It started with two words in a file.
I'm a retired Marine Gunnery Sergeant. Purple Heart, earned in Sangin, Afghanistan in 2011. The Marine Corps put me on Limited Duty twice for PTSD. Once in 2016. Once in 2023. The service shortens it to LIMDU. Broken. Benched. Done.
LIMDU isn't a company that found veterans. It's what one veteran's healing turned into. The way through came one day at a time. The look can be copied. The scar can't.
Five shirts. One story.
Duty.
Unlimited.
It was never the end of the story.
Limited Duty is the military status that tells a service member they're broken and benched. We took the most shameful word in the file and made it the first word of a comeback.
Limited Duty was the pause. Not the period. What came after the uniform was the part nobody prepared us for, and the part worth building a flag around.
The Count.
No skulls. No rifles. Nothing to prove.
The vetbro lane sells a frozen identity: always hard, always operational, always at war. That message quietly keeps people from ever admitting they need help.
We're the deliberate opposite. We don't sell the fantasy that you're fine. We sell what comes after you admit you're not.
The shirt funds the work.
10% of every sale goes to organizations doing frontline harm-reduction and veteran healing work. Not a marketing line. A line item.
We point toward healing. We never claim to be the cure. We model the responsible path: real support, real screening, no shortcuts.
We protect the people we serve before we protect the company. A brand built on healing that used pain as a backdrop would be worse than what it set out to replace.