Radar - Finding My Way Back at the Men's Shed (Cochrane & Water Valley)

My name's Radar. I'm a veteran. I'm also a third-generation welder and pipeline worker, and now, I am part of two men's sheds, one in Cochrane and one in Water Valley.

Andy was the one who introduced me to the Shed. He explained what it was about, and right away, I knew it fit the parameters of what I needed. I live with PTSD. Social situations have always been challenging for me and still are. I chose welding because it meant fewer people: just me, the metal, the heat and peace. But being isolated takes its toll, too. And deep down, I wanted more than just peace. I wanted purpose. Connection. A reason to show up.

The Men's Shed gave me that.

In this specific Shed, these men let me be me. I'm a bit of an oddball. I've never followed the usual path. I tried the family thing once, but it was short-lived. I've had an extraordinary, chaotic life, and because of that, I don't always fit. But here, I don't have to perform. I don't have to wear the mask I learned in the military. I don't have to explain myself. I get to be me.

At first, Andy and I thought this was just a good idea. But as we started building the Shed together, we realized something bigger was happening. We approached Sherry and Hillary from FCSS, and now we're setting up something real in our town that could help save lives.

Because the truth is, we have a depressingly high rate of suicide among seniors here. These aren't guys you'd expect. They're men with families and careers. But after retirement, after the uniform is gone, the tool belt hung up, there's nowhere to go, no one to talk to. There is no purpose to hold onto. And that loss? It's deadly. That's what the Men's Shed helps fill that gap. The one no one talks about.

I know what loneliness feels like. I've bounced around, tried to make peace with the past, and struggled hard. I was ready to give up more times than I can count. But this thing, this Shed, showed up when I needed it. It was personal, not corporate, not clinical, just real.

We're setting up our Shed in a way that works for people like me. If you want to talk, you can. If you don't, no one pushes. You can show up and exist and may open up when the time feels right. You'll find someone here who gets it. Someone walked through their fire and made it out to the other side. There's no judgment. That's not what this is about.

Our first project was building chairs for a priest who runs his outreach program. That simple act of getting dirty, building something with other men, and knowing it was going to help someone else brought back in me that old feeling of contribution, usefulness, and pride.

The military gave me a brotherhood of men I could trust with my life. After I left, nothing came close to that. No one understood. But I can see this Shed becoming something close to that again. It is not the same but rooted in the same values: service, trust, and loyalty. We're building that bond again. Quietly. One chair, one coffee, one honest conversation at a time.

Not everyone who joins will have a background like mine, but many will carry their own pain. We want to build a Shed that welcomes all of it: the quiet ones, the talkers, the oddballs, the professionals, the men who need something to hold onto, and yes, those who want to come to drink coffee and shoot the breeze.

This Shed is a space where no man has to pretend. And in a world that constantly tells men to hold it in, that's pretty damn important.