Tag Archives: MilSpouse

Marriage retreats, relationships, and other lessons

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Considering deployment is an ongoing possibility being in a line unit, marriage retreats are something the army tries to send their soldiers and their spouses to when they can. We were fortunate to be approved for our second one this last weekend.

It was far from as enjoyable as the last retreat we went to in Texas. (Imagine that; I found something about the Texas experience that was better than the Washington experience. Ha!). There are a couple of reasons for that. The first is that both hubby and I were ill, and he ended the weekend with the worst food poisoning I’ve seen in a while. The second reason is that I don’t believe this particular facilitator is as familiar with the subject matter provided for this retreat as the facilitator in Texas was.

That’s a little bit of an understatement, actually. Chaplain Adams in Texas was a riot! I will forever hold him in the highest esteem as being an army chaplain of a completely different calibre than I have ever seen – and please remember I grew up in the arms of the church. He was unorthodox in ways I can’t even begin to explain. But he was effective and memorable – and that I believe is the whole point. Chaplain Adams was the only Christian minister of religion who has ever made me want to attend a Sunday morning service. Unfortunately, I never got the opportunity to attend one of his services.

To get back to this year’s retreat, though, it wasn’t so much that the course material was at fault. In fact, as I looked through the material, I was impressed with all the ways they chose to deal with issues that can be particular destructive to the military spouse. We just did not have enough time to get the full benefit of the course. Chances are, a savvy facilitator would have been able to summarize and distill this material down to a usable size for a weekend schedule such as we were given, but I get the impression that this was sprung on our facilitator on medium term notice (if not short notice).

In any case, what hubby and I took away was that we need to be constantly communicating respectfully and in detail about our feelings, expectations, and dreams. Even though our relationship is rock solid (especially compared to other military spouses we have both come across), we found we were still disconnected from each other about certain things. Nothing too alarming; no need for panic. We were just reminded that even the best of relationships need consistent TLC.

This is not a new lesson for either of us. We both know that constant and detailed communication is a necessity in any long term, intimate relationship. For me, it was like a dash of cold water to the face; a wake up call. A reminder that at any point along the way, something can go so badly wrong that things get really bad, really fast. And all without either of us even seeing the danger signs along the way. That’s the worry wart in me over-exaggerating for emphasis.

These retreats aren’t all about learning something new. It’s about being reminded about the tools to maintain a healthy relationship considering the challenges we both face. I think hubby and I might need to set aside a regular “test the temperature of our relationship” talk for ourselves.

Get all the touchy subjects in a list (e.g. finances, sex, babies, chores, relatives, etc.), write down what we like, dislike, and what we expect. Then compare notes to make sure we’re both on the same page. Schedule the talks like how we decided to schedule a date night at least once a month. Yeah – that sounds like a plan.

Off-topic for a minute though: one of the sections in the course was about forgiveness and reconciliation and something that resonated for me outside of the context of my marriage.

Forgiveness is not forgetting. Forgiveness is giving up on the sense that you have the right to “get even”. And forgiveness is not reconciliation – that is a whole other step in the process. For reconciliation to take place:

  • the relationship must be “safe”;
  • the one who hurt you must be taking responsibility;
  • the one who hurt you is changing the hurtful behaviour; and
  • enough time has passed for trust to be restored

Something for everyone to keep in mind for all your relationships.

Who’s a little more crazy gonna hurt?

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Even after discovering the research that said that depression and creativity come from the same place, I still had a day of utter non-productivity. I don’t want to use the term depression just yet lest I associate my feelings with a clinical condition in my head. Positive thinking and all that… maybe if I tell myself it’s temporary and going to pass via language, I’ll convince myself that it is so.

Friday morning, I just could not get up out of bed. The incessant whispering of hubby (“Honey! I love you!”) in that space between wakefulness and sleep was beginning to wear on me. It is as if I was the glue and the bed was the paper. If I tried to get up, the sheets would tear apart leaving strips of cloth hanging from my skin. Crazy things start to happen when you remain alone for too long – like hearing your husband whisper to you from a few hundred miles away.

Even when presented with information you need to progress, sometimes it is still hard to do the work. Yesterday, my faculties failed me completely. I spent the first half of the day drowsing to some unknown storylines in ‘Lie To Me‘ on Netflix. (Yes, I renewed my Netflix account. Mainly because I wanted access to Law & Order and a few other shows.) The second half of the day was spent drowning my sorrows at my inactivity and general low feeling in episodes of In Plain Sight.

