198. A Navy SEAL’s Hardest Mission: Finding Identity & Impact After Service | Active Valor

Perry Yee

In episode 198 of the Transition Drill Podcast, Perry Yee’s journey, from a quiet and independent childhood in New Hampshire to becoming a Navy SEAL, is a story of resilience, self-discovery, and transformation. Raised in a working-class home without a strong emotional foundation, Perry struggled with depression and self-doubt from an early age. After leaving college disillusioned, he pursued the hardest path he could find by attempting SEAL training. His military career was marked by multiple setbacks, including severe injuries and two medical rollbacks during BUD/S, but he ultimately earned his Trident and deployed to Afghanistan. However, life in the SEAL Teams brought its own challenges. Perry found it difficult to connect with leadership and struggled to fit into a culture that conflicted with his values and personality. Following his separation from the Navy, he faced new struggles adjusting to civilian life, but rediscovered his identity through faith, marriage, and fatherhood. Today, Perry channels his experiences into purpose-driven work, co-founding the nonprofit Active Valor to support Gold Star families and mentoring fellow veterans through their own transitions. His story is a testament to perseverance, personal accountability, and the power of service beyond the uniform, making his insights especially meaningful to military veterans navigating life after service.

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Perry Yee’s story begins in New York City, born in Greenwich Village to a young couple whose relationship didn’t last beyond his infancy. At just eight months old, Perry’s mother left the city and returned east, eventually settling in New Hampshire with Perry and his grandmother. Raised in Nashua, a mid-sized city bordering Massachusetts, Perry spent most of his formative years surrounded by a working-class environment and a family doing its best to get by.

His early years were shaped by the strong presence of his mother and grandmother. His mother worked nights as a bartender, leaving much of Perry’s daily care to his grandmother, who helped raise him until he was about nine. That year, Perry’s life shifted again. His mother remarried a New Hampshire corrections officer who, despite Perry’s attempts to chase him away, eventually became a steady father figure. The man’s persistence earned Perry’s respect, and over time, they built a bond that remains strong to this day.

Perry’s family later grew with the arrival of a younger half-brother, nearly ten years his junior. Adjusting to life as an older sibling came with its own mix of responsibility and resentment, especially during his teenage years when he watched his brother receive the kind of relaxed parenting he never had. Still, the household, while not particularly nurturing or emotionally expressive, was stable. It provided the basics: food, shelter, and a sense of structure, if not warmth.

Throughout childhood, Perry gravitated toward video games and solo hobbies. He played sports like baseball, basketball, and a bit of hockey, but never stood out athletically. He was undersized, especially for contact sports like football, where he struggled to find his place. He often walked or biked alone to games and practices. His parents rarely attended. Independence wasn’t a choice; it was just how things were.

Academically, school never felt like a fit. Perry describes himself as a consistent C student, not for lack of intelligence, but from a disinterest in the classroom structure. His mind wandered. He daydreamed. Subjects that didn’t grab his attention quickly fell by the wayside. His friend group was full of high achievers in AP classes, and Perry often felt like the odd man out intellectually. Still, he enjoyed the social side of high school and the escape it offered from home life.

After graduating in 2003, Perry briefly attended Plymouth State University in New Hampshire, enrolling as a criminal justice major. But college felt like more of the same; disconnected, uninspiring, and directionless. After just one semester, he left.

Faced with few clear paths forward, Perry reached out to a close friend who had joined the Navy as a Seabee. That conversation opened the door. He visited recruiters from each branch, asking a simple question: “What’s the hardest thing you’ve got?” The Navy recruiter introduced him to the SEAL program. With no lifelong dream of becoming a Navy SEAL and little knowledge about what it entailed, Perry made the choice that would reshape his life. He committed to taking the toughest path available.

When Perry Yee enlisted in the Navy, he signed a BUD/S contract, granting him the opportunity to attempt the rigorous training pipeline for the Navy SEALs. Even with the path set, nothing came easy. The journey began with bootcamp at Great Lakes, Illinois, where he quickly realized that standard Navy training was a mere formality for those with special operations ambitions. Bootcamp lacked physical intensity, and Perry spent most of his time focused on passing the screening test required to progress toward BUD/S.

