I am nearing the end of pulling together documentation for my VA claim, so here’s a bit of an update with some additional clarification on past discussions.  From my research, I learned the Al Anbar Province of Iraq is equivalent in size to the state of North Carolina.  I spent two separate seven month deployments to this region, but the deployment I speak (for you new readers) most of is the one I served under 1st Marine Division and is what I am discussing tonight.

Unpacking my military service with fellow graduate students from 2014 to 2016 was the first time I started to look more critically at my time period of service, my branch of service, changes to military policy, and how bases on deployments reinforce, create, and challenge certain societal expectations and behaviors. My first attempt of reviewing the casualty information related to my deployment was one of the most stressful things I’ve done since leaving the Marine Corps but I hope others saw the good intentions behind my actions and the knowledge I shared.  I felt it was tough to have a classroom full of peers, many without any personal connection to war and conflict, criticize an experience I lived through and my deployment was marked by trauma not well discussed by our nation’s media.

I write to you of an imperfect journey started last spring.  When I first braved the idea of sorting through the U.S. service member casualty data, I did so with the intent of educating collegiate students about modern war service in a support capacity; I also gathered information, as best as possible, about Iraq casualties through Iraq Body Count. The hardest piece of information to gather was for insurgents killed as I could not find it broken down by province by the best available data came from Stars and Stripes Insurgent ‘Body Count’ Records Released article published October 1, 2007.

After my second look (solely focused on US service members), I saw I made a mistake in my numbers, adding one extra casualty, from the time period of August 13th, 2004 to February 25th, 2005 because I misread my Excel spreadsheet.  I am embarrassed by this mistake, but with a clearer head this time, I know why the mistake was made.  I was crazy exhausted pulling together this information for my graduate applied project while also pulling 40 hour work weeks.  I could have asked someone to take a second look, but I was–and still am–personally invested in telling of my experiences a certain way.  I do not like when someone takes my words and shapes their own agenda, skewing what I said to imply something else.  I’ve seen when such oversight creates a larger misunderstanding and I do not want someone else to misrepresent my experiences.

The second look at the casualty data from Military Times Honor the Fallen  was done for personal reasons.  I needed this information to help support my claim with the VA that my anxiety-induced chest pains are service connected.  My military record is sparse as I grew tired coordinating with–and lacked trust in–military medical facility staff.  For all the great things I experienced in the Marine Corps, medical care is not one of them.  The culture of the Marine Corps,too, creates some undue pressure to avoid medical care, both to avoid the label of ‘malingerer’ and to remain deployable.

Looking back, I realize I had a choice and I didn’t use my voice to speak up when medical staff dismissed my physical symptoms as a ‘runner’s stitch’ although I was repeatedly adamant I never experienced a chest pain during physical activity.  For this look, I included the dates that matched the dates of service listed on my Navy and Marine Corps Achievement citation (posted below as a snippet).  I don’t need to go down the road with the VA on why I believe looking through my last day of service at Camp Blue Diamond is important nor do I think providing them with the Iraqi casualty information will be helpful because I cannot pinpoint which deaths are tied to my period of service overseas, same for the insurgent data.

The citation hides, in plain language, what a significant event is, and for us, it was mostly information about the killed and wounded (friendly, civilians, and enemy combatants).  This type of work was classified secret, so without access to military records, I have used the readily available information at hand from Military Times, Iraq Body Count, and the Stars and Stripes article to give you some semblance of my Operation Iraqi Freedom 2-2 deployment.  (My second Iraq deployment was OIF 5-7, for anyone who is interested in Iraq rotations.)

Military Times Honor the Fallen Data

Most accurate data as I individually recorded for Al Anbar Province and by individual day (Military Times does not have a ‘sort’ feature by province)

***I am providing more detailed information to the VA than what I am sharing with you all today.

Iraq Body Count Data

Medium Accuracy: Province specific, not date specific

Maximum Recorded Killed by Month

Stars and Stripes Data

Least Accurate Data: Not Specific to Al Anbar Province Nor by Individual Day

As my weekend permits, I want to also share a more intimate look at the U.S. Service member casualty information.  There is a lot to dissect about causes of death, incidents that affected multiple personnel, and operating in constantly stressful environments, but it’s best to have a separate discussion.