The bad part about it that I have homework to finish, on top of work-work and a little creative project that I ought to be working on because today I drive to Seattle for the night. Tomorrow is Pride and I can tell you that that parade is going to drain every bit of energy I amassed this week and even since the last time I was out in public for an event such as this one. Why? Because as I am reiterating to myself with the help of a book called The Introvert Advantage:

“Introverts are like a rechargeable battery. They need to stop expending energy and rest in order to recharge”

And I am the very definition of an introvert. Put me in a room full of people and I guaranteed to be exhausted within an hour or two.   Put me in a crowd, say at a parade, and I am going to be exhausted for days.

That said, I look forward to the experience. My parents would be horrified, but I think that it’s important to expand my horizons and experience as much as I can. Knowledge and experience can only enrich, it can never cripple of corrupt. It is what you choose to do with the sum of your experience and knowledge that makes for corruption. Besides, getting out of the house will hopefully cure that craziness that has borne those whispers in my head. (I love you, honey, but that whispering can drive a girl mad.)

The good news is I finally got to talk to hubby last night. The crazy part of that news is that when I told him about the whispers, he laughed and said he whispered to me as he went to sleep and when he woke up everyday. Like I said, crazy shit happens when you stay alone for too long.

Contemplating the failures – large and small.

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I’ve had a pretty bad week. On Sunday, I said goodbye to my husband for yet another training exercise that the army saw fit to send him away on. On Monday, I had a tooth extracted. And all week, I’ve been battling a fatigue borne only out of the kind of depression that is fed by dark, cold, rainy days and lonesomeness. Ah, the life we military spouses live… never a dull moment.

To make matters even more interesting, because of the extracted tooth, my diet has been a mixture of omelettes and some kind of innovative mashed potatoes/potato salad mix. No lemonade, no Pepsi, no hard foods. That was fun. Today and for the first time this week, I was able to eat solid foods. I made chicken and rice in the slow cooker because I’ve been so down and out that I’ve spent the whole weekend on the couch in self-flagellation and recrimination for spending the whole weekend on the couch.

I’m pathetic.

I once stumbled onto a tumblog a few months ago in which the author speaks about unfucking her life one small piece at a time. It was an inspiration. It helped me realize that I can’t beat myself up because I have difficulty getting out of bed some mornings. (This week, that would be more like most mornings). I have to allow myself the latitude to gain control in as small bites as I can manage.

So, today I focused on just that and managed to accomplish a few different chores … not just one. I washed my husband’s uniform. The one he wore that last week he was here. Nevermind that I stood with my nose buried in it for a few minutes before sticking it in the washer. I restocked the extra toilet paper rolls in the upstairs bathroom. And I took the clean wash upstairs to the bedroom. I haven’t folded and hung them yet, though. They’re still in the basket. Still – it’s progress from sitting in the laundry.

And oh yea – I cooked.

When I was done eating, I outlined my essay for tomorrow’s deadline and put in a couple of hours of work so that I don’t feel so rushed tomorrow. Not bad for someone who’s feeling a little less bright and cheery than usual. At least Angel, seasons 1 and 2, have been keeping me company in my despondency. I’d forgotten how much I liked the brooding vampire with a soul. Mostly, I just eye his black, knee-length, leather coat in envy.

Maybe tomorrow will be a more productive day than I’ve had all last week. Maybe …

It’s play time! Shall we watch TV or read a book?

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I have always thought that television viewing dulls the senses. I don’t know where that idea came from to begin with, but I do recall that the state of being vapid is closely associated with the boob tube in my head. As a child, I always opted for the book over the television, although I can’t say that was as a result of not wanting to become vapid. I suspect that was as a result of being restricted from watching the television and being strong-armed into the world of reading by my parents. Chances are, it was them who wanted to prevent me from becoming vapid.

When I find words like vapid, I tend to use them over and over until their meaning is stuck in my head. I guess this is why my vocabulary is a bit larger than you might expect. My husband accuses me of using “big words” all the time to show him up. I tell him that I don’t think about it like that at all. It’s simply a matter of using those words ordinarily to myself and them bleeding over into my everyday conversations. Quite like how I used the word “vapid” 5 times in this piece already and still counting.

