Jeremy Harrell: From Battlefield to Healing the Veteran Community

From Louisville Streets to Army Combat

Jeremy Harrell grew up in Louisville, Kentucky, in what he describes as “a pretty bad environment, you know, has some domestic violence, some alcoholism, drug use, poverty, all the perfect formula to set you up for failure.” As an only child navigating that chaos, he had to figure out survival on his own. “It makes you really have to dig deep and try to figure out how to problem solve on your own,” Jeremy told me.

What struck me about Jeremy’s story was how early he recognized something was wrong with his situation. Spending nights at classmates’ houses opened his eyes. “I would go to their house and go, wow, this is like the Taj Mahal here. You’re getting snacks. Nobody’s hitting each other and nobody’s drunk.” That contrast planted a seed that would drive everything that followed.

The military became his escape route. “I decided to join in military and I thought, well, you know, this, there’s a bunch of benefits to that. Number one, I get to go do something bigger than myself. I’ve always been an advocate for the underdog because I’ve been the underdog for so long.”

Accepting Death in Iraq

In 2003, Jeremy deployed to Iraq for what became a 15-month tour during the initial invasion. The reality of combat hit differently than training. “When you’re training, you’re shooting at targets and these targets do not shoot back. And it’s a whole different ball game when that script flips,” he explained.

The psychological shift Jeremy made to survive is one of the most intense things I’ve heard on this podcast. “I really had to get to a place where I had to really like look at a mirror and accept that I’m probably going to die here. And then when I accepted it… I wasn’t as scared anymore.” He continued, “It’s almost like I thought, well, what a way to go. If I’m going to have to die, what better way than for my country.”

That mental preparation came at a cost. As Jeremy put it, “I’ll never be that same guy that I was before I went there. And so, you know, that’s just very, very difficult thing to deal with.”

The Invisible Wounds Come Home

Coming back to civilian life after 15 months in Iraq wasn’t the homecoming Jeremy had imagined. “Man, it was, I don’t know that I’ve a hundred percent transitioned to this day,” he admitted. Despite public recognition and hero’s welcomes, something was missing. “I remember like riding through the parade and I’m sitting on this car and everybody’s clapping and I’m just going, I have a little bit of pain in my heart going, the juice wasn’t worth the squeeze.”

The real Jeremy had been left behind in Iraq. “I was very numb. Like I didn’t have a lot of filling for anybody or anything because again, I had to turn the fillings off to do that kind of work. And I had to die to myself.”

It took a decade for Jeremy to get help, and it happened because a former Marine boss recognized what Jeremy couldn’t see. The boss told him employees found him unapproachable and that he was having trouble staying awake in meetings. When Jeremy promised to get help, his boss said it wasn’t that simple. “He said, I have to let you go… He says, but I know if I don’t do that, you won’t go.”

Building Veterans Club from Scratch

After his VA diagnosis of PTSD and traumatic brain injury, Jeremy became what he calls a “subject matter expert” on his own conditions. He went to 12 different PTSD programs around the country, learning everything he could. This knowledge made him a go-to media source for veteran issues, appearing on Fox, CNN, and the History Channel.

Veterans Club started almost by accident. After appearing on Megan Kelly’s show about equine therapy, she announced on air that Jeremy would be doing similar work in Kentucky. “I hop on the phone and Patrick, his name is Patrick. He just says, I did not tell her that. And I said, I literally live in a subdivision. I have a quarter acre lot. I don’t even have a dog.”

But Jeremy and his wife made it work, starting with cookouts and coffee shop meetings. “I learned that it’s not always throwing money at a problem that fixes a problem. So I started doing this comment. We’d have cookouts. Come on to the house. Bring your kids.” The organization grew to include tiny homes for homeless veterans and became nationally recognized.

When the Government Knocked

In October 2023, after returning from intensive PTSD treatment at Emory University, Jeremy was at Veterans Club headquarters when two men knocked on the door. “They have a brewing hat on backpack. You know, okay, a couple of vets. No problem,” Jeremy recalled. But once they started asking questions, Jeremy realized something was wrong. “I’m like, guys, this doesn’t seem like a conversation to me. This is more like an interrogation.”

They were FBI agents investigating whether Jeremy’s disability benefits were legitimate, given his ability to run a successful nonprofit. The government’s position seemed to be that if Jeremy could do 68 hours a week of volunteer work, he wasn’t truly disabled. Jeremy’s response cuts to the heart of the absurdity: “Do you know what I had to do? I was 21 years old when I decided I’m going to die.”

The case went to trial, and Jeremy was convicted. He faces sentencing soon, but the support from the veteran community remains strong. As Jeremy sees it, “This is not like somebody brought something up and everybody came out of the woodworks and said, no, no, no, he’s not a good guy. This is somebody that has a bunch of warriors behind him saying he’s helped me. He’s changed my life.”

What gets me about Jeremy’s story is the fundamental question it raises about how we treat veterans who find ways to transform their trauma into service. Jeremy didn’t choose the easy path of staying home and collecting benefits. He chose to build something that helped hundreds of other veterans heal. The fact that this choice put him in legal jeopardy says something troubling about how our system works.