The journey to complete my second review, while not as stressful as the first, was still stressful.  This deployment changed my feelings a lot regarding personal safety, how I approach my work, my personal relationships, and how I viewed my place in this world.  I am better for serving, but like many others, I still have work to do coping with the aftermath of this part of my life.

~Cheryl

Good afternoon, everyone.  Today I had my first encounter with a quite strange individual on Instagram.  His undue comments, see below, loosely tie in with what I originally wanted to talk about today, the Las Vegas shooting.

We live in a society where people currently feel they are entitled to information about total strangers and are subsequently personally affronted when that privacy door is slammed in their faces.

Before I get to my sentiments about the Las Vegas shooting, let me tell you the guy was affronted about me not wanting to share my shoe size.  Mr. Shoe/Foot Fetish was a bit pissed that I didn’t want to give him this little detail about my body.  Although all comments related to this little spat are deleted after he asked if I minded (Yes, I mind being asked.) I gave the following response:

It’s simple, right?  I do not owe anyone any part of my personal life that I do not wish to share.  I don’t owe someone details about what I had for breakfast.  I don’t owe someone a sneak peek or my sentiments of my financials.  I do not owe anyone an explanation of my military service and subsequent troubles getting the VA to understand the anxiety-related chest pains I’ve dealt with for the last 12 years.  Yet, there are times I CHOOSE to share this information.  The key thing is I’m talking about choice.

I don’t condemn people for wanting information in the wake of a public tragedy but the more we continue to presume, via our social media presences, that small details of others’ lives are ours to know the more I see this problem seep in how tragedies are documented and discussed.  I feel so awkward listening to some interviews and news stories; the exploitation of people fresh in their personal grief aggravates me.  This morning, in particular, it was hard, as a mother, to hear a small boy on tv give testimony about how he was without his mom now.  Seriously, right now he needs the safe embrace of loved ones, not the media coming in to repackage his trauma, pulling at fellow Americans’ heartstrings.

I say these things because I’ve been in similar shoes on two occasions.

After losing my friend, Bart, in 2002, I watched, with utter disgust, how the media camped out in his neighborhood.  My friends know I didn’t handle it well and I cussed at those local reporters.  None of us expected he would die so young or that he would become a murder victim.

In the other situation, away from prying media eyes, I sat besides my parter in 2004 (we’ve been exes for quite some time) as strangers asked him if being shot changed his belief in God.  Are you freaking kidding me?!

The fact people are willing to ask such things is not an overnight phenomenon.  It’s the small questions over time, chipping away at personal boundaries–real and imaginary–that encourage and emblazon others to think no question is off limits.

So, to the person who asked me about my shoe size today, I had good reason to tell you know.  I had more than one reason to tell you know and I only gave you one response.  You weren’t even OWED a response!

To our Las Vegas shooting victims, I apologize for any infringement you suffer in the wake of this intimate and public tragedy.  I will watch the news, with a critical mind, and I will cringe when I see those vignettes that border on the inappropriate.

For everyone still wondering those things that I’m seeing, here’s one tidbit from The Washington Post.  It is frustrating to see that question, Do you know someone who died?  

I want to close with some information I found from the organization Trauma Intervention Programs’ “When Tragedy Strikes” regarding dealing with the media.  You can always say no.  You can choose how to share your sentiments.  You can choose who in your family is interviewed and who is excluded from interviews.  You have the right to complain about the process and persons involved in interviewing you.  You have the right to know how your story, as you’ve shared it, is being told.  I am touching on so little of this process, but we are all people with the rights to our personal lives and you owe nothing to anyone else that you do not wish to give.

~Cheryl

Good evening, everyone.  I wanted to drop in real quick.

I’m taking a few moments for myself this night watching “Wedding Crashers” with my husband.  (For anyone who doesn’t know me personally, I’m probably the worst person to sit down and watch a tv show or at home movie with because I am constantly getting up to grab food, check my email, attend to my kids…anything.)

I came across an article this morning that I feel needs more recognition.  In the past, I’ve talked about my frustration with veteran entitlement and usually my sentiments focus on people who think because they served, they are owed preferential treatment every day moving forward, but this issue is a bit more elevated.  In this situation, what the veteran has done is deplorable.

The article I saw this morning, shared on Military Times, discussed how former Master Sergeant Mack Cole Jr. pretended he couldn’t walk to obtain more healthcare benefits.  Ugh.  Seriously?!  I don’t think the 27 month prison sentence is enough punishment for this sort of behavior.