Anyway, the idea of empty-headedness being associated with the TV was sort of confirmed for me when hubby was deployed in April 2010. It was the TV that saved me from dealing with those crippling emotions of loneliness and abandonment in the days following his departure. I was especially tense since his departure had been postponed twice and he didn’t leave at the time and date that we were initially told.

Those first couple of days, and indeed throughout most of the deployment, the television proved to be my best friend because it gave me the mindless escape that I needed to postpone dealing with emotions I felt too fragile to deal with. Whenever I found myself in that puddle of despair on the bedroom/bathroom/living room/kitchen floor, I’d turn on that TV because that was my way of shutting out the world until I could pull my ass up off the floor and think it through. To be completely honest, it is during that year long deployment that I found myself finding and becoming addicted to TV shows. It is while hubby was overseas that I found and watched the entire series of Lost in but a few weeks.

The final straw in this hat for the fate of television and it’s mindlessness was reading Stephen King, of all people. In his book “On Writing”, he says: “…you could do worse than strip your television’s electric plug-wire, wrap a spike around it, and then stick it back into the wall. See what blows, and how far. Just an idea.” Although his thoughts are centered on advice for aspiring writers, I think it goes far beyond that. King even goes on to say explicitly that “…turning off that endlessly quacking box is apt to improve the quality of your life…”

Meh … I like to read and I am perfectly well aware that there people in the world who have no idea why that might be. To them, reading is like listening to grass grow. That’s fine. I respect that. Different strokes, right? This post is about my experience of reading compared to watching the TV. It’s not intended to be any kind of debate on the wholesomeness of TV (or not) in general nor is it intended to be an indictment on those who don’t read.

But then, that’s what this blog is about, isn’t it? My perspectives?

How do I do this MilSpouse thing? Here – let me tell you how.

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My best friend asked me recently how I did this MilSpouse thing, I’ve had a few other people tell me they don’t know how I do it and I know that other MilSpouses get the same comments and questions, too. It’s a tough gig, I’ll tell you that. The responses are many and varied and each of us does it differently. Yet we all have the same basic tools that we use and build on.

If you spend anytime at all trying to understand it for yourself, you’ll see that most articles and bloggers, other writers and advice columnists start off by telling you to “keep busy“. And at the core of dealing with military life, keeping busy is the single most important tool you have.

Some of us have jobs that keep us extremely busy and occupied, some have kids that keep them busy (and tired!) – others have their causes and hobbies, and still others have artistic ventures. There’s so many different ways to keep busy that it’s hard to pin point any one way.

For me … I have tons of interests and hobbies. For the year while he was down-range in Afghanistan, I had my job, I had my reading, my cats, I picked some TV show addictions. I had projects that I started – and most of them never finished. And I had sleep, lovely sleep. I learned a lot in that year; I read almost incessantly. And when I wasn’t reading or working, I was watching mindless TV or sleeping. I kept busy alright.

Oh don’t get me wrong!

You have moments when you feel you really, absolutely cannot go on. Those moments when the shit hits the fan and a big piece hits you in the face. You realize cleaning up would be so much easier if your other half was here. It’s a moment or two (or hundred) when you break and you fall on your ass on the floor and sob and blubber because at that moment, you are as alone as you have ever felt. And every time that moment happens, it’s worse than the last one. You literally break in half and settle into a puddle on the bedroom/bathroom/living room/kitchen floor. Pick one or all – it happens enough times for each floor to get it’s own special time with your face buried in it.

If you want to live, though … and you do because you know at some point your DH will be home and finding you on the floor in a puddle of unwashed, tearful misery is not the kind of image you want him (or her) to see … if you want to live, you will realize that food must be eaten, baths must be taken, bills must be paid, and work must be done. So you eventually pull yourself up from the puddle and wipe your face.

Then when you do that, you realize how positively septic you smell, and how ravenous you are and suddenly, the shit that hit the fan and how difficult it is going to be clean it up, is of far less importance than having a bath and eating some food. And in the eating of the food or the taking of the bath, you realize that the soap is almost done, or the towels need to be washed, but you’re out of laundry detergent… or curses! … you’re out of ice cream!

