Reflections on being an Army wife

HabMoo is in his last week of training in Georgia and will most likely be leaving for another deployment in the next 24 months. I’m a little scared of that next deployment since it’s been hard having him gone for just over three months. So I’m taking some time to reflect on just what it means to be married to a soldier.

I’m actually a Army National Guardman’s wife so I don’t have to follow him from base to base or live in provided housing and I don’t have to rely on TriCare for my health insurance. I also don’t get the services and amenities of an Army base and surrounding community. Nor is there a large number of other wives and partners to go to for support and understanding.

But there are some good things about HabMoo’s choice of employer. For one thing the National Guard is more than just an employer. Its his opportunity to serve. He and I have different ways of expressing service. I’d much rather volunteer and give donations. I prefer to choose who I’m serving and he serves the entire state and nation. I respect his choice.

I’m not really attracted to a man in uniform, but the dress uniform is pretty sharp. He wore it for our wedding so he looked good without spending any money. His daily uniform is really not attractive, but since he wears it every day there’s more room in my closet. And less washing. But the thing is covered in Velcro and sometimes snags my sweaters if I forget and put them in the same batch of washing.

Two more things about the uniform. First the boots. The man has far too many pairs of boots. They really don’t need to issue him any more. And then there are the duffel bags full of odd equipment and clothing. That also takes up valuable storage space. Can’t they just issue that as needed? Or store it in a locker at the Armory?

There’s a Yahoo Answers thread about the benefits of being married to an Army service member and there’s consensus that some people marry for the health care and paycheck. I had better health insurance through the U of M, but the paycheck isn’t bad. HabMoo gets paid more because of me. It’s so strange to think we’re in the 21st century and he’s getting more pay just because he’s married. This makes some sense for regular Army soldiers because spouses have to move when their soldier does and can’t just immediately find a new job. It’s sort of similar to how a university might do a spousal hire in order to get the professor or researcher they really want to hire. And it makes sense for when a spouse is deployed since there are expenses caused by the soldier’s absence, but that’s what the extra family separation pay is for. The extra pay is something I enjoy, but feel is wrong.

Speaking of money, there are a few discounts we’ve received because of HabMoo’s status. I tend to forget to ask about them and they aren’t as common around here as they are around military posts. We got excellent rates and a nice place to stay when visiting Seward Alaska. We pay a little less for our phones. Sometimes my husband gets a free lunch paid for by someone who appreciates the sacrifices soldiers make. But no one has ever offered me that honor. (Spouses should get a special uniform or badge or something so people could identify us and offer to pay for groceries, I think.)

None of these benefits really makes up for the time lost with my husband. We’ve been married for a little over five years but probably spent only about three and half years together in the same location. Extra cash in the bank can’t make up for that lost time. I’m not counting the one weekend a month he spends at drill. I like that time to myself. But the trainings and the deployments are a struggle. There’s just no avoiding that truth.

I’m not sure how it affects our marriage. The initial deployment for HabMoo was immediately after we got married so we were still a little giddy from all that and we’d never lived together. So neither of us had married life to miss. Now that’s different. He’s away and I miss him terribly on weekend mornings, on garbage day, at bedtime, around dinner time, when I spot cardinals in the bushes, when the truck needs to be washed, when I visit his folks, when I’m grocery shopping, when I’m excited and when I’m lonely. There’s something similar to grieving that I go through when he’s gone for more than six weeks.

I never wanted to marry a soldier. Like I said, I’m not attracted to men in uniforms and I don’t really get a charge from being married to a man who is defending freedom and the American Way. I wanted to marry HabMoo. Sometimes I can’t help but ask myself if he’s worth the worry, loss, frustrations, and hassles of the soldier stuff that comes along with him. I’d honestly prefer that he not be in the National Guard. I’m proud of him, but I’m also selfish and would rather not share him.

Would it be easier if he just had a mistress? This is the first time I’ve asked myself that. If he had a mistress he’d probably be home more often. I’d have a chance of winning him back or taking her out. Any anger I had would be justified in other people’s eyes. It would just make more sense and be more satisfying to hate another woman than to hate Fort Gordon. I’d better understand what he was getting out of the situation and I’d know just who it was I was hating and fighting. I can’t really fight the Department of Defense. I suppose I’d worry about him leaving me for her, like I worry about his next deployment.

