To the Senior Spouse ... I See You.

I see you.

I see that you are trying. I see the burden you carry, the responsibility you didn't ask for. I see it.

I see that you go to sleep most nights running through what you said wrong, what you did wrong, what intention didn't come across the right way. You are right more than you are wrong, your intention is always good. You may think people don't see that but I do.

I see that when everyone else seems to blame you for the long nights away, for the long trainings, and rigorous schedules, your husband has probably been gone longer. Has worked in his office until zero-dark-thirty, has gone TDY for two weeks so that he can properly train his troops for the month-long rotation to follow.

I see that this time must be the loneliest time of his career for you. I see that people judge you before they meet you, that they place expectations on you that aren't fair, and that you are held to a standard different from the women beside you.

I see you.

I see that you cringe any time your child acts out or fidgets or speaks too loudly at an event because for whatever reason so many of us think you should have more control over your children. I know that you try your hardest to fulfill that undue expectation but I know they are children. No different from mine. They will fidget and talk and run away when you need them beside you. They are children and you are doing your best.

I know you teach them to honor the flag as best as possible, teach them service and sacrifice and the importance of what these mommies and daddies do. They are military children. You give the same hugs when they can't understand why daddy keeps leaving. You kiss the same bo-bos and make the same "cereal for dinner" nights when the day has been too hard.

I see that you are just like me. That you miss the love of your life. That you feel the weight and the sadness and the heartache. That on top of all of that, you feel the pressure from the hundreds of families who know your name. I know you don't want to let us down. I know you don't exactly know how to do that. 

That's okay. I don't know either.

I know that every night he is in his position, you will not get a full-nights sleep. You'll wake up at midnight when he finally makes it home to sleep for a few hours before heading back into the office. Or on those few nights when he actually makes it home before the sun sets, his phone will ring from the commanders and first sergeants  below him giving the report on the latest issue.

I know you will eat more dinners alone than you ever thought possible while he is "home".

I know you can't show your difficulty. I know you don't get to feel weak. That your struggle through whatever separation or deployment is something you feel you must manage on your own. That you don't get to be broken. That you don't get to check-out, because you have families depending on you. Everyone is watching.

I know you feel that.

Some of them want to see you fail. No matter what you do. No matter how kind you are, how devoted you are, how present you are - they want to see you fail them. Let them go.

I know you don't know as much as we believe you do. I know you know somethings you will say you don't. That's just part of the role you were placed in. You can't change what people think of that.

I see how hard you are trying. I see how much you care.

I see you.

I know that when you see his boots on American soil for the first time in a long time that moment is you and him. For just a moment, it is just a soldier and his wife, just a father with his children. And then the phone starts ringing again, and the hours get long again and you eat dinner alone ... again.

I know you are tired. I know you don't get the credit you are due.

I want you to know that I see you. That I appreciate you. That I know you love your soldier. I know you want to do everything in your power to support your soldier and to support these families. There is no difference between you and I but the pressure that is placed upon you, what is expected of you.

I see your intention. I see you are trying.

This time won't last forever. Do your best; give your best. 

I'm rooting for you.
Because I see you.


Written by: Megan Williams
© 2014, all rights reserved
Do not use without permission.

Builders of Bridges

I saw that someone found my blog a few days ago by googling "military girlfriend, why civilians suck".
I'm not exactly sure why google sent them to me. 

I was saying to a friend this past weekend that I have learned to be careful in my opinions and my broad judgments over the last several years. I have been humbled beyond words for the thoughts I have held strong to in the past, for the opinions I was brazen and naive enough to share. 

I was an  impatient "non-parent" who had strong beliefs on how children should behave. I know I have given harsh looks in the past, thought rude comments in my mind and sworn the awful vow of "my child will never".

God gave me an autistic child who teaches me what it is to love every single day. 

Humbled.

I was a twenty-something who strongly opposed this war, who act-u-ally verb-a-lized that a soldier could not possibly love his/her family because of what they "do to them" when they enlist. I saw no harm in saying such words, had no intense pride in our flag, and always thought - somehow in all of that thinking - that I supported the troops. 

God led me to C.

Humbled.

It wasn't just marrying a soldier that opened my eyes. It took much longer than the moments of those said vows. It was the patient and kind and grace-filled Army spouses that I met very early on in this journey. It was their pride, their intense, intense love for their soldiers, their absolute pain in joy that I witnessed.

It wasn't my first deployment that taught me. It wasn't my first R&R, my first military formal, my first "dependent" ID card.

It was these women who spoke without judgment. Who held their tongues until they could gracefully teach. Who smiled softly at my ignorance and showed me what it was to be selfless but fulfilled.

It wasn't until I stood beside my dearest friend as she labored without her husband there and watched her beautiful daughter enter into this life. It was witnessing that unthinkable courage, that tainted joy. 