In short, you get past those moments of utter and complete despair and since life goes on whether you want it to or not, there are reminders that bring you back to the present and keep you busy again until the next break.

It’s a cycle. A long-time friend of mine once said to me that he savoured the emotional lows because they allowed him to really appreciate the highs. He wasn’t wrong… when you can survive through the lows, while you scrape the bottom and eat ice cream … then the highs are so much brighter and enjoyable.

It is being able to survive those lows that gives me my strength. I’ve survived some lows in my life. Oh boy! Some lows I thought I would never dig myself out of. Some lows where not even the brightness of the high was visible from that far down. Some lows where I didn’t know if I was going to make it through the next 5 minutes much less another few months. But I survived and I am here to tell you that the one thing that kept me going through a year of separation from DH … was the thought that one day he would hold me in his arms again.

And when he finally did …. it was absolutely the best thing in the whole world!

And oh yea – now that he’s here, I take every single opportunity to hug him … over and over and over again … because since the war isn’t over yet, I don’t know when he’ll be gone again and I want to make sure to store up as many of those hugs as I can for the days when I won’t be able to just take one.

You ask me how I do this? I do it because the alternative is inconceivable … now that I have found him, there is no way I am letting go of him. And when the army takes him away from me, I just think forward to when I get him back. And when he’s here, I make sure to maximise as many of the moments we have together as I can so that I have tons of memories and reminders to keep me going when he’s gone… and something to look forward to when he comes back.

And that is how I do it… because I can’t not. Simple – no?

I am feeling less like a milspouse these days

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These days, I feel so far removed from military spouse life that I sometimes wonder if I was fooling myself into feeling a part of it in the first place. There is no avoiding the face that I am a military spouse. If the ACUs in the laundry hamper and the various items of other military gear lying around the house aren’t good reminders, then I have serious issues.

No, what has happened is that our life has become quite civilian, living out here in the so-called boonies.  I no longer hear the bugle calls, there are no unruly children running around in my front yard, every second person is not wearing some kind of military uniform and a trip to the supermarket does not mean I will be one civilian swimming amongst a sea of ACUs.

To be honest, I sometimes forget that we are military. It feels as if we have transitioned to civilian life and I suspect that is only because I was civilian for a lot longer than I have been military.

In some ways, I miss it. I felt safe living on-post in Texas and in Kentucky. I knew that no matter what, I was one amongst a community that would be taken care of in the event of something bad happening. It was an illusion, though; at least in Texas. When Maj. Hassan blew into work one morning and emptied his gun into a crowd of soldiers, all I officially knew about it was that we were to stay inside and keep our doors and windows locked and our air conditioning systems off. (Yes, our air conditioning units.)

A few months later, there was a flyer being placed on our front doors warning us to be on the alert for a man in uniform who was not a soldier but a sexual pervert who had assaulted at least two other women on post.

When they caught the guy driving a car full of explosives near the gate where we lived, we heard nothing about it until way after it happened.

Safe? Safety is an illusion in this crazy world. There are so many disillusioned and ignorant people around that I am beginning to feel safer trusting myself to the wild than to the wider community. I would rather be mauled by a bear in my backyard than come that close to a car full of explosives again.

Meh … I fear my misanthropy is showing again; and while that may be true, I have to say I like living out here in the boonies. I like the peaceful quiet of this neighborhood. I don’t know what I would do if I learned I had to leave.

Been through the wars, I tell ya!

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The last 7 weeks have been arguably the worst of my life.

I commented on Facebook on Saturday morning that the year April 2010 through March 2011 was easy compared to the last 7 weeks and my BFF pointed out that it was the most personally revealing statement I have ever made on Facebook. He may be right. I make it a point to keep my personal life exactly that … personal. This is something I’ve always tried to do – with varying degrees of success. However, the trials of the last 7 weeks makes me feel like I need to express it out loud and in public that I’ve been through the figurative wars and I survived and can smile again in spite of it all.

The year while hubby was in Afghanistan was easy because all I had to worry about for the entire year was keeping myself occupied. I got myself involved in a ton of interests that kept my days and nights full for a whole year with little or no focus on the self. I worried about the basic stuff I might have worried about were I still single and living on my own. The difference this time around was that there was PLENTY to worry about and occupational diversion was not an option. Coupled with the fact the hubby was on the same continent, but still too far away, and so soon after being gone a world away for a year, it was an unholy mess.

