31. Force Recon Marine (Ret.) MSgt| PTSD, Suicide | Warfighter Made – Off-Road Therapy

Robert Blanton

In episode 31 of the Transition Drill Podcast, retired Marine Corps Master Sergeant Robert shares a raw and deeply personal account of a life shaped by service, trauma, and the unwavering will to fight forward. From a rough start growing up, Rob followed friends into the Marine Corps with little understanding of what awaited him. Over a 21-year career, he rose from an open contract infantryman to a Force Recon Marine and Silver Star recipient, serving in Somalia and Iraq through four combat deployments. But the cost of service came due in retirement. Rob struggled with post-traumatic stress, traumatic brain injury, fractured family relationships, and near-suicidal despair—until a silent act of support from his wife, Halima, a fellow Marine, helped him step back from the brink. What followed was not just recovery, but a mission. Through founding Warfighter Made, Blanton now empowers other veterans by combining off-road therapy with community and purpose. His journey reflects the brutal truth behind the military transition—and the resilience that can emerge when a veteran refuses to quit, refuses to hide, and instead leads the way for others navigating life after service.

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Growing up in Santa Rosa, California, just north of the Bay Area, Robert Blanton lived a childhood shaped by challenges, independence, and the quiet lessons of hard work. Raised primarily by his grandfather due to his mother’s struggles with addiction and his father’s constant workload, Blanton learned early what it meant to navigate the world without much guidance. He wasn’t a troublemaker—just a good kid who made questionable choices. School was a social event more than an academic pursuit, and despite playing football, he graduated high school with a 1.6 GPA. “Harvard wasn’t calling,” he would later joke, reflecting with blunt honesty on those years.

Rob knew what he didn’t want: he had no interest in joining the family HVAC business, where his father and others in his circle worked. And he certainly wasn’t heading to college. The idea of adulthood felt more like an obligation than a calling—until one of his close friends made a decision that would unknowingly change the course of Blanton’s life.

One morning in high school, his friend showed up to class after an absence and casually announced he had enlisted in the Marine Corps. For Rob, who knew almost nothing about military service beyond childhood games of playing war, the news came as a surprise. “As far as I was concerned,” he said, “Marine was just another term for Army.” His friend’s father had served in Vietnam, and that sense of lineage had clearly influenced the decision. What followed was a ripple effect—recruiters began calling, and more friends began to sign up. Rob, uncertain about his own path but loyal to his crew, followed suit.

What began as a group of five buddies set to ship out together through the Marine Corps’ Delayed Entry Program quickly fell apart. Two friends dropped out of school, assuming that would void their contracts. The recruiter, determined to hold them to their word, found a loophole to get them shipped anyway. They completed boot camp but later deserted. Another friend broke his leg before shipping out. Eventually, the once-tight group dwindled to two—Rob and the very friend who had started it all.

Then came the moment of truth, literally. At MEPS, his friend confessed to recent drug use during his final physical and was removed from shipping. Rob, who had joined only because of peer influence, now stood alone on the infamous yellow footprints in San Diego. The follower had become the one leading the way.

Lying in the dark barracks on that first sleepless night of boot camp, surrounded by other recruits quietly crying, Rob remembered the words of his grandfather—a World War II pilot who once told him, “Don’t ever quit.” That single statement, delivered with a rare emotional weight, grounded him. He had no clear plan and hadn’t joined the Marine Corps with any grand ambition. But at that moment, something clicked. If this was the path he’d chosen, then he would honor it. Not for accolades. Not for approval. Simply because he had made the decision to stand.

Blanton’s introduction to Marine Corps life was humble, even uncertain. He had done so poorly in school that his Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) scores disqualified him from choosing a Military Occupational Specialty. He enlisted under an open contract—effectively handing his future over to the needs of the Marine Corps. His recruiter, a man he still credits for being honest and supportive, offered only one guarantee: “There’s opportunity once you get in.”

During Marine Combat Training, that opportunity arrived. A senior NCO stood in front of the open contract group and offered a single guaranteed MOS: 0311, Infantry. Fifteen men scrambled to claim the limited slots. Blanton was among them.

Assigned to 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines at Camp Horno, he spent his early years in a platoon where only a handful of Marines seemed truly committed. Most were just riding out their time. Disillusionment began to set in. He hadn’t joined just to coast. There had to be more.

He found that “more” during a Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU) deployment to Somalia. This was shortly after the infamous events depicted in Black Hawk Down. His unit was sent in to assist with United Nations withdrawals. During that deployment, he crossed paths with Force Reconnaissance Marines—silent professionals who exuded purpose and mastery. Watching them train aboard ship, Blanton felt something awaken. “That,” he thought, “is what I joined the Marine Corps to do.”

Upon returning stateside, he set his sights on Force Recon. He failed his first attempt—not physically, but during the interview. Despite being one of only four out of 20+ candidates to complete the physically punishing selection process, he was told, “You failed. We’ll see you again.” The setback was crushing. He had been eager to prove himself, to impress those around him—including the woman who would become his wife, Halima, a fellow Marine and eventual Chief Warrant Officer. But rather than give up, he used the rejection as fuel. Six months later, he returned and passed decisively.

Blanton would spend the next ten years with 1st Force Recon Company, a decade defined by grueling training, combat deployments, and hard-earned respect. His journey took him from the Middle East to the Pacific, serving in critical roles from team leader to platoon sergeant. His final deployment was a particularly harrowing one—2008, in Iraq, conducting counterinsurgency operations.

On one mission, his team was ambushed. Rob led his element through a chaotic and deadly engagement, during which a suicide bomber detonated near his vehicle. One Marine under his command, Mike, was killed instantly. Others were wounded. Blanton personally led the recovery of his fallen Marine, coordinated close air support, and ensured his platoon’s survival. For his actions that day, he was awarded the Silver Star for extraordinary heroism.

