Keep Loving

Unconditional love.  We all talk about it.  But, do we truly understand it?  And do we ever truly give it?

I am finally learning to love without expectations, and without condition. Because love with conditions isn't really love at all. Conditions are nothing but fear. And fear and love are opposites, and can not co-exist.

When you say "I'll love you as long as you don't mess up," you are really saying, "I'll love you as long as you don't make me feel worthless, because truly, that's what I fear."  We fear that we're less than, so when someone treats us in a way that encourages that belief, we take our love back.  But, when we realize we are equal to--never more or less than--everyone and anyone else, then we know that we don't have to expect anything in return for our love.  I can love people who hurt me, because I am valuable, my heart is whole, and their actions don't and can't change that.

This is what I'm thinking:  Love is like a postcard with pre-paid postage.  It costs nothing to send.  And even if I don't get a letter back from that person, my mailbox is already full.  It's full with the love of God, with the love I give myself, and with the love of the people I am blessed to have in my life.  In fact, my mailbox is continually filled, every time I allow myself to receive love.  If someone I send a postcard to chooses not to respond, that's okay.  The letters are still coming in.  I just have to remain ready and willing to get the mail.  And I have to keep sending the postcards out, even to those who don't respond, because that's why I'm here.  That's why we're all here.  We were put here with an endless supply of these postcards.  And what good is a postcard that you never send? 

Does that mean you keep sending love to the friend who has been cruel to you?  YES.  It doesn't mean you keep accepting their cruelty, but you keep loving them.  Does that mean you keep loving a partner who disrespects you?  YES.  It doesn't mean you allow them to be in your life, your home, or your thoughts, but you keep loving them.  Because we were given all these postcards, and we have to send them out.  The message on the back may change.  Their position and role in our life may change.  But, the love should not. 

I'm going to keep loving.  And I'm going to stop worrying about and waiting to get something in return.  I'm going to stop feeling entitled to receive love in return, or feeling like a victim when I don't.  I love because that's why I am here, not because I need the validation.  I know that the mailbox--that my heart--is already full. And more letters are already on their way. 

Love you,
Pam

What Are You Afraid Of?

Do you remember Dr. Seuss’ silly book about the not-so-scary pale green pants?  The character starts off (understandably) afraid of these pants that seem to be walking on their own. But, eventually, he realizes that there’s really nothing to be afraid of, after all. 

Unfortunately, many adults—especially women—have forgotten this lesson.

As women, we are expected to do incredibly brave things on a daily basis—care for children, help with Algebra homework, support partners and spouses, and climb the career ladder. And we do so incredibly well, thank you very much.  But, in reality, many of us are being held back from living a life of joy and abundance, because of our own fears. 

Perhaps, like the character in Dr. Seuss’ book, we fear the unknown.  We torture ourselves with the constant What Ifs. We can’t seem to move forward because we’re too afraid of not being able to control the outcome.

Or maybe we’re afraid of standing on our own, like those pale green pants, because we fear (or have been told) that we’re just as empty or incapable of being independent as they are. 

What are you afraid of? 

Maybe you’re scared to leave a relationship that you know is unhealthy, because you’re afraid of being alone.  Or maybe you’re afraid to truly commit to that great, supportive partner because you’re afraid he’ll hurt you, like someone in your past. Or maybe you’re afraid he’ll see the “real” you—who you fear you might be. 

Maybe you’re afraid to leave that toxic, unfulfilling job because you don’t want to risk financial insecurity, or you don’t think you’re good enough or talented enough to pursue your dream. 

But, what if we’re all wrong?

What if we are good enough and talented enough and strong enough to have a healthy relationship, a happy family, and a fulfilling career?  What if all we have to do is let go of the fear that is holding us back? 

Ask yourself this: 

What would I do if I wasn’t afraid?

A new social movement based on Sheryl Sandberg’s must read book Lean In is asking women this very question.  And many are finding that the answer is just the motivation they needed to change their lives. 

If you were not afraid, you might leave that toxic relationship, knowing that you deserve better, and that you’ll be okay. 

 
Maybe you would open your heart to that great guy, because you know you’re worthy of his love. 
 
Maybe you would realize that the only way to be fulfilled in your career is to do something you’re passionate about, so you would follow your dreams. 
 
Maybe you’d find your true strength, courage, and joy. And then, just maybe, like the character in What Was I Scared Of?, you’d realize that there was never really anything to be afraid of at all. 

Why I Love Wendy Davis (or, the Blog My Grandmother Warned Me About)

I was raised by my grandmother, who taught me to never talk about religion or politics. So, grandma, don't read this.

Today, we're talking about an issue that grandma would tell me to avoid like the plague:  Abortion.  Specifically, why I think another woman’s decision is none of my business. 

First, I think the terms “pro choice” and “pro life” are a bunch of hooey.  No one is anti-life and no one is anti-choice.  We all just see the issue differently.  I support every woman’s right to make a decision that is best for her.  Why?  Because I would want that same right.  And because I know that I can’t possibly understand anyone else’s life or decisions. 

I have met many mothers who had a child as a teenager and now insist that, because they could do it, everyone should be able to do it. But, here’s the problem with that logic: everyone’s life is different. 

