They tell you it’s hard to be a military spouse.
They don’t tell you that Murphy’s Law will inevitably go into effect the second he leaves—your pipes will wait to burst, your AC will whir along, your washing machine will churn, your kids will be healthy . . . until he’s on the bus. Or the plane. Then it will all go to hell in a handbasket.
They don’t tell you you’ll never be able to see your own retirement vest because you’re never able to stay at the same job long enough because . . . Surprise! You’re moving again!
They don’t tell you there will be times you feel like complete strangers, that you and your spouse will live totally separate lives and when you reunite it will feel weird and awkward and forced. And that it will take so much time and patience and understanding to get past it. Just in time to separate again.
They don’t tell you there will be things he does and experiences he has and people he meets that you will never be a part of or share in or understand or know . . . and vice versa. There will always be spaces and gaps in the timeline of your lives together.
They don’t tell you your kids will cry for a month straight when he leaves but then they will adjust and settle into new routines and be OK without him because that’s just what you have to do. And he will feel lonely and left out and resentful. And you will feel lonely and touched out and resentful.
They don’t tell you that when he comes back, he’ll be rusty in a role he was once at ease in and he will have to adjust his mindset back to being part of a family instead of just looking out for himself. And you will be used to doing things your own way and sometimes it will feel as if he’s intruding instead of helping.
They don’t tell you his career will always come before yours even if you make as much money or more than he does. And you will still be the one to pick up the kids from school when they’re sick and fill out the doctor’s forms and sign them up for activities and make sure the house is taken care of and everyone is healthy, and happy, and fed.
They don’t tell you that some days you’ll wonder if it’s worth it. If picking up and moving your entire lives every few years is sustainable, if watching him come and go so often will destroy your family, if the promise of retirement and a stable pension is truly worth the sacrifice to get there.
They tell you it’s hard, but they don’t tell you this. That your heart will break and reknit itself over and over, that you will be resentful and grateful and empty and fulfilled many, many times over, that you will wish someone had told you this all from the start but maybe you wouldn’t have believed them anyway.
Maybe it’s better they don’t tell you.
Because if they did, you might never choose it willingly.
And then you might miss an experience and a life and a journey that will make you both harder and softer, less quick to judge and more eager to help, and more compassionate, resilient, and brave.
You might miss the chance to see the world in a way you never have before.
You might miss friendships that will transcend miles and time zones and age. Friendships that will literally keep you standing when it feels like the world is crumbling around you.
You might miss the opportunity to see your spouse, your partner, the person you love do something that fulfills them and actually makes a difference not only to your family, but to the country and the world.
And because he couldn’t do it without you . . .
Because you are the backbone of his family and the person who makes it all possible . . .
Because you are the guiding force and the voice of wisdom and the pillar of support that keeps him going . . .
Because you are a military spouse . . .
You are making a difference, too.
They don’t tell you that, either.
I see your sacrifice. I know your heartache. I hear your voice.
You are making a difference in the world.
vaporwave
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
areudirty
pixelskylines
snowghoul
