It takes a strong personality to be a military spouse. Even the quiet ones have to build up a confidence in knowing they can run a household – at the drop of a hat – while their spouse is called to duty. This can be for a few days at a time, all the way up to over a year. As a milspo, you never know what you're going to get. However, there are some things that can help make life easier.
There's no denying that Tricare is one of the biggest benefits of becoming a service member. Now that premiums are hitting all-time highs for mediocre coverage at best, it's a huge advantage to have top-notch healthcare for your family- especially when it's paid for. While in years past this was still a positive, as insurance markets and healthcare changes, it's become more and more valuable.
As a milspo, frequent moves are a given. Every few years you'll switch duty stations through a full-on move.
For some of us in the military, this is the time where we get reminded that we are out there living in a foreign town or country with no family living close by.
... I get the whole military haircut thing. Long hair is distracting. It's messy and it makes you stand out in all the wrong ways. It's absolutely a rule that should be enforced. But so are all of the rules.
As a Milspo – that's military spouse – I'm often thanked for "my service." It's a statement to which I never know how to respond. I'm not serving … unless I brought you a stack of pancakes and refreshed your coffee (which, BTW I haven't done in years).
...I learned of free spousal classes. Offered on post for newbies (as well as those who are "nearly new"), it's put on by the MWR. (Morale, welfare, and recreation) It comes with a tour, rundowns of the area, an overview of services, and the ability to meet other newcomers while you're there. A priceless resource, I now realize.
To remove abstraction and create clear delineations between two sides is the most efficient way to distract and maintain order. To give room for nuance is to give space for a questioning of systems of oppression. Without shades of gray, blacks and whites crush the other hues.
No one can ever prepare themselves for a deployment, not even spouses who've experienced it multiple times; it's a level of stress that the brain tends to discount for sanity
Being a new military spouse can be a huge change in one’s life. I am now a military wife of 12 years and though we married young, we have survived all the challenges. I would love to share what worked for us.
In my just-over-two-years as a military wife, my life has completely changed. I've learned "the system," moved states away from "home," and taken on an entirely different form of reality. No, I didn't change my morals or beliefs, nor vastly adjust spending habits – the military still leaves you with an identity, after all.
In Tim O’Brien’s masterful, short-story collection, The Things They Carried, the first-person narrator talks about returning to Vietnam with his daughter twenty years after he was a foot soldier there. While fictional, the story isn’t too far off for many Americans, who have returned to Vietnam on vacation
One of the worst things about being deployed was being trapped on the base all the time. On the occasions that I did get to venture out, I was restricted to when and where I could go. I understood the necessity of the restrictions, but would have really liked more freedom to explore my surroundings.
In the military world, there's a certain pattern you get used to. You go somewhere new, knowing nothing and no one; it's terrible. Then gradually, over time, things get to be not so bad. You make friends, you find hobbies and stores you like. Then, about the time you're used to your new home, it's time to up and leave and start the whole process over again.
Propane in kitchen over
Hot bread over propane
Donkey pulls cart of propane white, seeds road with stink bomb
Shit piss dishwater stream from compound gate
Skinny crooked river
Pool in center
Weapon points level behind armor
Ragged edges of faded photographs crumble
from my touch as I try to pry them loose
from yellowing plastic protectors, all still held
prisoners in a decomposing album
The contract that I signed when I joined the Army reflected that I would serve no more than the four years that I signed up for. I put in a little overtime during that stretch (in those days you had to treat the military contract like a + 1 wedding invite; the + 1 in my case reflects the extra year of overseas duty after I got stop-lossed).
Long-distance relationships are hard under any circumstances. Add in stress of danger, work, separation of home life, and more (you know, the other stuff that comes from being deployed, not just on a work trip), and it's a scenario that's downright painful. Yet there are plenty of spouses who live this reality every single day.
Back when my husband worked in TRADOC (that's training + doctrine), he told me a story I've never forgotten. It was about a call they got at basic training: a wife called because her husband wasn't getting his mail quickly enough. His drill sergeants had a field day. The man got in a world of trouble, and his mail never came any faster – it simply took as long as it took.
The military life is not an easy one, adding parenthood to the mix complicates it even more. As parents we have a huge responsibility to raise our children to be the leaders of this world and in my opinion, it is our responsibility to expose them to the world, to teach them to think outside the box and to appreciate the little things in life
In today’s world raising children is not an easy feat. There are a lot of external factors that affect parenting styles. Adding the adversities brought on by a military lifestyle complicates everything even more. Our military children are forced to deal with a lot of life challenges at a very young age and it is our job as parents to help them overcome these life stressors and teach them how to be resilient.
My better half thinks my aversion to taking hikes is a little odd. I try not to say much, but for the most part being amongst the splendid silence of nature does nothing for me and even less for my soul—assuming I have one. This isn’t just a function of my relationship with my significant other. Many others have recommended hiking or backpacking to me as a prescription for an obvious illness that I have, and yet which no one can name.
Like any responsible fashion-conscious New Yorker, I follow every luxury retailer on Instagram. It is a hardship to keep up with all of the trends, a social media minefield of knowing things like what is the current it-bag and making sure not to carry it, myself. The goal after all, is to be trendy without being like everyone else.
I decided to go to Barnes & Noble during my lunch break. I usually tell myself I’m just going to browse but wind up spending money I don’t have and adding to an ever-growing unread book pile. During the visit, I picked up Portraits of Courage, a book by former President George W. Bush
“Oh, you were in the Army? I could never do that. I can’t even do a pullup. And, I like to wear makeup.” I might be paraphrasing just a bit, but it’s pretty similar to the response I hear after a new female pal learns that I’m an Army veteran. No questions or curiosity regarding what life in the military is like, just that immediate barrier thrown up between us.
When I was a grunt in the military, I remember our reaction to the now still ubiquitous “Thank you for your service” (TYFYS). It speaks to the element of Sparta that I was a part of that few people around me were not against the war and in the particular unit I was in, to include myself, many were for it. I won’t bother with the anthropological explanation for this phenomena, but I do want to paint the background to our reactions.
As the oldest of four kids, and second oldest of twenty grandchildren, I’ve had my share of opportunities in leading others. Accountability rested on my shoulders. My elders directed their questions to me if we did not complete our chores
Whilst in a heavy dream state, the kind that weighs your head down with pressure, I nearly poked my eye out with my thumb. This awakened me. A reflex reaction, similar to a mosquito bite, or an inner itch in the ear - the jerk surprised me more than the piercing pain.
After much deliberation I decided to leave active duty military service and return to my mother’s home in New York. It was March 2002 and I was an E-5 sergeant and had been one for all of six months. Back in the unit I should still have been considered a buck sergeant but I do not remember ever being called one following the attacks.