I'm A Milspouse....Let's Just Get That Out There!

So, I am the spouse of a United States Navy Commander.  Whatcha got to say about it?  For the longest time I didn't really admit to that.  Not that I hid it, I just didn't fit into the milspouse definition in my mind.  I was 39 years and 10 months old when I married my husband.  I had a life, a career, a house, friends, finances and independence.  My husband had these same things, and was in the Navy.  However could our lives combine, or at the very least cross with one another?

The first few years of my military experience were horrific.  I did meet some fan-damn-tastic ladies though.  These ladies were my rocks.  My cheerleaders.  My confidants.  My shoulders.  My teachers.  My mentors.  I still cling to some of these ladies as if my life depends on it.  They are strong, determined women who make it happen no matter what.  While I understood and admired them, I didn't feel like one of them.  It was always "the navy wives" and I was on the outside.  I'm not sure if it was because I was so independent when I entered the military life, or if I was just older, but I always felt like I was on the outside looking in.

This all changed literally today when something just clicked in my mind.  My husband entered into the training phase of his next job back in June.  It is the learning phase known as the pipeline.  He left 5 1/2 months ago, and I have been here in paradise dealing with all the of the day to day bullshit that happens when you buy a fixer-upper 5 (yes, I said five) weeks (yes, weeks) before your husband leaves for training.  Oh we knew what we were getting into, but there were times, especially in the beginning, when I questioned our judgment as well as our sanity.   Lately, I have been reminded by those wonderful ladies mentioned in the second paragraph that "tis the season".  That would be the PCS season (for you civilian types, that's permanent change of station, or "new orders" season).  It's what we know.  It's what we do.  It's what we cringe at.

What this all means is that it's time to move, probably to a place you don't really want to go.  It means that you will ultimately endure this move all by yourself.  This is because your loving husband will be so busy turning over in his old job, checking into his new job and otherwise finding some reason to not be there when the movers come to pack you out.

The civilian world thinks that we have it easy when moving because the military pays for someone to come out, pack us up, move our stuff and unpack at the other end.  What it really means is that a week or so before the movers come (longer if you are OCD like me) you start sorting all of your shit, putting valuable things in rubbermaid bins or in one section of your living room so that you can keep eyes on it at all times.  Then you take all the things off your walls and clean them, since we all know they haven't gotten a good cleaning since they went on the walls two years ago, and put those in nice little toe breaking piles in your living room.  Then you go from room to room consolidating everything into one space, again to keep eyes on things.  On moving day, you also hope that the antique dresser
 that you got from great-aunt Sally makes it to the truck without losing a leg while they move it through the doorway, taking off paint and a huge chunk of wood from said doorway.  You run around with a clipboard and pen trying to keep eyes on all of your crap so that it doesn't end up in the pocket of the movers or in a box that will stay with the movers.  You do this all...by...your...self.  Yes, we have it so easy.

I won't get into the housing situation with the military as that would make for a reallllly long post.  Suffice it to say that if you do manage to get a decent (key word here) house in military housing, you will be lucky if you can move into it within the first year of your two year tour.  Again, those in the civilian world think that we have it easy because housing is "free".  Well, I am here to tell you that it is without a doubt, absolutely, positively NOT free!  We pay for it out of our paychecks.  It's called a housing allowance and we're lucky if the housing allowance is worth the dwelling that was assigned. Oh, and don't go over your utilities allowance or that comes out of pocket too.  We also pay for it with our spouses, some of whom sacrifice their lives for the job.  We pay for it with our families and our friends.  We pay for it with our careers and our sanity.  We pay for it with our book clubs and wine nights and favorite parks that those in the civilian world get to have day in and day out for all the days that they choose. 

Sacrifice is a much better word for it than "pay".  Military spouses make some serious sacrifices.  But what they do have always is strength and courage, dedication and commitment.  They have bonds that can not be broken.  They are the ones who will pick up others to levels they never thought possible.  They will support you through the hardest of times in ways that family members could never be able to.  They celebrate the little things with you like phone calls and emails, and don't forget the best - halfway night!!  They are there no matter where they are...Bahrain, Kings Bay, Pearl Harbor or Japan...never faltering, never giving up, always lending advice or a shoulder.  They are military spouses....oh to hell with political correctness...they are military WIVES!!!  Proud and strong!  I am one of them.

Don't ever say to a military spouse "this is the life you chose".  Aside from getting decked, you will get the simple response, "yes, it is the life that I was brave enough, smart enough, and strong enough to handle while supporting my husband so that you can live the life you lead".  Next time you meet a military wife, thank her.  She has made these sacrifices for you.

Life's a beach, and then you live on one...