The Weight I Gained, Lost, and Carried

Kyle Welch
Apr 16
4 min read

March 7, 2025 – 3:44 AM

I woke up around 2:30 AM—another early hour in what’s become the now-normal stress-pocalypse. But this time, I couldn’t just roll over and ignore the noise. My mind kept spinning through the story of how I got here, and I figured… maybe it’s time to share it.

From Childhood Dreams to Military Duty

Growing up, I always wanted to serve. As a kid, I’d tell anyone who asked (and plenty who didn’t) that I wanted to be a police officer—to stop the bad guys and help those who needed it. That drive stuck with me, even when it became clear that wearing a badge wasn’t going to be my path.

Instead, I took a different route. I spent two years shedding 188 pounds to meet the weight requirements to join the Army. People said it was crazy. I used that as fuel. When my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Winder, showed up at my going-away party, and I saw the pride in my mother and grandmother’s eyes—I knew I was doing something bigger than myself.

Wearing the Uniform

Basic training at 24 meant I was the “old guy” in a sea of 17- and 18-year-olds. That never bothered me—in fact, I outperformed most of them. I found my stride. I became a leader. I found pride in serving a cause bigger than myself.

Then came EOD school. That’s where I trained beside the top 0.1% of our military—people with incredible grit, intelligence, and discipline. The pride I felt during that time was unmatched. I was learning to eliminate threats and protect my fellow soldiers. I had found my place.

Detour and Recovery

An injury changed everything. I was transferred to Fort Meade and soon found myself lost—trying to figure out what purpose looked like now. I trained to become a combat photographer while going through treatment at Walter Reed. It wasn’t the typical path, but nothing in my life ever has been.

When my medical retirement came, I felt everything at once—disappointment, relief, shame, freedom. I was grateful to focus on recovery, but devastated to leave the mission behind. I moved in with my brother and began the long, exhausting cycle of medical appointments. Physically, mentally, emotionally—I spiraled. I gained back the weight I had worked so hard to lose. I was disappearing into pain.

Trying to Rebuild

I knew I had to do something. Anything. So, like many veterans, I went back to school. Business Management seemed like a decent catch-all, even if I wasn’t sure where it would lead. The structure helped. And eventually, I landed an internship at the Social Security Administration. It felt good to serve again—to help people with retirement claims, disability filings, and legal name changes. I saw the direct impact I was making in people’s lives. That meant everything.

I was proud of the work. Proud to be back in service, even in a different way.

New Battles, New Chapters

Leaving SSA was bittersweet. I had found a rhythm and a sense of self. But it was also time to deal with the trauma and health issues I had been putting off. Therapy, fear, the unknown—it all hit hard.

Somehow, I kept going.

I stumbled into IT not out of passion, but potential. I was always good at figuring out how things worked, and a formal degree didn’t make sense when the material was already outdated. So, I went after certifications—three in three months. Turns out, there might be something to this.

That led to my first tech support job. Then, a major breakthrough: landing a full-time role in federal IT. Back in the service. Back with purpose.

I moved to a new state. In the middle of a pandemic. Knew no one. It was hell at first—but I gave it time. Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Now, nearly five years later, I’m still standing.

Serving Through the Storm

Federal work is often seen as safe and stable. But nothing about the last few years has felt that way. Under #47, we’ve faced a storm—chaotic executive orders, legal gray zones, and the breakdown of morale. It’s been demoralizing to watch the institutions we swore to uphold be torn apart for ego, not reform.

Most federal employees care deeply. They see the waste and flaws, yes—but they know the solution is a scalpel, not a chainsaw.

What we’re witnessing isn’t governance—it’s destruction. And some days, it’s hard not to feel like we’re all just trying to hang on to the soul of something that once gave us meaning.

Still Rising

This post wasn’t planned. It came from a quiet moment in the dark when I couldn’t sleep. But maybe that’s fitting.

Because Built Different Project isn’t about perfection. It’s about process. It’s about rebuilding from the wreckage—mind, body, career, identity—and finding something worth holding onto. Something worth becoming.