Hubby left for training in Missouri on January 1st. Immediately thereafter I discovered something that had me anxious for exactly 5 weeks until that “something” was no more. And to be even more cryptic, that “something” was no more in the most dramatic of ways which included 2 emergency room visits and a 2-night stay in the hospital.

I have never had occasion to stay in a hospital, but I have to say that St. Peter’s in Olympia, WA is possibly the nearest thing to the perfect hospital experience I could imagine. For the most part, the nurses and doctors were empathetic and thorough; there were a few hours when I felt positively burdensome, but not for long. The food was possibly better than anything I’ve ever made for myself at home. And the room was quiet, adequate, and comfortable. I was impressed. I’ll always choose to go back there, if I can. Madigan Army Medical Center did not inspire any feelings of fondness in my mind at all; even if all I saw was the emergency room while it is under construction.

Anyway, to make a bad situation worse, on January 18th, the Pugent Sound area experienced one its worst winter storms ever. The damage is staggering. One of the things I love about this area is how they have managed to maintain the feel of the forest no matter where you go in the urban and sub-urban areas. Where we live felt like a single spot in the middle of nowhere when we moved here. It was difficult to even see our neighbours from the windows of our house. Now, I can see all the houses in the immediate vicinity. That is how badly the wooded areas have been denuded.

We lost power on Thursday the 19th in the afternoon. It wasn’t restored until the following week Wednesday. Luckily, I had friends who stole me away to stay with them whilst the power was restored, but the stress of the storm (being as close to nature as I feel at times) and not being home was palpable. Add to that the health issues and I have been a total mess for weeks.

Hubby returned last Friday night and in just 2 days he has managed to restore my spirit just by being here. I am both loathe and amazed to be able to admit that one person can have such a marked impact on my temperament and mood. Had you told me 10 years ago that I would be this dependent on another soul, I would have laughed you to scorn and maybe told you a few choice and unkind words to go along with it. That he is as dependent on me is heartening; I feel less pathetic than I would if he wasn’t. We make a good pair. :)

Sometimes, I really hate the army and what it continually does to families. This whole fiasco seemed ill-timed and ill-advised, even to my untrained eye. And while the shit was hitting the fan, I know I could have asked for hubby to be returned home to help me through it. What stopped me was knowing that the way the army works, if he were to stop in the middle of the course, he would have to start all over again with another 7 weeks at some later date. It seemed better for the big picture for him to just finish his course and come home at the end of it. I had all the practical resources necessary to care for my health, if not the emotional support I needed. I am willing to bet that were it any civilian employer, it would have been a no-brainer to bring him home without even having to ask. But … this is the life we live, and I walked into it with my eyes wide open. There are people who have had to endure far worse and I guess I have to be thankful that we are as strong as we are – because without that strength, this ordeal could have been our undoing.

Not many other military families have that strength, however. And I wonder if the powers that be will ever realize that morale is far more important than any other skill a soldier can be taught. The mission may be paramount, but the mission is moot unless you have soldiers to man it. And a soldier is only half of what he can be if his mind is at home with his family.

Find the balance. Please. Stop telling the spouses to let them go and find a way to make letting go easier.

Impossible you say?

To that I say: Nothing is impossible if you really give it some thought.

Paul the Wood Guy

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I met Paul the Wood Guy today.

Paul is your quintessential red-cheeked, cheery old man. He’s a few inches taller than I am, he’s sturdily built, salt and pepper hair balding on the top (more salt than pepper), twinkly blue eyes and the most contagious smile I have ever seen. He knocked politely at my front door about 2pm this afternoon. And I am not one of those people who regularly qualify emotionless actions such as knocking too often. But just the way he knocked sounded very polite. He didn’t ring the doorbell as most people would, he knocked – three times, softly enough that it wouldn’t startle me yet loud enough that I would have heard anywhere in the house so long as I wasn’t playing loud music. It was polite.

I had called Paul yesterday when I realized that it was getting colder and that 2 bundles of firewood a day was not going to cut it – especially if I needed to go get those 2 bundles everyday. I googled for firewood near where I live and ended up with Paul’s number from the recording of another guy. You see, the guy I called had stopped doing residential wood but he recommended to other guys who still did.

