OCTOBER 29, 2025 – As the Mental Health NCO in charge Staff Sgt. Bella Hoffer plays a critical role in keeping operations moving for the 39th Air Base Wing. But before she became a reliable leader and mentor to her peers, she had to overcome one of the Air Force’s most silent adversaries: mental health struggles.
Growing up, I was exposed to the medical field by my mom, a nurse, who worked long hours and late nights under the harsh florescent glow. I remember she would come home when I was getting ready for school, exhausted from her shift. I truly wish this was the only reason I feel drawn to helping people, but unfortunately, I had seen too many people close to me silently drowning, too proud or too afraid to reach for a lifeline.
After high school my life was falling into place, I had a scholarship, and the steps mapped out to turn it into a reality. But my plans dissolved when I found out my older brother Steven had fallen ill. I decided to put my life on pause to help my mom take care of him. She was working the night shift, so the days were mine to care for Steven.
The scholarship evaporated like a mirage, but I barely noticed because I knew the hours I spent with Steven could not be replaced by a degree. We’d spend our days looking up different flights and hotels, making plans for a trip to Tokyo. I still remember how his eyes would light up as we would find different things to do if we ever had the chance to go, walk through cherry blossoms, or find a cute little café. Deep down I knew this was just a fantasy, a dream to pass the time, because as the days went on his body grew weaker.
He would always crave a burger and a slushie, after driving around gathering the items he wanted. He would, without fail, take one bite and roll over saying “I’m full.”
Unfortunately, tragedy strikes when you least expect it.
I still remember it so well, we just finished celebrating Steven’s birthday and went to our usual shifts at his bedside. I had just finished my shift and went downstairs and sat on the couch to watch T.V. I can’t explain it, but the moment I sat down, a chill ran through every nerve in my body and I stood up and ran into his room. I saw his chest rise and fall for the last time.
Life felt like it was crashing down. The room shrinks and feels like a coffin, your heart drops six feet into your stomach forming a physical pain that represents what was just lost. For me this was the day my older brother died.
The day of Steven’s funeral I stood numb at his grave. When I got home there was a strange envelope at my door from an Air Force recruiter. It almost felt like I was being mocked, “What are you doing with your life?” Through the haze, something flickered in me, and I decided ‘why not see what this is all about.’
I sat down with the recruiter the following Friday. He had an intoxicating amount of optimism and spoke of adventure, purpose, and…Japan. He’d just finished a tour there. The world can be cruel in its timing, sending you a sign when you’re least equipped to understand it.
But I couldn’t ignore this one.
I joined the Air Force back in 2018 as ‘open general’ but knew I wanted to get into the mental health career field. I don’t look at it as a career choice, but a calling, a feeling deep down pulling me towards healing people.
I graduated from basic training on Valentine’s Day. I remember my family being there and feeling like I had really accomplished something. After that I went to technical training for mental health, a steady flow of information designed to make you feel like your head is going to explode, but it never does.
As a Mental Health professional, I deal with short and long-term patients and even the Alcohol and Drug Abuse Prevention and Treatment (ADAPT) program, which is designed to help those in need fight against alcohol abuse. The Air Force has so many different avenues and options that service members and their families can opt into to make sure they are getting the help they need. These Range from the chaplains, behavioral health and even Military OneSource, each one just slightly different than the last, each offering various levels of help to make sure you are taken care of.
Learning to get back to a new normal after tragedy is not something you prepare for; the regret still pours in, ‘did I spend enough time with him,’ there are no clearly marked signs or a glass box you break ‘in case of emergency.’ It’s a daily choice to drag yourself out of bed and keep your head above the water. Pouring myself into work at my first duty station reminded me what it was all about: I really wanted to help people.
Helping people became my lifeline. The most rewarding part of my job, the moments that make the endless training and heartache worth it, is when a patient walks into my office broken and lost, then after time stand tall on their own. It’s the moment they realize that their life is worth fighting for.
I still remember the moment in my career when it hit me that I was in the right spot. I had admitted a patient, and on one of my routine checks I walked in on him trying to take his own life. The training took over like muscle memory and I acted immediately. I ended up staying with him talking about everything under the sun for the rest of the night, just so he would know there was at least one person on Earth who cared.
The core belief I hold true to my heart and what I try and help everyone see is, you being alive is more important than anything else. If you are looking for a sign that you matter, this is it.
Story by Staff Sgt. Noah Sudolcan
39th Air Base Wing