I don’t think it’s a bad thing to have wanted disability compensation for a back injury but to exacerbate it to the extent he pretended he couldn’t walk is an insult to all our veterans who have lost the ability to walk on their own two legs.  I don’t know what that pain looks like and for individuals who cope with paralysis or the loss of one or both lower limbs, I cannot imagine the anger some might feel looking at this guy.

His descent into healthcare fraud is a part of why it’s so challenging for veterans to go through the disability claims process.  When we go in to honestly talk to the claims examiners, we have people like this tainting the visibility and integrity of our community.  People like this guy might be the only veteran others encounter and their misconduct leaves such a terrible impression.

Remember he is part of the minority, not the majority of our population.

Good morning, everyone!!!  It’s almost 8:40 am this Sunday morning but I’ve been since 5:15 am.  A planned hike with my in-laws didn’t pan out so I used the time instead to get a jump on the day.  I already made one of our dinners for the week, a hot Italian chicken sausage and veggie pot pie, and will start work soon again today on my VA claim paperwork.  (So far, I’ve backtracked on the August and September 2004 casualties; I have five more months to go back over and I am waiting for older civilian medical records to be mailed to me so I can discuss, yet again, my anxiety-induced chest pains with the VA.)

This week delivered more stress than I typically encounter this time of year.  The resulting uptick in chest pains makes me more uncomfortable, adding its own layer of stress.  These stressful things are temporary, I know, but it still frustrates me.  We’ve had a really long summer: my husband’s service dog tore her ACL, our other dog had cherry eye surgery (and revision surgery), an A/C issue resulted in a small repair just under $300, and this week was a frustrating mix of a termite inspection (our neighbor has active termites), the brakes went out in one vehicle and fireworks were on the menu.  Ugh!!!

I make a conscious effort daily to find ways to de-stress, and I think anyone who has life dump so much at one time knows the same thing: we’re all a ‘work in progress.’  I am not the best at managing my anger and frustration when life falls apart, and my budget is hit hard month after month.  I owed my daughter an apology earlier this week when I let my anger at the world over our ongoing array of mishaps get the best of me because this week wore me down greatly and I fear she thought I was mad at her.  I wasn’t, but she’s little and doesn’t understand anger directed outward isn’t necessarily directed at her.

After composing myself, I talked to her about being mad regarding these large expenses.  Each expenditure has meant a dip in our budget, a need to be creative in other areas of spending, and facing the reality while I wanted us to take a trip to Vegas in January and start saving towards a Hawaii trip next year those prospective trips are off the table.  She doesn’t recognize in the eleven years her dad and I have been married, we’ve never treated ourselves to a big trip or why that luxury matters to us.  We didn’t have a fancy wedding nor did we go on a honeymoon; it was nice to dream that renewing our vows in Vegas (I’ve never been to Vegas as an adult!) and makeup honeymoon were within reach in a year’s time.

As I write these things to you, I know–and own the reality–these are first world problems.  I am still in a place of privilege.  I own my home, I have a job that allows me to support my family.  My family and friends stand by me for this journey.  My fridge, freezer, and pantry are always stocked.  I have free time to reflect on where I am personally and professionally, time to look back on all I’ve experienced, and plan for the future.  The situation is not as dire as it feels in the moment.

Facebook keeps criticizing me for not writing all the time for my ‘She Wears Dog Tags’ page and while I try not to let it bother me, sometimes it gets under my skin.  I am not a full-time writer.  I do enjoy writing and it is a form of therapy for me when the rest of the world seems to exacerbate my anxiety but I now see the downside to having a business Facebook page.  Ugh.

It is always my goal to write on this blog at least once a month but the constant notifications that “people haven’t heard from me”….that crap gets old.

I don’t write to share superficial sentiments.

I was feeling a little hesitant to share how I’ve been feeling yesterday and today but with the honesty I’ve shared with other trials, I want to reaffirm my stance you will only find vulnerability and camaraderie here.  It’s taken a lot to be open about coping with anxiety and I am not going to skirt around that issue as I’ve done in my earlier writing.

I am stepping out on a limb to have the VA revisit my disability claim for anxiety and the anxiety-induced chest pains.  The approach I am taking is unconventional but I don’t have much of anything valuable, in the VA’s eyes, in my medical record.  I cannot undo the fact I refused medical care in the Marine Corps because I did not trust the people I visited to take me seriously.  Unfortunately, I find myself in the same situation with the VA.

