Warning note: This story discusses substance use, depression, and suicidal thoughts. If you or someone you know is in crisis, call or text 988 to reach the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline.

By the time Kelly “Big Kill” Killingsworth arrived at Heroes and Horses, he had spent most of his life carrying weight no one else could see.

From the outside, many people would have described him as resilient. He had served his country. He had deployed to Iraq. He had pushed himself to excel as a soldier. He was dependable, disciplined, and strong.

But long before he ever wore the uniform, Kelly was carrying burdens that shaped the course of his life.

“It’s difficult for me to answer who I was before life became difficult,” he said. “Because when I look back, life almost always felt difficult.”

Kelly grew up in a troubled household marked by conflict and instability. His parents separated when he was young, leaving him to move between homes before eventually living with his father full-time. Even as a teenager, he struggled with pain he did not understand and had no idea how to talk about it.

At 15, alcohol entered his life. Not long after, it became a problem. Then, in 2003, a motorcycle accident changed everything. Kelly broke both his neck and back. Drugs followed.

“I could see where my life was heading,” he recalled. “And I knew it wasn’t anywhere good.”

In 2007, he joined the Army hoping to create a different future. The military gave him something he had been searching for his entire life.

“The Army gave me something I desperately needed: purpose, structure, responsibility, and a team.”

As a Human Intelligence Collector, Kelly deployed to Iraq in 2008 and 2009. He thrived in the military environment, pushing himself physically and becoming someone fellow soldiers could rely on. But beneath that success was another reality. One nobody knew about.

“In 2009, I sat with my loaded 9mm Beretta in my mouth, finger on the trigger,” he said. “Nobody knew.”

The contrast defined much of his life. Outwardly, he was successful. Internally, he was drowning.

The Harder Battle Began at Home
When Kelly returned from Afghanistan as a civilian contractor, there was no time to ease back into civilian life. Four days after he arrived home, his daughter was born. She was not breathing.

“She was purple, her arms were completely limp,” he said.

For several terrifying minutes, doctors worked to save her life and eventually she started breathing. Hospital staff began referring to her as the “miracle baby.” The experience changed Kelly’s plans forever. He knew he wasn’t going back overseas. What he didn’t know was how to be home.

“In the military and while working overseas, there was direction,” he said. “There was a mission.”

Civilian life felt entirely different. The structure was gone. The purpose felt unclear. Even routine conversations became difficult.

“If someone asked me more than a couple questions, I could immediately feel myself going into defense mode,” he said.

Over time, alcohol and drugs returned. So did the numbness. For years, Kelly lived in a world dominated by anger, depression, and isolation. From the outside, people saw a veteran with a job and a family. What they could not see was how disconnected he had become from himself. His daughter became the exception.

“She was the one thing that could break through the numbness.”

Still despite her presence in his life, Kelly continued struggling under the weight he carried. He had survived war. Now he was trying to figure out how to live.

A Promise That Changed Everything
The turning point came four years ago. Kelly was arrested for public intoxication and narcotics possession during an ongoing custody battle. This time, the consequences affected more than just him. He lost custody and was limited to supervised visitation. When he was finally able to see his children again, all three of them cried. That moment changed everything.

“I remember looking both of them in the eyes and making them a promise,” he said. “I would never put them in this kind of situation again.”

He never did. Sobriety was the first step. But Kelly quickly realized removing alcohol and drugs would not automatically heal the wounds beneath them. The promise he made to his children evolved into something larger. It became a commitment to becoming a different man, and eventually, it became a promise to himself.

Taking a Chance on Heroes and Horses
A friend and mentor eventually introduced Kelly to Heroes and Horses. The timing seemed almost impossible. He had recently fractured his pelvis and undergone hip surgery. He was still using a walker. Physically, he was not ready for the challenge. But mentally, something had shifted.

Through conversations with Heroes and Horses staff member Jason “Bigfoot,” Kelly began preparing himself for the possibility of attending the program. He changed his diet and focused on recovery. He lost weight and trained relentlessly. Most importantly, he stopped waiting.

“I decided to act like I had already been accepted,” he said.

Whether he received a spot or not, Kelly committed himself to becoming the person ready for the opportunity. When the call finally came, he was ready. Not because he was fully healed but because he was fully committed.

Learning How to Carry the Pack
During his 41 days at Heroes and Horses, Kelly confronted emotions he had spent years avoiding. Day after day, he cried. For a man who spent most of his life surviving, feeling everything became its own challenge.

“Anger. Guilt. Depression. Trauma. Things from my childhood. Things from the military. Things from being a father. All of it.”

The program forced him to unpack years of pain. Then one day, something shifted. Kelly remembers walking toward the barn. The sun was breaking through the clouds. He stopped. Opened his arms and looked toward the sky. And for the first time in years, he felt something different. Lighter.

“I realized that I didn’t have to keep carrying everything the same way.”

He describes life as carrying a pack. Inside that pack are the experiences that shape us: trauma, war, addiction, loss, regret, and pain. Heroes and Horses did not remove those things. Instead, it taught him something more important.

“Heroes and Horses didn’t empty my pack,” he said. “They taught me how to carry it.”

That realization became the foundation of his healing. His past hadn’t disappeared but it no longer controlled his future.

Becoming the Warrior Within
Today, Kelly’s life looks different. Not because he never struggles, but because struggle no longer defines him. He approaches relationships differently. He is more present with his family. He notices his emotions before reacting to them. He seeks growth instead of escape.

“Heroes and Horses helped me understand that strength isn’t about never struggling,” he said. “It’s about how you respond when you do.”

For Kelly, becoming a warrior is not about toughness. It is about self-awareness, responsibility, vulnerability, and presence. It is about continuing to move forward despite life’s challenges.

A Message to Other Veterans
Today, Kelly wants other veterans to know what he once needed to hear himself.

“Healing is possible,” he said.

He knows there are veterans carrying invisible wounds. Veterans battling depression, addiction, anger, guilt, and isolation. Veterans who may feel trapped beneath the weight of their own pack. His message is simple: keep climbing.

“There will be false summits,” he said. “There will be days when you think you’ve made it, only to realize there’s another mountain in front of you.”

But healing is still possible.

“The warrior is still in there,” he said. “Now go become the warrior within.”

How to Connect
To learn more about Heroes and Horses or support its mission, visit heroesandhorses.org.
Heroes and Horses offers a unique, intensive process where a person’s truth reorients their life in the silence of one’s own heart. We combine intensive horsemanship, physical challenge, digital detox, nutrition, and philosophical introspection with remote wilderness, mindfulness, and traditional rituals in a 41-day ceremony of self-discovery.