Paul was the second number he suggested. Oddly I didn’t take note of the number for the first guy. Just Paul.

I called Paul and he was all “Gosh! So nice of you to call! What can I do for you?”

He put an instant smile on my face. I said, “Well, I got your number from…” and I could hear the smile in his voice when he said “Oooh! You need firewood! Golly!”

I swear. Paul is all about “Gosh!” and “Golly!” and “Geez!” Jolly is a real understatement.

Paul patiently explained to this Caribbean newbie all about burning wood. He explained wood sizes, shapes, age. He explained why we call it cord and what a cord is. He explained different types of wood and what they meant. Told me the type of wood they provided. We discussed fir trees for a while because in Jamaica, we have pine trees, which is a kind of fir tree. Here in the Evergreen state, they have a ton of different kinds of fir trees. He explained that he would deliver the wood already chopped and help me stack it and explain why we stack how we stack and explain to me how to get it ready to burn.

Paul and I talked about me being from Jamaica, and hubby being from Michigan. We talked about how we met, how long we had been married, the fact that we were military and asked where we had been assigned before Fort Lewis. He talked about being in the military himself and that he and his wife still shop at the post commissary. And then he would extend a discount to us because we’re military.

And this was just the “introductory” call. Paul draws you out.

Paul said he would get my wood out to me as soon as he could. Probably in the afternoons because they use the daylight hours to chop and stack. He said he’d call when he was coming and could I give him directions to where I was. I warned him that my directions have been known to suck royally and end up causing people to get lost more often than not. He laughed and said that I couldn’t be all that bad because I sounded like I could give him perfectly good directions. He said to give it a shot and he’d do the rest. And I did.

So when Paul knocked politely at my door today I was surprised that he had arrived here without any issues. When I asked him how my directions turned out, he said they were perfect.

While Paul was here, he chatted to me. We talked about hubby and the course he is doing. What it implied about how his superiors felt about him. And he invited us out to his place to “commune with nature”. He described it to me and it sounds like a real woodsy heaven. And Paul asked me whether we were interested in finding a church to go to. He explained what his church was all about and I talked about the Methodists and that they were an offshoot of the Anglican church.

And when Paul was done stacking my wood for me, he asked to pray with me. He asked if I would be offended. I said that I wasn’t Christian but that I wasn’t ant-Christian either and that I sure wouldn’t mind if he prayed with me. And Paul did. An impassioned prayer for my health, hubby’s health, our success and our happiness. And he thanked the Lord for bringing us into his life.

When Paul left, I was smiling like I don’t think I had smiled for 24 hours. He lifted my spirits like I can’t begin to explain to you. He is a blessing. He is a glorious and angelic soul. And I thank the Goddess for bringing him into my life today … just at the point when I was feeling down and alone and in despair.

Who says miracles don’t happen?

Edit to say that when I told my Mom this story, she said I’d been touched by an angel. :)

A Warm and Bright Yule to you!

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It’s Yule!

What’s that, you say?

It’s the Winter Solstice; the shortest day in the year, the day that signals the return of the sun to the northern hemisphere; the day that pagans celebrate with light and cheer and that was used to pattern some Christmas celebratory symbolism – the tree, the yule log, hot apple cider, lights, gift-giving, family gatherings, and egg nog.

I am a simple being. I despise pomp and circumstance, drama, and excessiveness. I don’t like the limelight (odd, I know; being that I am a Leo) and I don’t like expending more energy on time on things than are necessary. One of the reasons I strayed away from your typical church-going is that for me, 6 hours at church on a Sunday morning just doesn’t seem to me the best way to show your faith, commitment, or loyalty. I’d rather live that faith, commitment, and loyalty all day, every day of my life instead.

This morning, I lit 3 candles and a pine incense cone, then I lit a fire and spent a few moments thinking about the sun and it’s warmth and the coming year. And then I lit the house and started my day. The candles will burn all day – until sundown – and I shall spend this day doing what I would normally be doing were it yesterday or tomorrow.

Regardless of what you believe, or how you practice your beliefs, I am wishing everyone a warm and bright Yule. I hope that warmth and brightness carries you through the next year and helps you keep your truth.

 

 

A ‘post-mortem’ of the last 3 years of my life

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I’ve thought long and hard about writing this post-mortem – for my own edification and maybe for those around me who are curious as to my experiences and how I see them after all is said and done.