The breadcrumbs they have from my medical records are insufficient for them to make the connections that my chest pains stem from the continued trauma associated with my deployment.  I cannot fully blame them as I recognize fraudulent claims are a real concern and the VA pays out heavily for that type of mistake.

I find myself in a position to educate the VA on an issue they do not see well (and quite potentially, they may not have seen at all.).  I don’t know how likely they’ve seen situations like mine where I was exposed to trauma in the form of constant information regarding the dead and wounded.  The VA, I don’t think, can understand that pain like they might the mortar fire that also provided constant danger where we served at Camp Blue Diamond.

I’ve known for sometime I need to revisit the dead via my work for my applied project and the information I found about my fallen peers from the Military Times Honor the Fallen.  The official records from the Military Times, bolstered by the journal entries I wrote during my deployment, provide what is probably my last chance to explain to the VA a type of deployment experience that I think is still quite foreign to them.

I am quite stressed knowing I have to revisit the deceased again.  This process was difficult and heartbreaking during my Master’s program but I knew it was important to encourage non-veterans to see war in a way that is not discussed in the academic classroom.  I didn’t think I would need to open my trauma this way to discuss my past with the VA.  I thought I could discuss my deployment in a way that’s less painful to talk about but I don’t think I’m getting heard.  Instead I was greeted with a slew of questions poking and prodding about my family life, education, and interactions with friends, looking for other potential sources of trauma.  I don’t think I’d mind that too much if I was equally given the chance to be heard about what my deployment looked like, how I went about my work, and asked why I am adamant about being one of the best at my work.

I had a lot of trouble falling asleep last night.  I know I need to break up the records into more manageable chunks of time but even with that decision made, I know my heart will take it personally to see these stories again.  It’s likely my anxiety will increase again as I sort through this information, something I’ve wanted to avoid, but I don’t know how to separate my feelings from the process.  There are a lot of people who were lost and it’s hard as a Marine to feel like we didn’t do enough to prevent some of these casualties.

As I continue this work for my VA claim, I may not write as much but I will still be in touch.  It’s a huge emotional journey to revisit my past this way and I want you all to be prepared, and hopefully understanding, of why I’m distant with my writing from time to time.  I know that sometimes I cannot continue to pile things on my plate when I feel overburdened because it exacerbates my anxiety and increases the frequency/intensity of my chest pains and having to go back to the VA, for a third time, regarding chest pains since 2005 is the biggest burden on me right now.

Thanks again for the patience and space you afford me in this leg of my journey.

(If I get too far behind in writing and you are bored, just come find me on Instagram. I enjoy ‘talking’ about food a lot.)

Seriously, it’s been 10 years.

Ten years ago I left the Marine Corps.  Ten years ago I decided I needed (rather than wanted) to go back to college.  Ten years ago I decided to give up a way of life.  Ten years ago I decided freedom was worth more than a pretty substantial paycheck. Ten years ago I walked away with an honorable discharge (and not much else).

I had acquired very little possessions while I was in.  My wardrobe consisted of a week’s worth of clothing. I owned more Marine Corps uniform shoes than civilian footwear. I left the Marine Corps with only one purse (and it was from Aeropostale).  It wasn’t until I started working again later in 2007 that some coworkers encouraged–ok it was a hard nudge–me to pick up some makeup for myself. I had one ball gown in my possession but nothing else in the way of dress attire.  I lived almost exclusively in my handful of jeans, t-shirts, and hoodies.  The minuscule amount of furniture my husband and I owned came from Walmart; he built those items with one of his friends during the course of my second deployment.  Our bed was the same he used in high school.  (We’ve updated our bed since then because a full size bed does not cut it for two people!)

I felt quite inept picking out a civilian work wardrobe that I went to New York & Company, picking up several of the same style shirt in different colors.  I was equally inept in the kitchen which is why I watched different Food Network shows on a daily basis.  The other side of my ineptness was using the word F*ck ALL.THE.TIME.

My sincerest apologies to everyone who met the post-Marine Corps 2007 ‘Me’.  She was constantly using F*ck as a noun, verb, and adjective.  She could barely cook macaroni and cheese and Hamburger Helper.  She put minimum effort into her clothes and worked out even less.  She got another tattoo, pierced her ears two more times, and got a tongue piercing for the hell out of it.  Rebellion that should best be lived out in the teenage years cropped up in full force.  Yes, she was a little bitchy and indifferent.