It was the first time I knew the person the flag was at half-staff for. It was the first time I ran my fingers across the name on his uniform that was my name too knowing he might not come back to me. It was the first time I saw the most heart-searing pain in my husband's eyes when he took the hand of his friend's mother and walked her to his memorial. It was seeing my littlest little waddle into his daddy's arms a year after he left. 

It was through witnessing my spouse give all of himself for something greater than us. It was seeing the great burden he carried, knowing the great burden he carried, and suddenly understanding why he did it. It was his grace and selflessness and deep love for the people of this nation. It was intimately knowing the very beating of my soldier's heart. It was realizing that somewhere in all of this, his love for country was my love for country, his sense of service was my need to serve.

It wasn't anyone's anti-civilian words that made me strong in this life. It wasn't returned frustration that brought me to where I am. It wasn't clinging to the Army and separating myself from the rest of the world that allowed me to find joy. 

It was patience and grace, courage and understanding. 

I firmly believe that people react to the life we portray. That if we are to demand understanding and acceptance from our civilian counterparts, we must first demand that we give the same of ourselves to them. 

We can and must be kind and patient and grace-filled and open.  We must live in a way that shows the beauty in the sacrifice of this life. We cannot ask this country to recognize the sacrifice of service if we do not live in a way that serves. In a way that emulates the values we hold fast. 

I have been brought to tears again and again by the incredible questions and conversations I have received and had with civilian friends and acquaintances.
They have given me the most hope.
I have been humbled again and again by the reminder of the words and thoughts of my past that have allowed me to bite my tongue for a moment, to think before I speak. I have been blessed to see the outpouring of support and quest for knowledge and understanding from my home community. 

There is no doubt that that came from an open dialogue. From sharing this life. From sharing the journey.

I know there will always be hurtful words - I know because I have said them. I know there will be people who we think will never "get it". I know because I have been one.

For every military spouse that holds the mindset that "civilians suck", a brick is added to the wall that so often divides us. Choose whether you are a builder of walls or a builder of bridges.

Build walls and close yourself in. Build bridges and change mindsets.

I hope you choose to be a builder of bridges. 

Giving Back

Sometime ago I asked friends what they wanted me to write about. Our family has more going on in life than I know how to process and none of it is anything I am ready to put on this blog. We keep getting glimpses of a "bigger picture" and it is scary, and saddening, and somehow almost comforting at rare times, and challenging, and really just a lot to push through. I haven't been able to write so I asked for ideas. A very good friend asked me to write about service and volunteering.

I had every intention of throwing myself into the volunteer community when we made it to this post. I was so excited when the trainer at ACS hugged me and said she would love for me to start teaching here. I can't tell you how much I really, truly love working with Army families. 

Just a week or two later we received Eli's diagnosis and I knew that my time belonged to him and to Logan and C. That our family was going to need all that we collectively could give to one another. 

Here I am not leading any choir, not teaching any classes; the only schedules I am planning are the therapies for my kiddo. I'm not sitting at a desk answering emails about FRG Leader conflicts, or what is and isn't "legal" when it comes to FRG fundraising. I'm not checking in with unit families or making a huge pot of jambalaya to share at a meeting. 

And I have to say that I'm okay with that right now. 

I do not think that every single army spouse needs to give her time in service through volunteering. I don't think that for a moment. I don't think that every one is made for it. I don't think it is the only way to survive this life. I don't think it is the only way to thrive. 

I think whether or not you choose to volunteer has everything to do with what you personally receive from it. I don't mean awards or recognition or medals. I mean what you emotionally get from it. Does it fulfill you? Does it build you up? Does it make you a better spouse, a stronger parent, a kinder person? Whatever part of your "life" that you sacrifice to serve your community, do you get it back? Does that time away from your kids allow you to be a more patient parent? Does the time away from your spouse help you to love stronger, to understand better? 

You cannot give what you don't have. You cannot give and give and give if it doesn't make you better.

Right now, for my kiddos, my family, my personal health, I have to take a step back. If I am to give all I have to my family right now - I need to give all I have.  

I hope a year from now I will have balanced it better. I hope a year from now I will be able to dive back into what I love. I hope a year from now I can give my heart back to the Army and that we'll be in a place again that my strength is found in volunteering again. 

I do miss teaching. Every Sunday at Mass when my lip curls up for just a second because I am annoyed by something that just happened that wasn't liturgically correct, or the song isn't a good choice for the readings, C leans in and whispers, "You could fix that, ya know." But right now, I am enjoying sitting in the same pew with C and Logan (with Eli either in the nursery, or clinging to me under his blanket, or trying to escape the pew to run down the aisle). 

You must know your limits. You must know where your life demands you to go. Sometimes you need to recharge, reevaluate, revamp. 

I love my community. I love what volunteering for this community has given me back. It brings me such joy.

Give what you have to give. Know what it gives you back. Service is incredible and (for me) necessary and an honor. 

When we give our joy, we always get it back. 

You have to know where you find your strength, where you find your hope. I find both, everyday, in every moment with my family.