To clarify – events of the last 3 years include:

  • getting married
  • migrating to the United States
  • immediately transforming into a stay-at-home/work-at-home military spouse from a hardcore support tech at a major telecommunications company in Jamaica
  • 2 household moves
  • 1 military deployment

Yes – that’s a lot to pack into 3 years; I know – believe me, I know. I looked at the summary I just typed and had to take a breath myself.

The Timeline

Getting married was tricky. It required an almost year-long wait for the American authorities to decide it was ok to grant me permission to marry and move in with the man of my dreams. You all know the angst I went through with that whole process and the subsequent fallouts. When the day finally arrived, I was a bit drippy-eyed because for some reason I thought having gotten this far – Dad on my arm in Kentucky, prospective in-laws also visiting Kentucky and gearing up for a happy HAPPY occasion – that somehow it was a nightmare and I would find myself waking up in my own bed back in Kingston with no wedding, no hubby, no family and no “joy”. My father said his usual “don’t be silly” and my maid of honour (bless her heart!) told me to not worry and I tried REALLY hard to stop stressing.

Less than a year later, we prepared to move from Kentucky to Texas. Not only was this move guaranteed to introduce a deployment (you don’t get summoned to Fort Hood, Texas and NOT get deployed), but it was also to a state that we both despised. There remained a far greater capacity for our loathing than we were aware. There was very little about the Fort Hood/Texas experience that I even want to remember, much less reminisce about.

The year deployment was bad – I was alone in an alien place, with no one I knew (and, as it turned out, very few that I WANTED to know) and no one nearby whom I could call on in a pinch. For the first time in my life, I faced abject lonesomeness and felt crippled. I wasn’t lonely, but I was alone. I always want to know there’s someone I can call on in a pinch – if it’s even the local taxi service.

I survived the year – handsomely, if I do say so myself.

Nay – *WE* survived the year.

We’re still together, the Texas/Fort Hood experience helped to bring us closer together rather than drive us apart. And we survived the move from Texas to Washington – together – and this is where we are now.. It’s a new beginning in many ways for us and so far, nothing but positive vibes. I look forward to the next 3 years and beyond.

Difficulties?

Upon marrying, I was told many times and in many ways that the transition to military spouse was going to be difficult in lots of ways – not the least of which was that my civilian friends would no longer be able to relate to me – or me to them. This is true in a sense. I lost a couple of friends, distanced a few others and gained a few too.

Frankly, not being able to relate to my civilian friends -or them to me- is not something I can say has really happened. It has taken an extra few words and seconds for me to explain certain aspects of my life when military subjects come up, but it’s not a real big deal. They still get *me* – and that’s what is most important in friendships.

I think the biggest thing I’ve had to deal with in this transition, is that most people now think that watching the news and relating to me all that’s happening military-wise (according to the news) is something they need to do. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to tell my friends and family that it doesn’t matter what they read, hear or see on the news – reality is far different.

I’ve had to tell Mom that I’m not really interested in hearing what she heard CNN is saying about what Pres. Obama said about the war and the military – I am more interesting in what she heard on TVJ or CVM about what Prime Minister Bruce is doing and saying in Jamaica. I want to hear about Caribbean things. All things US and military is within easy reach for me – if I want it.

That, I think, has been the most difficult part of this transition.

Explaining what a ‘PCS’ is or a ‘PTDY’ or a ‘DITY’ or an ‘NCOIC’ is not the difficult part at all, and maybe having worked in the corporate world for a long time has helped me draw parallels that most of my friends and family can relate to – which pretty much makes explaining why my husband’s platoon sergeant can tell him what to do, when and how.

Conclusions?

Frankly – considering how much of a creature of habit I actually am, how I have never taken change on very well and how I usually end up stressing over the changes – I think I have weathered all these changes in my life very well. I gained a few grey hairs during the deployment – but those don’t bother me as much as the weight I’ve gained in the last 2 years just eating normally. (I swear American food has something in it that makes you grow outwards!)

Thankfully, having a caring husband and a very supportive set of in-laws has helped immensely.

But I think the constancy of my very VERY close friends has possibly been THE single-most significant factor in me still being here – sane and healthy. You all know who you are – all THREE of you – and I hope you know how much I appreciate you – ALL of you.

Strawberries