2007 is not a year recorded well via photographs.  My computer crashed after we lived in Wyoming and I didn’t have many saved somewhere other than my desktop.  These are a few of the photographs I had saved on Facebook.

I still stand by my decision to separate from the Marine Corps.  Towards the end especially my journey with the Marine Corps was causing more heartache than sense of achievement and purpose.  I grew quite tired of working with people whose maturity level peaked in early high school.  I didn’t like the way orders for deployment were handled with my second command.  In numerous ways, I felt like my life in the Corps would be like the spin cycle in a washing machine and I would be trapped saying, “What if?” all the time instead of going out there and finding out who I really wanted to be.

I learned a lot about myself by leaving the Marine Corps.  I learned how to talk (more) like an adult should speak.  Now I tend to only use the word F*ck when I stub my toe, run late to appointments, get cut off by someone in traffic, my dog craps in my car and subsequently vomits on the seat…ok I still swear a lot.  But I don’t swear as much at work like I used to and that’s a good thing.  (I swore last week when I dropped my water bottle cap on the floor because that’s seriously the grossest thing ever.)  I now dress in dresses; you can thank Stitch Fix for setting me up with a grownup wardrobe.

I am a self-taught cook and baker, mostly because I cannot imagine dolling out big bucks for culinary school.  If you need any examples of my playful devotion to the good food life, you can always scoop out my Instagram.  While I mostly post about food finds in restaurants and at the grocery store, I share a bit about my home food life as well.

One of the best things I did after leaving the Marine Corps was working on responsibly drinking.  I didn’t take the best care of myself in 2005 after returning home from Iraq of legal drinking age.  I haven’t faltered too much since then and granted, I know I wasn’t quite as bad as other people.  One of the worst things I did though was being that stupid person drinking in the back of a car when the driver is also drinking.  I always knew better but for a while I didn’t care.  Don’t be that person.  Don’t let someone be that driver.  It’s a recipe for disaster and thankfully none of us involved (and others on the road) weren’t injured or killed as a result of our poor decisions.

I am proud, on the other hand, that I stuck to my goal of completing a collegiate education.  I am privileged to have completed two undergraduate degrees and a Master’s degree.  Many veterans do not complete an education after separating from their respective service branches and their benefits go unused.  Other times, veterans squander their benefits away by not applying themselves in the classroom and run out of benefits before they run out of classes for their chosen degree plan.

I didn’t participate in the real graduation ceremony in Laramie but went to a smaller informal gathering for “graduation.”

I went all out for graduate commencement at ASU. 🙂

Unfortunately, along the way not all my decisions ended with my desired results.  If I could have avoided my two periods of unemployment my family would be in a better financial position now.  If we had taken advantaged of the depressed Phoenix housing market in late 2011 to early 2012, we also could be sitting on more equity.  If I had been adamant with the VA back in 2007 my journey to get them to see my chest pains as service connected would be easier and the disability compensation could have helped out during unemployment periods 1 and 2.  At the time I made different decisions, I foresaw certain end results.

I’ve benefitted a lot the last ten years as a result of leaving the Marine Corps and having served when I did.  The Post-9/11 GI Bill is an incredible tool and unfortunately, not everyone utilizes or will utilize it well.  If I had stayed in, I’m not sure how dedicated I would have been with my education; the few times I utilized Department of Defense tuition assistance, I wasn’t applying myself fully to my classes.  I met many great Marines who are still a part of my life now; we all spent a different amount of our lifetime in the Corps and a few are still serving.  It’s good to see the Marine Corps is treating them well and I’m grateful none of them look down on me for leaving.  The freedom we have to stay connected via social media greatly adds value to my life given how scattered we are around the country (and at times, for them, around the globe).  I know social media gets torn apart of lot for being a time suck,etc.  but again, it’s a tool.  Use it wisely.

My life now at the ten year post-separation mark is starting to look pretty good.

My new job lets me work from home occasionally and I’m starting to share that journey on Instagram.  (Don’t worry, not all my lunch breaks include sangria.)

This year I started a friendship with a former boyfriend’s partner and since February, she and I have developed an unexpectedly supportive bond  We would not have met had my ex and I not served in the Marine Corps meeting at the pivotal point of his return from Iraq.  I might be fortunate to meet her in-person in January if all goes well and I’m very much looking forward to the opportunity as well to take a trip out of Arizona.