From there, he attended IT “A” School to meet the Navy’s source rate requirement. While waiting for school dates, Perry entered a long delayed entry program and trained relentlessly. His commitment was clear. Still, delays continued. After bootcamp and “A” School, he joined the Dive Motivator Program, a loosely organized but physically punishing pre-BUD/S program. There, he endured some of the hardest beatings of his military career. The training was unregulated and intense, more brutal than the actual BUD/S instructors due to a lack of oversight. He pushed through injuries, overuse, and stress in preparation for his first BUD/S class.

Perry’s first attempt at BUD/S came with Class 259 in early 2006. After months of punishing preparation, he arrived in Coronado to begin first phase. However, during Hell Week, he developed brachial plexopathy, a form of nerve damage that left his left arm completely dead. When his right arm also began to go numb, instructors pulled him from training and sent him to recover.

For over three months, he worked in the Indoc office while waiting for the nerve damage to heal. During that time, he built rapport with instructors and kept up his cardio, even though he could not do upper-body workouts. Eventually, the feeling returned to his arm, and he re-entered training with Class 261. Again, he pushed through first phase, only to be sidelined by pneumonia during Hell Week. He collapsed in the chow hall and woke up in the ER with dangerously low oxygen levels. His boots were being cut off as medics worked to stabilize him.

Despite the setback, the Navy gave him another shot. He classed up again with Class 262. At this point, he was physically broken but mentally locked in. Stress fractures in his ankles and hips plagued him. Still, he made it through Hell Week and the rest of BUD/S, often requiring help to walk after swims due to pain. By second phase, the dive-focused portion of training, he was relying on sheer willpower to keep going. Yet, he made it. Perry graduated and earned the SEAL Trident after completing SQT, then reported to SEAL Team 7 in 2007.

His arrival at the team was a major milestone. Years of sacrifice and suffering culminated in that moment. Assigned to a West Coast team, Perry got his wish to stay in San Diego. Initially, the experience was surreal. He had achieved what many only dream of in the military. However, cracks soon appeared.

While the training pipeline had tested his body and mind, it did not prepare him for the interpersonal challenges that would follow. Within his platoon, Perry struggled to find a sense of belonging. Although he had trained with many of the men in his team, the culture and leadership dynamics made it difficult to connect. He often felt like an outsider and was treated as such. Despite his performance and dedication, he was not given opportunities to grow within the team structure.

Still, he deployed to Afghanistan in 2009, where he saw real combat and the games of garrison life temporarily stopped. The deployment was intense. Temperatures soared, terrain was brutal, and firefights were frequent. From a new guy’s perspective, it was the kind of mission Navy SEALs trained for. It offered a sense of purpose and clarity that had been missing. But the return home would mark the beginning of a different kind of battle.

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For Perry Yee, earning the Trident and becoming a Navy SEAL was supposed to be the moment everything changed. After multiple injuries, three separate Hell Weeks, and years of perseverance, he had done what many cannot. But when he joined SEAL Team 7, the internal battle that had followed him since childhood continued.

From the start, Perry felt out of place. He wasn’t the stereotypical hard-partying, bar-fighting personality that many associated with the culture at the time. His quiet nature, ongoing struggles with depression, and preference for stability over chaos made it difficult to bond with leadership or integrate fully into team life. The confidence he had hoped would be built through success in the SEAL pipeline never fully replaced the underlying negativity he carried from a difficult upbringing.

Despite proving himself on deployment to Afghanistan in 2009, where his team engaged in frequent combat and faced real adversity, things back home never improved. In fact, they got worse. After returning stateside, Perry looked forward to further development and opportunities. Instead, he found himself blocked at every turn. His request to attend Breacher School was initially approved, only to be revoked. Without warning, he was placed into a three-month Tagalog language course as the team prepared for potential deployment to the Philippines.

The reassignment seemed out of place and poorly suited to his skills. He had no aptitude for languages and had never expressed interest in the program. Still, he did the work. When he was finally rescheduled for Breacher School, he was pulled again—this time for an advanced Tagalog course. These disruptions left him isolated and increasingly resentful.

