In the aftermath of unimaginable tragedy, stories of everyday people rising to the occasion to help others often capture the public’s attention. However, the spotlight on these “accidental heroes” quickly fades, leaving them to grapple with the lasting trauma of their experiences.
Anneke Weemae-Sutcliffe’s life was forever changed on March 22, 2016, when she narrowly escaped the Brussels airport bombings. Though miraculously unharmed, Weemae-Sutcliffe made the split-second decision to risk her own life and return to the scene, crawling over debris and bodies to provide aid to the wounded.
“It turned from buzzing with life to a war zone. It’s horrific, absolutely horrific,” she recalls. Weemae-Sutcliffe was later awarded an Australian Commendation for her bravery, but the recognition has done little to quell the psychological scars she continues to endure.
“After the bombings, I probably wished I hadn’t gone back in, because I fucked up my life,” she admits, describing years marked by intrusive memories, panic, and enduring guilt for those she couldn’t save.
Dr. Thomas Voigt, who interviewed 24 Australian bravery award recipients for his PhD, found that nearly 90% were either diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder or displayed symptoms of the condition. One-third also suffered financial hardship due to their trauma.
“Generally speaking, there’s lots of media attention and lots of hype, you get your award but then there’s nothing,” Voigt says. Unlike emergency service personnel, civilian heroes often receive no formal support or intervention to address the aftermath of their traumatic experiences.
The case of Syrian-born Ahmed al-Ahmed, who rose to international fame after disarming a shooter during Australia’s deadliest terror attack, illustrates this dichotomy. In the days following the incident, al-Ahmed was showered with praise and accolades, including a roaring ovation at a cricket match and a whirlwind trip to the United States. However, the spotlight quickly moved on, leaving him to grapple with the emotional and physical toll of his heroism.
“When you are held up as a hero type, you can naturally feel very special,” explains Dr. Fiona Reynolds, a former ABC reporter who researched how people survive traumatic events in the media spotlight. “Then the spotlight moves on. For some people that’s welcome, but others feel suddenly unimportant and even discarded.”
For those who have answered the call to heroism, the journey of reclaiming meaning and purpose in the aftermath of trauma can be a complex and arduous one. Yet, as Weemae-Sutcliffe’s experience demonstrates, the capacity for post-traumatic growth exists – a greater appreciation for the small joys of life, a renewed sense of purpose, and the knowledge that one’s actions, however imperfect, made a difference in the face of unimaginable darkness.
“Becuase you just never know what will happen tomorrow,” Weemae-Sutcliffe reflects. “One day it might be you.”