I also snuck in more family visits this year than years previous.  I received a surprise visit with my parents in April.  My older sister made it out to Scottsdale for job training and we spent two days visiting.  More recently, my dad came out for two very short trips and he and my stepmom might be out again in the fall.

Hopefully 2017 continues to be a good year for me.

~Cheryl

I’m writing kind of early this Saturday but it’s hard to sleep in with puppies.

An hour and a half ago I was determined I would write about the emotional pain associated with the Fourth of July.  Independence Day was something I celebrated with great joy as a child but the holiday lost its magic when my friend Bart Carroll was murdered on July 4, 2002.  Thankfully I still have strong happy memories associated with the holiday but losing him changed the trajectory of my life.  As one of the first loves of my life he left an impression on my heart that was strong enough to inspire me to serve, to finish his mission.

I’ve experienced so much in the fifteen years he’s been gone but like everyone else he touched we tend to think about what he didn’t experience.  He didn’t get to marry.  He didn’t get the joy of bringing children into his life.  He didn’t get to serve in Iraq, as was his desire.  I don’t know what dreams he had for himself that composed a bucket list that will never be complete.

After he died, I thought I would at least enjoy fireworks as a means to find peace with his loss.  My heart clung to this notion the celebratory fireworks would give me solace and a tiny bit of happiness on a day that was tarnished.

Now that fireworks remind me of mortar attacks and more specifically the day Captain Brock was hit by indirect fire I hate this time of year even more.  I can’t even say it’s just the Fourth that bothers me, certainly it’s not my friend, but the days surrounding the holiday get to be my demons, too.

Consumer use of fireworks is permitted from June 24th to July 6th.  For someone who doesn’t suffer anxiety around fireworks the time period is awesome.  I have thirteen days of wondering and worrying fireworks will disrupt my ability to fall and stay asleep.  It’s that feeling of being back in Iraq the day Captain Brock was hit.  I feel a sense of powerlessness I don’t like and have to work through because it’s not like  I have any guarantee on what days and times my neighbors will use fireworks.  I also don’t feel free to go out at night for a walk or dining out, which is a whole other matter.  My daughter is getting to an age where she likes fireworks, too, and I am not ready to take her to any public display nor do I buy fireworks to use in the neighborhood so she gets this childhood experience.

This year is only the third Fourth of July fireworks season for me in Gilbert.  This season I am (hopefully) a bit more prepared than years past.  In 2015, there was zero preparation; I was thrown into a bit of hell only rivaled by New Year’s Eve fireworks.  I didn’t realize how much people love using fireworks in the neighborhood over checking out public displays.  (Public fireworks displays made life easier in Wyoming and I only experienced a small amount of fireworks with my sister-in-law and her family there.)  Last year on the Fourth of July, my husband and I went out to dinner and walked over afterwards to the movie theater.  I had some fireworks startle me on my walk over so I needed a few minutes to compose myself before rejoining my husband for the movie.  This year will be very different for me.

The Town of Gilbert and a local fireworks company are keeping me notified of different public displays and for the first time here, I am venturing out with my husband to have an outing with friends in Phoenix.  I already warned the group I tend to experience panic attacks around fireworks so they’re prepared as well!  We started discussing a Fourth of July get together during Memorial Day weekend so I’ve had time to wrap my mind around the idea of how to handle the situation if I have a panic attack around new friends.  Up until this point, my husband has been the only person (thankfully) to see me suffer through a panic attack and it’s hard to know other people might see me when I am that vulnerable.

As I tiptoe into social outings, I am taking baby steps (as I would encourage any other person who struggles with fireworks).  I was informed I should be able to see the fireworks where we will be without the overwhelming sound/sensation of the explosions.  I haven’t set up a specific amount of time I’ll stay out.  I don’t know how I’ll feel until I’m out and around everyone while being exposed to fireworks.  However, I’ve planned accordingly to have a safe outing as much as possible within my control.

One last thing.  This time of year as well, I implore my fellow Americans to also be  respectful to our refugee population knowing many of them, like a number of our veterans, have also dealt with explosions that jeopardized their safety and the safety of their loved ones.  Too often these men, women, and children are not seen as also needing social support but we need to empathize with their situations.  A number of them have lived through war and conflict longer than many of our nation’s war veterans and yet their needs are underrepresented in the media.  Fireworks may also remind them of painful experiences in their past.