Rather than doubling down with discipline, Perry began acting out. He admits that his attitude and decisions during this time contributed to the spiral. He lost sight of who he was and began to behave in ways that were out of character. Relationships within the team deteriorated. Trust evaporated.

The situation worsened when a miscommunication during his time at the language school led to accusations of unauthorized absence. Perry had received approval from his platoon chief and instructors to take time off to host his younger brother, but the command above the schoolhouse was not informed. Instead of clarifying the situation, the school reported him to higher command. The Navy labeled him as UA—unauthorized absence. That incident became a tipping point.

Perry tried to fight for his place, even going over his command’s head to plead his case at the highest levels. He was offered a chance to stay by being rotated into different platoons. But the damage had been done. The sense of value and respect he sought was never given, and his actions—some justified, some self-inflicted—further distanced him from the community.

When the time came, his command gave him a choice: stay and deal with the consequences, transfer to a different team, or separate from the Navy. After weighing the toll on his mental health and recognizing how far he had drifted from the person he once hoped to become, Perry made the decision to walk away. Six years in, and just two years after deployment, his military career was over. What followed was a new set of challenges—this time with no team, no mission, and no roadmap.

Life after service was anything but smooth for Perry Yee. Transitioning from the Navy SEAL Teams into civilian life came with an identity crisis that few outside the military can fully understand. The discipline, structure, and intensity that had once shaped his daily life were suddenly gone. He struggled mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, navigating a world where the Trident no longer defined his purpose.

The turning point came in 2016. Perry, who had never grown up religious, found himself searching for something more. Though raised nominally Catholic, church was not part of his upbringing. But in that year, his faith journey took a powerful shift. He became a Christian and accepted Christ, and in that moment, everything began to change. He no longer saw himself as simply a former SEAL or a veteran battling old demons. He found a sense of belonging and worth through his faith that no achievement or uniform had ever provided.

At the heart of this transformation was his family. Today, Perry is a husband and father. He and his wife share a deep bond, both personally and professionally. Their daughter, just shy of 18 months, is a constant source of joy and a reminder of what matters most. Even in the challenges of parenthood, they approach life as a team. While their daughter has faced some minor physical development delays, Perry and his wife approach those moments with care and attentiveness, trusting in the process and cherishing the season they are in.

Their shared vision extends beyond their home. Together, they co-founded Active Valor, a nonprofit organization that pairs transitioning combat veterans with Gold Star children—sons and daughters of fallen military service members. The program is designed to build mentorship, healing, and purpose. Veterans who may otherwise feel lost after leaving the military find meaning in guiding young lives that carry the legacy of service. The children gain role models and experience a sense of connection with the military world their parents were part of. The nonprofit is deeply personal and reflects Perry’s commitment to helping other military veterans navigate life after service.

Alongside Active Valor, Perry also runs a safety consulting business. His work focuses on providing practical, mission-oriented safety guidance for companies and organizations. Drawing from his military training and operational experience, he helps clients prepare for the unexpected, manage risk, and build effective emergency response plans. His consulting work complements his desire to serve with integrity and purpose.

While Perry admits he is still a work in progress, he is more intentional than ever. He works to stay connected with other men, acknowledging how easy it is to become isolated. Like many veterans, he finds comfort at home, but he also recognizes the need for relationships and community beyond his immediate family. The years of military service, personal struggle, and spiritual growth have shaped him into someone who is now helping others navigate their own transitions with strength and humility.

The go-to podcast for military veterans, police officers, firefighters, EMTs, and first responders preparing for life after service. Hosted by Paul Pantani—a retired law enforcement leader with 30+ years of experience—Transition Drill features candid conversations with veterans from every military branch, as well as law enforcement professionals navigating career change, retirement, and the transition to civilian life. Guests share stories of mental health, post-traumatic growth, job search strategies, and what it really takes to succeed after the uniform. Whether you're transitioning from policing, firefighting, or military service, this podcast will help you lead the next chapter with clarity and confidence.

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