THE PART OF MY STORY PEOPLE DO NOT TALK ABOUT

Content note: The following section discusses military sexual trauma, sexual assault, PTSD, depression, and suicide.

My trauma is one that people often do not know how to discuss. I am a male survivor of military sexual trauma. While serving in the Marine Corps, I was sexually assaulted. That experience changed the course of my life.

For years, I struggled to find the help, understanding, and sense of community I needed. I went through treatment programs, wellness retreats, medical appointments, and therapies that did not always provide the relief I was searching for. I have lived through periods of severe depression, isolation, and suicidal crisis. There were times when continuing to live felt almost impossible.

Military sexual trauma is often discussed as though it only happens to women. Women are disproportionately affected, but male survivors also exist, and many of us suffer in silence. Shame, fear, stigma, and the belief that no one will understand can keep people from asking for help. I decided that silence could no longer be the only option.

I began speaking openly about my experience, not because it was easy, but because I knew other survivors might be listening. I have shared my story with military leaders, lawmakers, healthcare officials, veteran organizations, and members of my community. My advocacy has taken me into rooms where decisions are made about mental healthcare, suicide prevention, military sexual trauma, and veterans’ benefits.

I cannot change what happened to me. I can use what happened to help create change for someone else.

That purpose has become an important part of my recovery. It has not erased the trauma, and it has not made every day easy. It has given me a reason to keep showing up.

THE MEAL THAT BROUGHT ME HOME

Post Traumatic Shef Disorder began with a meal from my childhood.

I come from a Polish family, and some of my strongest memories are connected to my Busha’s cooking. One day, I decided to make pierogis the way she and my great-aunts used to make them. I did not have their exact recipe, so I tried to recreate it from memory.

I boiled and mashed the potatoes. I mixed and rolled the dough. I folded each little pocket by hand. I fried the pierogis and sprinkled a little sugar over them, just as I remembered.

Then I took a bite.

For a moment, I was no longer standing in my own kitchen. I was back in my Busha’s kitchen, surrounded by linoleum floors, wood-paneled walls, old cabinets, familiar smells, and the feeling of being cared for. It reminded me of the scene in Ratatouille when the food critic takes one bite and is instantly transported back to childhood.

That bite reminded me that food has an extraordinary power.

A meal can carry memory. It can preserve family history. It can make someone feel safe, even if only for a moment. It can reconnect us with people who are no longer here. It can take us somewhere that words cannot.

That experience changed the way I thought about cooking. I no longer saw it as something I simply enjoyed doing. I began to understand it as a way to connect with my family, my identity, my community, and myself.

The pierogis that helped inspire Post Traumatic Shef Disorder and reminded me how powerfully food can reconnect us with home.

WHY POST TRAUMATIC SHEF DISORDER?

The name started as a play on words, but it quickly became something more meaningful.

Post-traumatic stress disorder is part of my life, but I refuse to allow it to become the only thing that defines me. The word “Shef” represents my love of cooking, my sense of humor, and my belief that serious conversations do not always have to begin in serious places.

Sometimes they begin around a dinner table.

Sometimes they begin while baking cookies.

Sometimes a person opens up because they finally feel comfortable, and food has a way of creating that comfort.

Post Traumatic Shef Disorder allows me to be honest about trauma while also making room for humor, creativity, family, flavor, and joy. The name acknowledges what I carry without surrendering my entire identity to it.

RECIPES FOR RESILIENCE

Before the bakery, there was Recipes for Resilience.

Cooking became a way for me to tell stories about mental health, recovery, family, veteran advocacy, and the moments that keep us moving forward. It gave me a way to connect with people who might never attend a formal mental-health event but would stop to talk about a recipe, a meal, or a memory.

Food creates common ground.

A person may not know what to say to a veteran living with PTSD. They may not understand military sexual trauma or treatment-resistant depression. But they understand what it feels like to miss someone. They understand the smell of a grandparent’s kitchen. They understand the comfort of a favorite meal and the joy of sharing food with people they love.

Recipes for Resilience became a bridge between those experiences.

FROM RECIPES TO A BAKERY

Post Traumatic Shef Disorder is the next chapter of that work.

This cottage bakery gives me the opportunity to create food that is indulgent, memorable, and made with intention. The menu centers on oversized signature cookies, breads, muffins, cakes, seasonal specials, and other small-batch bakes.

Some customers will preorder online. Others will visit the walk-up bakery and choose from whatever has just come out of the oven. Some may know my entire story. Others may simply want an exceptional cookie.

Both are welcome.

The food must be good enough to stand on its own. The mission gives it meaning, but the quality, flavor, texture, and care behind every product are what bring people back.

I want someone to break open a warm cookie, see the center, take a bite, and have a moment that feels bigger than dessert. Maybe it reminds them of childhood. Maybe they share it with their family. Maybe it gives them a few minutes of comfort during a difficult week.

That is what I want this bakery to create.

COMMUNITY, COLLABORATION, AND ADVOCACY

The bakery is also a platform for connection.

I hope to collaborate with local businesses, veteran organizations, nonprofit groups, advocates, chefs, farmers, and people working to strengthen their communities. These collaborations may take the form of special products, fundraising events, food programs, speaking engagements, workshops, or projects that have not been imagined yet.

My public speaking and advocacy remain central to who I am. I will continue sharing my story in support of military sexual trauma survivors, veterans facing mental-health challenges, suicide-prevention efforts, and policies that help servicemembers and their families.

The bakery does not replace that work. It gives the work another home.

WHAT I HOPE YOU TAKE WITH YOU

Post Traumatic Shef Disorder is not about pretending that everything is fixed.

Recovery is not a straight line. Trauma does not disappear because someone starts a business, gives a speech, or learns how to bake a great cookie. There are still difficult days. There are still memories, symptoms, frustrations, and moments when resilience feels more like survival.

But there are also moments of connection, purpose, laughter, flavor, family, and joy.

Sometimes resilience looks like testifying before lawmakers.

Sometimes it looks like asking for help.

Sometimes it looks like getting out of bed and making it through the day.

Sometimes it looks like standing in a kitchen, covered in flour, trying to recreate a recipe that reminds you of someone you love.

My hope is that when you visit the bakery, order something for your family, attend one of my speaking engagements, collaborate on a project, or try one of my recipes, you leave with more than food.

I hope you feel a little more connected.

I hope you remember someone or somewhere that feels like home.

Most importantly, I hope you feel a little less alone.