Ok…so I guess I do have one last thing.  If you are going to use fireworks this time of year, please stay safe.  Use fireworks responsibility to prevent injury to yourself and to others enjoying your celebration.

Relationships don’t always last, especially when you serve in the military.

I didn’t think too much of this reality when I was a kid watching my dad’s relationship with my mom.  He had a failed significant partnership before with the mother of his son and my mother ended her marriage to my biological father despite having three kids to support.  (Her and my dad later had a child together.)  Their partnership was something I always wanted for myself.  It was easy to not focus on their arguments but the playful way they supported each other.

One of my fondest memories is seeing how he wrote “D” on the envelopes of all the cards he gave her; I loved how instead of writing her full name, he left an impact with the simple ‘D’ for Dawn.

As kids we don’t always see the struggles our parents have in their partnerships and certainly, it’s hard to see how military service (and frequent separations) can place greater demands on a married couple.  My mother divorced my biological father who served in the Navy and not surprisingly, she found another sailor who made her happy and became the last love of her life.  I am my mother this way; I wasn’t intentionally drawn to guys in uniform but my proximity to them made them my them my preferred partner options.  That sounds silly, doesn’t it?  However, it’s not like any of us go to great lengths to scour this earth for a partner.

We tend to find people who naturally come across our path.  When I served, I did not set out to ‘find a man’ but to find a purpose in my life following a journey started by my friend, Barton Carroll.  I knew I might find someone to date over time but that was a normal life experience, and I thought I could retain some control and privacy over that area in my life.  I thought anything shared with my work family would be of my choosing, not that my work family would choose what was their business as it related to my personal life.

It was easy to see early on during my short Marine Corps career dating was a tricky area.  I could not date and have my partnership be a private matter.  To this day, it bothers me that my privacy was not respected.  I was eager to separate my dating life from my work life but others would not permit to go unnoticed; it’s funny too because people often thing women are full of drama but I found men are just as bad, sometimes worse.  The transition from dating into exploring marriage was also under scrutiny.

I naively thought my command would be respectful of my decision to get married, but I was subject to stories of their marriage trouble.  These tales were not woven from hearts guided by leadership to encourage me to think wisely about the promises I entered into but instead tales of insecurity spoken without any real purpose.  These men were taking a moment (a really inappropriate moment) to bitch about their wives.

In my opinion, it’s ok that not everyone gets married.  If the “leaders” at my second unit were a bit more mature at the point they decided to get married, I don’t think they would have shared the same stories with me years later in 2006 when I married my husband.  Instead, I think they would have focused on the values to keep in mind for good and bad days because we all have them.

Not too long ago I was happy to find some important advice as it relates to partnerships in Stephen Covey’s The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.  He describes love as a verb and a feeling.  I’ve never hear someone describe it as such before and his poetic explanation is something I hope to remember often.

“Proactive people make love a verb.  Love is something you do…[l]ove is a value that is actualized through loving actions” (p. 80).

Looking back, I was quite frustrated trying to figure out why I was more serious about my relationships than my partners.  Back then, I thought dating could be simple.  I love you, you love me. I thought I could be the perfect partner by not being like the “last girl”, the woman who left and essentially “took it all.”  I recognized we all bring some emotional baggage into our partnerships but I thought that we could treat the baggage as just a conversation piece, like a note you unfold and toss when no longer necessary.  I did not realize how often it was more tangible, like real luggage that occupies physical space and requires energy to move around into a more convenient location in someone’s life.  Like you move luggage from the hallway to the closet so you don’t trip on it all the time.

As a child, I did not see my parents’ emotional baggage.  I didn’t know how hard it was for my dad to not develop a strong relationship with his son because his ex was spurned.  I didn’t know how much my biological father disappointed my mother.  Instead, I saw their marriage dotted with overt sentimentality.  I could see the gifts and hugs but I did not see the difficult conversations, especially those brought on by the difficult landscape of a military career.

