'Don't allow past failures to dictate the outcome'

Brittney Hendry didn't quite enlist right out of high school. 

The Cambridge, Ont. native was married to a soldier at one point, living at Canadian Forces Base (CFB) Petawawa as she launched her career in meteorology. Like any young wife, she must have imagined an idyllic future for her new family—but a sequence of obstacles would soon emerge. 

Hendry's now ex-husband deployed to Afghanistan in 2006 during Operation Medusa: a brutal tour that killed 12 Canadian troops. She realized her spouse "wasn't the same" afterward, nor were her neighbours upon their return. 

"I was young. I was just sitting around in Petawawa and didn't understand where I was, didn't understand anyone around me, and it was difficult to find a job there because it's such a small town," Hendry recalled. "I felt inside of me that the best thing to do would be to join because that's my life. I might as well just fully commit, become military and understand it." 

As scores of others celebrated during Vancouver 2010, Hendry experienced a traumatic event which, in hindsight, touched off her life's greatest ordeal. It made her switch careers entirely, becoming a Resource Management Support (RMS) clerk with the Royal Canadian Air Force, yet her seizures would become an increasingly frequent occurrence. 

Doctors couldn't find the source of Hendry's ailment. She doesn't trust her own memory of that era, but figures it was a combination of anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Her marriage ended, while her family proved unable or unwilling to be of assistance. 

Hendry, according to an official bio, "had to distance herself from well-meaning individuals who were causing harm. Her injuries went beyond physical wounds and challenging experiences, fundamentally altering her core values and sense of identity."  Throughout this time she was also a parent, and her son Winston watched first responders take her to hospital on multiple occasions. 

Things kept deteriorating until Hendry had a near-death experience… but that was not the conclusion of her story. Fast forward to the present, and she's now a proud member of Team Canada at the Invictus Games Vancouver Whistler 2025.

Understanding and comfort 

Despite playing soccer and running track in high school, Hendry wouldn't describe herself as a top athlete. She gravitated towards the Games because they would drag her into a large-scale environment that allowed her to focus on something—figuring out what should come next in life. 

"I did have a personal trainer for a few years leading up to [the Games]. I was bodybuilding and I loved the calmness in my mind because it was just you and the activity," said Hendry. "When I get in the pool, my warm-up needs to be very long. Let me swim two kilometres because I want to feel alone and at peace." 

Hendry felt the same way about skeleton. Despite reaching velocities of nearly 100 kilometres per hour en route to a 14th-place finish, she felt completely in the zone: her against herself. 

Team sports didn't initially pique the Ontarian's interest, but that changed when Adria Brochu—Canada's flag bearer at the Games' opening ceremony—reached out with "a beautiful message" thanking Hendry for sitting with her at volleyball practices. 

"I just knew right away. 'Absolutely. I'll join you for volleyball,'" Hendry said. "I was so excited for volleyball and the people I've met on that team. I could really feel that camaraderie amongst us, and we all got to know each other." 

Hendry, Brochu and company were eliminated in the preliminary round of sitting volleyball. The former also competed in swimming and notched a pair of top-16 finishes in indoor rowing. 

Both the Invictus Games and Air Force brought Hendry a community to replace her estranged blood relatives. She met Bethany Smith in her first RMS clerk course, and 15 years later they remain dear friends. Having been released in 2021 after stints in Petawawa, Halifax and Kingston, Hendry is proud of her service. 

The more physical and martial aspects of basic training proved a challenge, but she excelled at the administrative and skill-based aspects of her job.

"I lost my family due to things that have happened in the military … but they've been replaced with people that truly love and understand me," Hendry explained. "They're the ones that understand what I went through. I do find connection with other first responders—if I talk to nurses or correctional [officers], they can relate—but my family has no connection. The military gives me understanding, and that's what gives me comfort that I'm not alone." 

'Fear is a liar, so embrace the light'

Hendry will never truly be alone so long as she has Winston. 

The boy recently turned 12 and got to spend lots of quality time with his mom during the Invictus Games. They visited the Vancouver Aquarium and spectated wheelchair basketball matches, with a trusted lady acting as Winston's guardian when Hendry competed. 

"I'm so grateful because I've got some pictures of him cheering and seeing just how happy he is," said Hendry. "Me getting off the skeleton, he's on the other side hollering my name. It warms my heart … I raised him. It's a mini-me. [Winston] gave me the priceless ability to convey grace, love, and compassion. He attracts and reflects light even on the cloudiest days.

"It's nice to see all of the joy and happiness a child has, because as we grow up, life comes at us. Children haven't quite experienced all that—sometimes they have—but I think adults need to learn to be more childlike." 

With the Invictus Games now in her rearview, Hendry looks toward a sonography career by way of classes at Queen's University. She's mulling the possibility of open-water swimming as her next sport. Her personal motto, forged by years of tribulation and triumph, is: "Don't allow past failures to dictate the outcome. Darkness conceals terror. The light will always illuminate the dark. Fear is a liar, so embrace the light." 

More Invictus results are available at invictusgames2025.ca.