But the physical wounds of war were only part of the story. Rob also carried invisible ones. Diagnosed later with severe post-traumatic stress and traumatic brain injury, he began to confront the reality that combat leaves a mark beyond the battlefield.

Still, he pushed forward. Promoted to Master Sergeant, he took on a leadership role at Recon Training Company—responsible for shaping the next generation of Recon Marines. He remained hands-on, leading from the front during pool training, ruck runs, and live instruction. But behind the discipline and drive, the signs of wear were mounting.

When the Marine Corps later offered him a final promotion that would require an unaccompanied tour to Okinawa, he paused. His wife had just retired. his daughter was in high school. And his mind was heavy. He had proven himself in the most elite circles of the Marine Corps. But now, it was time to shift his focus—not on how much more he could give, but on what he still needed to heal.

In 2014, after 21 years of service, Master Sergeant Robert Blanton chose to retire from the United States Marine Corps. Not because he couldn’t continue. But because it was time to stop surviving and start rebuilding.

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When Blanton retired from the Marine Corps in 2014, it wasn’t with fanfare or relief—it was with a quiet weight he couldn’t shake. By then, he had served 21 years, deployed to combat zones four times, and carried a Silver Star for extraordinary heroism. But behind the resume of a decorated Marine was a man battling darkness he couldn’t explain, and pain he couldn’t easily share.

The transition out of uniform was disorienting. Rob had structure, purpose, and identity in the Marine Corps. Now, the routine was gone. The brotherhood was gone. The mission—unclear. He tried to shift gears. There was even a plan to join a local law enforcement agency, one he had prepared for by completing the San Bernardino SWAT course. But during the oral interview, a disconnect emerged—one rooted in cultural misunderstanding. His answers, shaped by a military context, were misinterpreted. He didn’t get the job.

In that moment, the loss wasn’t just about employment. It was about direction. The path he had envisioned disappeared. And in its absence, Rob began to unravel.

He was already struggling. Anger became a daily companion. Little things—traffic, rude behavior, noise—set him off. He was working out regularly, even running up to 12 miles a day, but no amount of sweat could outpace what was happening inside his head. He started drinking more, not to escape entirely, but to change how he felt—just for a few hours.

Sleep became fragmented and rare. He would get maybe three hours a night, broken up into restless intervals. His patience thinned. His fuse shortened. Worst of all, his relationship with his teenage son began to crumble. Rob loved his children fiercely, but his son couldn’t do anything right in his eyes. And his daughter, sensitive and aware, was starting to mirror his instability.

He tried therapy, but it was hard to trust. One military doctor accused him of faking symptoms to pad his retirement—an accusation so enraging Rob nearly had to be restrained. Eventually, he found a therapist he could connect with. But even with some progress, he resisted medication. He was a Marine. He fixed things. He didn’t mask them.

Until one night in 2011, everything changed.

Robert had been on medication for a few months, still drinking, still exhausted, and emotionally numb. That night, he reached his breaking point. He saw no way out. In his mind, his family would be better off without him. He believed that ending his life was the most unselfish decision he could make.

But before he could act, his wife—Halima—stopped him.

That moment became a turning point. In the language of Force Recon, when a Marine is alone on a threshold and needs another to enter danger with him, he calls for support. If another Marine responds, they tap his leg and say, “With you.”

In his darkest moment, Rob didn’t call out loud. But Halima gave him that silent tap. She stepped in—not just as a wife, but as a fellow Marine, as his teammate (Check out Halima's story in Episode 65), and as the person who reminded him that he wasn’t alone. That night, Blanton didn’t cross that final threshold.

He chose to live—and to fight a new kind of battle. Survival was just the beginning.

After that night when Halima pulled him back from the edge, Robert Blanton didn’t just commit to staying alive—he committed to doing something with that life. Healing wasn’t linear. There were setbacks. He weaned himself off medication, scaled back the drinking, and stayed physically active. Therapy remained part of his rhythm, and he continued seeking help when the weight returned. But more than anything, he found purpose in helping others.

That purpose became Warfighter Made.

Founded while Blanton was still on active duty, Warfighter Made started as a simple idea—take veterans out of their heads and into motion. A fellow veteran introduced him to off-road racing, and soon, they were placing combat-wounded veterans in the passenger seats of race buggies at events like the Lucas Oil Regional Series and the legendary Mint 400. It wasn’t about adrenaline—it was about connection, perspective, and the kind of therapy that doesn’t feel like therapy.

In 2014, Polaris RZR became a key partner, drawn in by a 15-second elevator pitch that turned into a long-term relationship. They donated vehicles, helped amplify the mission, and put Warfighter Made in front of a national audience. The platform grew. The impact deepened.

But Blanton never forgot what fueled it.

Warfighter Made isn’t about glorifying the past—it’s about giving military veterans who’ve endured trauma a new lane to drive forward. The nonprofit builds custom vehicles for wounded veterans, organizes recreational therapy events, and, perhaps most importantly, brings veterans together in a space where they are understood without explanation.

Blanton knows the terrain well. He’s lived the aftershock of combat. He’s been lost in transition. He’s felt the pull of ending it all. And he’s still here—not because the pain disappeared, but because he found something stronger to live for: service beyond the uniform.

Today, Warfighter Made continues to serve as a lifeline for military veterans navigating life after service. And Blanton, once a high school kid with no direction and a 1.6 GPA, has become a quiet force of leadership, resilience, and unfiltered honesty. In helping others find their footing, Robert Blanton found his own.

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