My husband and I also traversed similarly difficult landscape.  Early in our marriage, I thought sharing the same branch of service and MOS tidied up the landscape for us.  We could bond over the fun parts of the Corps (seriously, the Marine Corps birthday is the best!) and complain about the same things like how ridiculous it is to have your room inspected EVERY. SINGLE. WEEK.  (We did not yet experience what it was like for both of us to have deployments.)  Unlike many of our peers, we did not come into our relationship with children from past relationships and I also felt this ‘freedom’ provided us an opportunity to take directions in our partnership not always accessible to those who must share custody with former partners.  I speak very much from personal experience when I say it’s not difficult to love someone who bore children with someone else.  It’s just a giant pain in the ass to know there are restrictions when that person must share custody and be less biographically available to take new opportunities.

To people who don’t know me well it will sound strange to say early on in my partnership my husband and I decided it would be best for the longevity of our partnership for me to take the chance and switch units.  Junior personnel took personal offense to our partnership, despite the fact they felt if roles were reversed it would be “no big deal.”    We felt our relationship would be under less scrutiny if we did not work together.  When the opportunity to work elsewhere came along we took decisive steps to guarantee a personal change of duty station and along the way got tugged between the new unit indicating I would and later would not be deploying to Iraq.  (I ended up deploying anyway after we were pretty happy with the notion of not deploying.  C’est la vie!).

Unlike previous relationships, I learned quickly a business-like tenacity was required and he was either onboard or wasn’t and because I had been disappointed before, I was more blunt than I’ve probably been with anyone else.  I wasn’t looking for someone to fulfill me.  That just wasn’t happening in my life.  I would make some over-the-top effort to show someone he was appreciated and each effort ended terribly with me feeling like I wasn’t worth being loved, otherwise why would those people rebuff me the way they had?  Instead, I looked for something else.  I wanted to go out and have a good time.  I looked for something simple.  I wanted us to split the cost of the experiences we shared together.  Maybe it’s weird to say I set ground rules (because I didn’t) but for probably the first time I made sure we approached decision making together.

Many of the decisions were quite mundane but I wanted to know I would be ok if he left.  I would be ok if it didn’t work out.  I didn’t want the situation to be too risky and then feel blindsided when/if he became risk adverse about the future.  I would still have a path to follow if my ‘business partner’ left the partnership.  Certainly, there is a way that I loved with complete abandon that was part of my past MO that I struggle to bring back, to offer to my husband.

I see that attitude in how I talk with certain girl and guy friends.  It’s often confused for romantic interest or conveys to people a friendship longer than our true investment in each other.  It’s never intentional to exclude my husband from that carefree/barriers down/adventurous spirit I possess but I know with others I don’t have the same responsibilities.  For this reason, there are many times I slip into this mindset without thinking of it at all; I just jump in wherever we last left off until we have to unfortunately say goodbye again.  They can love and hate me all in the same week and we won’t be stuck seeing each other late at night when either one of us is at our ugliest throwing up from the flu and someone needs to buy crackers and ginger ale.  I won’t be sitting across from them waiting for support when my daughter pushes my buttons one too many times and an unfortunate swear word slips too easily off my tongue and I’ve hurt her feelings.  I don’t need my friends to rescue me from those moments but I definitely need them from my spouse.

Tomorrow is my 11th wedding anniversary (Ok, like 10 minutes from right now since it’s 11:50pm) which is why I’ve felt it crucial to talk from a real perspective.  No person is perfect.  No marriage is perfect.  Just because I don’t lay bear every mistake I’ve ever made does not mean I do not make bad decisions or have a carefree life.  Society often crafts a message that marriage should be this blissful experience ALWAYS.  The message gets warped further that the other person should love us and risk everything because that’s what love really is, after all.  Not quite.  These tainted messages make us think that a good marriage is out-of-reach or that marriage is the epitome of happiness.  I know plenty of people who are happy without being married to their partners and others who, in spite of arguing all the time, truly enjoy each other’s company.

My husband’s job is to help me accomplish my goals as my responsibility is to help him accomplish his dreams; it’s not that either person has a greater right to having their needs met but that we equally work towards shared goals, particularly financial stability and personal satisfaction.  We won’t equally bring in the same paycheck nor will be always be on the same success trajectory with our careers, but we can support each other during transition points.  We have a lot of work probably for the duration of our lives based on the deployment stress we encountered but we talk about those things just like we also talk about fun stuff (vacations, extra money, etc.).  To the people who didn’t want to jump in a long term endeavor with me, I am fairly certain they will (or have) found out the same things I did.

Compromise and sacrifice make marriage work and also make work of marriage.