So today I wish my husband was a computer geek working for some big company that was just trying to run his life. I’d prefer him not to be a soldier. But I still like being married to the guy. The excitement I feel when I get his evening calls still pays off for me.

Wanton act of optimism: One year later

I quit my job a little over a year ago. Unemployment was high, friends were being laid off, and the economy was uncertain. It didn’t look like a good time to just up and quit. No unemployment benefits. Just living off my husband until I could find a job. But quit I did, with more excitement and joy than trepidation.

At first I simply enjoyed not knowing what to do with myself–not because I was getting conflicting messages from the leaders around me, but because I hadn’t been out of work since the mid 80s. I felt incredible relief from stress. I still had nightmares and work dreams but they became fewer and fewer. I got out and took photos. I applied for work. I started cooking diners. I was afraid of becoming a housewife, but I was so grateful to my husband for making this big move easy that I discovered I was happy to play the role.

I planned a trip to see the niece whose wedding I missed because I could no longer afford the trip to Mexico. It became a road trip to Colorado which included my mother, another niece, and her three kids. It was a great way to share each other’s company.

Then Mom got sick from Denver’s high altitude. She was hospitalized and I still had to help my niece drive back home. I did that, had good conversations with her along the way, and then flew back out. Now I got a chance to get to know my niece’s new husband and get a real feel for their life and where they live. I certainly got familiar with their living room chair while waiting for Mom to recover from a heart attack she suffered while hospitalized.

Not having a job made it possible for me to easily spend the necessary time in Colorado. And when we got back home and Mom had another heart attack, it made it possible for me to continue caring for her. When she had another one and it became very clear that her dementia made it dangerous for her to live on her own, I had the time to quickly evaluate housing and care options. I can’t imagine how stressful that would have been if I had to arrange for someone to cover my work during that time. There was no one left at work to do anyone else’s job on top of the other two or three jobs they were doing. I would have felt a lot of guilt.

I’m almost thankful for all the job stress that caused me to quit, to just give up and walk away from what once had been the best job I’d ever had. Not feeling all that stress made it much easier to rediscover positive attitude. Not being stressed meant that Mom watched me make arrangements for her while in a relatively positive mood and she didn’t pick up any clues that this move was anything other than normal and appropriate. If I had been receiving work calls while in her hospital or nursing home room, she would have felt guilty for taking me away from where I needed to be. And getting someone into long-term care can be a full-time job for a while.

I stopped looking for work during that time. I made one instead. There’s a website called the unintentional entrepreneur and I guess that’s what I’ve become. I love it. I love working with people who aren’t being forced to work with me, or who are trying to use me to get some unspoken need meet or agenda promoted. I know what I’m doing and for what reasons. I can once again be proud of my work. I’m enthusiastic once again.

Do I make as much money as I did before? No. Do I need as much money? No. I’ve found that the luxury of time trumps the feel of wearing new clothes. I’m a natural miser, I must admit. I love the challenge of spending less. After bringing home no income for almost a full year I now feel like every dollar a client pays me is an unexpected bonus.

Am I lonely? No. I’m an introvert so that helps. But I’ve found that seeing a former co-worker because we’ve both made the effort to see each other builds deeper relationships. I love seeing someone and not immediately bitching about work. I feel like I’m interesting again.

I’ve found that having someone home during the day makes a household crisis much easier to deal with. I’ve found that getting a thank-you from my husband for even a poorly made meal can make me feel valued.

Before I quit I worried that I could no longer feel optimistic about anything. I was a cynic, expecting the worse. No one these days tells me that I’m no longer any fun to be around. When someone tells me I’m talented, I once again believe them. It’s much easier to be creative when you have a chance for success.

A year ago I wrote that optimism in the face of despair is a visionary act. I didn’t envision my mother’s health crisis and I certainly didn’t envision that I’d be doing work I loved and getting referrals for my services. But I did have a measure of faith in myself and a faith in my husband that made it possible to reject the toxic environment where I had been earning my living.

Once again I feel trusted. My husband trusted me to make something of my time after quitting and to continue to contribute to our household. Former colleagues and friends trust me to provide professional services for their friends. My clients trust me to do good work on their behalf. I trust in my own talents, too. I’m so grateful to find this trust again. Trust is one of my highest values and I’m so thankful to be living in accordance with my own values once again.

My wanton act of optimism, January 2009