My PCS Identity Crisis

In 2010, my husband, daughter, and I left the busy, traffic-carved streets of a bustling duty station and made a Permanent Change of Station (PCS) move to a sleepy western community where the only traffic sounds were the clops of dusty horses that ambled past our home. It was a necessary move, but it was not an easy one. For months prior, however, I had been aching for change, for excitement, for a “somewhere-out-there” kind of journey. Our friends from units past and present and from our community were moving to their new duty stations, to jet off to European countries, to hula in tropical isles, or to climb the Pacific Northwest, and I was antsy to join them. Instead, I found myself trapped in a devilish heat, allergic to the sagebrush that filled our sandy yard. I felt alone, trepidatious, aware of every one of my quirks and idiosyncrasies in front of a crowd of staring strangers. These feelings of loneliness and insecurity were difficult to reconcile. My usually outgoing (I like to call it “genially awkward”) personality hadn’t made a dent in this new culture, and I often felt like I was continually rapping on the glass door of opportunity and friendship– I knew others could see me, but why wouldn’t they let me in? The FRG was limited at best, and I soon spiraled into an uncharacteristic sadness: I felt that change had failed me. Jealousy pricked at me when I heard about and saw the adventures of our friends, and I, (hardened with envy and tinged with a little despair), felt forgotten in the desert. I had been relying on the “grass-is-greener” mentality to lead us to higher planes, but we had instead found ourselves stuck out on a lonely butte, quite literally. Every night I looked in the mirror and pelted myself with silent questions: What had happened? Who had I become? Why didn’t my personality (an all-exclusive package of charm and wit) work in this specific culture? Why was I being left behind? For someone who had a generally high sense of self-concept and esteem, I now struggled with my own personal identity crisis. I, with everything that made me ME, was lost. In six years of hindsight, however, life wasn’t all watery eyes and goathead thorns, although they filled our shoe soles. We welcomed a beautiful, happy new baby, and after months (and years) of slowly tearing down boulders from our proverbial roadblock, we began to establish roots: We developed a sense of community and culture and eventually made lifelong friends. This identity crisis that encompassed me is a familiar feeling for military spouses who leave their comfortable, familiar surroundings in pursuit of theirs or a spouse’s better career, promotion, or family life. Foreign cultures and new duty stations are exciting and fresh but can also be an uncomfortable and harsh reality change. Here’s the silver lining: It can get better. With help and time, I rebuilt myself from the shatters of emotional blunt force trauma. Losing our identity fragments us and reduces our self to shards of who we once were. We question, we review, we renew, and then we rebuild, one brick at a time. Using the past as a stepping stool for the future, my spouse and I made our most recent PCS move the most successful in our marriage. Here are some ideas: Research. Search for (or contribute to) tips and tricks to make the preparation and the move go as smoothly as possible. These tips are from families who have experienced positive and negative PCS moves and can give you the up-to-date details on cities, duty stations, houses, people, religions, communities, shopping, and the best hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint that won’t leave you feeling a little queasy. This information is valuable – gold nuggets in a treasure trove for a military family. Be cautious, but use other’s experiences to help you get a footing on your new life. Get involved. The best way to make new friends and become a force for good in your community is to volunteer. Service, in my very real experience, reduces anxiety-based tendencies, such as jealousy and selfishness (and I know those tendencies well). And, luckily, the spectrum of volunteer activities is wide open. Schools need aides and helpers; cities need coaches, board members, and scout leaders. City council seats need to be filled, voting booths need volunteers, opinions need lobbied and fought for. You have a place (big or small) in your community, and doing your part will cement a part of your character. Adapt, but be yourself. The ability to be flexible, to adapt to a new culture’s way of life is a remarkable skill. Some possess it naturally; for others, it must be learned, and it’s a difficult lesson. Sometimes in the twists and turns of embedding ourselves in a new culture, we compromise or lose the integral components that make us who we are. For example, before our 2010 move, we had hailed from an area where one of my talents was fresh and new, but when we had moved, we landed in a community where that same talent was standard, commonplace. I was no longer a big fish in a small sea but was instead a minnow in an ocean of other minnows. I felt like my work and my creativity were lost in a sea of people who were just like one another, and I soon felt as if I blended into everyone else. My individuality was lost. As I began to adapt to that environment, I saw that even though we had similar interests and levels of talent, I found a niche that belonged to me and, further, I worked hard to discover other talents and abilities that have blessed my life heavily. The PCS move is often a looming cloud of the unknown, and that may never change. It will be hard. It will be uncomfortable. It may be long. But there is beauty in the sky in and above the rainclouds. There is power in change. There is progression in beating the uncomfortable. Just remember: Your most important asset in this PCS is YOU. Connect with us on Facebook!

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