Resentment is Poison
Since I’ve already dropped the Pollyanna mask, I can be honest with you all and say I have no idea how I’m not going to feel slightly embittered when PCS orders come down the pipeline. Someone will undoubtedly remind me that “this is what I signed up for” and depending on who it is, I’ll have to decide whether it’s worth wasting my breath to explain the grief cycle or just issue the standard, “Yeah, you’re right.” And then I’ll blame myself for letting people get too close so that the leaving part hurts. It’s not that I’ve never experienced a PCS before, but it feels different when your friends are also military and one of you leaves. It feels natural and expected. Not so with my current circle of friends.
Why the Hell am I Here?
Up until now, you might’ve thought that my self-proclaimed title of world’s worse military spouse was slightly dramatic. “Oh she doesn’t seem that bad.” But the truth is that with every move… I struggle. And by struggle, I mean, that I basically have an existential identity crisis for 3 months. I wish I was joking. It would be so much more self-preserving. “Here I am. I have no idea why I’m here.” The answer is obvious to some, “Uh…because you’re husband is stationed here?” But that thought offers very little comfort. That explains why he’s here. Not I.
And then the glaring, unsightly truth surfaces— that I always have and always will be terrible at surrendering to the flow of someone else’s river. My one saving grace is that I do actually adore my husband. So I’m willing to put out the effort to (re)create a space for myself that feels fulfilling and purposeful with each move. But very rarely does that space primarily focus on my role as military spouse. It often starts there— going to base events, joining the wives club, becoming a L.I.N.K.S. volunteer and attempting to make some connection with others— but it always feels awkward. Like I’m pretending on some level instead of just being.
