leaders have all the answers. If anything, it has made me more comfortable with the idea that they don't.

Psychologists Are Part of the System Too

Perhaps one of the more humbling lessons has been recognising that psychologists aren't neutral observers standing outside the environments in which we work. We bring ourselves with us. Our assumptions, experiences, preferences and blind spots influence what we notice and how we interpret it.

Experience helps, but it can also create its own risks. The longer we work in a particular environment, the easier it can become to assume we understand what's happening because we've seen something similar before. That's why reflection, supervision and the willingness to remain curious matter. After more than 25 years, I probably have fewer simple answers than I did when I started. I don't see that as a bad thing.

What Stays With Me

When I look back over my career in military psychology, there are certainly particular roles, deployments and professional achievements I'm proud of. But they're not what I remember most. I remember conversations. I remember people who trusted me with parts of their lives that were difficult to talk about. I remember humour in places where you might not expect to find much of it. I remember watching people support each other through difficult circumstances, often quietly and without recognition.

And I remember the many people—from junior sailors and soldiers to senior leaders, colleagues and fellow psychologists—who taught me something about people that no textbook ever could.

Perhaps that's the biggest lesson of all. After more than 25 years as a psychologist, I remain fascinated by people, by what helps us cope, how we make sense of difficult experiences, the ways we influence one another and by what gives our work meaning.

And by how much there still is to understand.