Being pregnant at 16 with parents who support you and will help you finish school is very different than being pregnant at 16 (or 25) and having absolutely no one to help.  And whether at 16 or 36, why should anyone force another person to make a decision that will change her life forever?  Her life only, no one else’s. 

I was sexually abused by my grandfather from the age of 5-15. When I disclosed the abuse, I was thrown out of the house.  I lived with friends, on couches, in cars, anywhere I could find a roof to curl up under—even if it was the roof of a Chevy Malibu.  By the grace of God (and jacked up ovaries), I did not get pregnant.  But, if I had, how on earth would I have cared for a child? 

And, for those who would have encouraged me to bless another couple with my child, which is an incredibly noble act, how would I have cared for myself through a pregnancy?  How would I have finished school while living in a car and nourishing a baby?  (I was eating a healthy diet of discarded fast food scraps. Not really a breakfast of champions for a growing child).  I don’t know what decision I would have made at that point in my life. But, it would have been mine to make.  Because the consequence of either decision would be mine to live with. 

Five years later, as I was working 60 hours a week to pay my way through college, I found out I was pregnant (apparently my ovaries aren't that jacked up after all).  I decided to keep my baby.  And she is now an incredible, brilliant, feminist young woman.  She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m so grateful that God chose me to be her Mom.  (Or, as she says—she chose me to be her Mom).  I was able to keep her, and had the resources (albeit minimal) to care for her.  I was ready to be a Mom—a scared to death, completely clueless Mom, but still a Mom.  I'm grateful I was able to keep her. But again, I know that everyone’s life is different.      

I work with survivors of sexual assault and domestic violence. I have seen women who can only feed either themselves or their child—and always choose their child.  I have seen women whose husbands force them to get pregnant repeatedly as a way to further control and abuse them.  (It’s hard to run to a battered women’s shelter with six children).  I have seen young girls who were raped by family members, and who are then spit on as they walked into a medical clinic—just to get advice about their options. And it disgusts me. 

As women, we have to stop degrading and start uplifting.  If you want women not to have abortions, ensure they live in safe homes and have access to quality education and a living wage.  Make sure they have access to healthcare and contraception.  Most of all, make sure every woman and girl has love and support—if not from her biological family, then from each of us...from you. 

I believe this is the same reason my new hero, Senator Wendy Davis from Texas, threw on those tennis shoes last night and stood on the Senate floor for ten hours to defeat an abortion regulation bill.  She too was a young single mother.  Actually, a divorced teenage mother who later went on to graduate with honors from Harvard Law School.  She made it. And she made a decision to have her child. But, (I imagine) she recognizes that every woman has a different path and a different reality, and everyone has a right to make her own decisions.  She took a stand for every woman and girl who has had her rights ripped away.  And she proclaimed, as we all should:  NO MORE. 
 

Not all women are safe. Not all women have food or shelter. Not all women have a family to care for them.  And we must protect every right we have.  We must support one another, even when we don’t agree.  And we must teach our daughters that they, and only they, have power over their own bodies and lives. 

My wish is that every woman and girl who is faced with a difficult decision has someone by her side who loves and supports her.  My wish is that she’s able to make a decision that is right for her, not for a group of picketers at a clinic or overpaid men sitting in Congress.  They don’t know her life and, therefore, have no right to control her decision.  And, honestly, neither do we. 

 Oh, and P.S.

If life begins at conception, so should child support.  Does that change the discussion, men? 

Yes and Yes and Yes

Today is the anniversary of the day my love asked me to marry him.  We were on a romantic gondola ride.  (In Vegas, not Italy).  And he asked me to spend my life with him.  Well, actually, it was more like, he kneeled down, showed me a ring, started sweating, and said …. ‘w-w-w-w-well?’.  To which I replied, “You have to actually ask me, you know.”  And he did.  And I said yes. 

It was a beautiful day. And we were filled with love and romance and gushiness and lots and lots of naivety.  Thankfully.  Otherwise, we might not have gone through with it.  He might have dove right off the side of that gondola and swam back to the Venetian to do some serious gambling.  After all, the craps table is, in many ways, far safer than marriage. 

If I had known then that the gushiness would someday wear off, and would be replaced with hurt and separations and insecurities … would I have said yes? 

Growing up, we think that marriage is about finding someone who makes us weak in the knees and then settling into a long, passionate, and blissful life together.  Umm, wrong.  At its best, marriage is about helping us discover who we truly are, and helping our partner discover who they truly are, as well.  That also happens to be what marriage is at its worst, too. 

Over the course of our marriage, my husband has discovered that he has the tendency to run and avoid situations when he feels unsafe.  I guess he saves all his fighting for the battlefield.  Because, in marriage, he sometimes hides out in the bunker.  And, during our marriage, I have discovered that I expect to be hurt.  Yeah, I act strong and confident and independent.  And, in many ways, I am.  But, I’m also scared half to death most of the time. And I expect to be hurt, so much so that I sometimes try to sabotage things just to make it happen—you know, so I can control it.  (Healthy, huh?) 

We have made these discoveries because we have been forced to be real with one another, and with ourselves.  Because it’s hard to be fake with the person who sees you wake up in the morning and shares a bathroom with you and knows you better than anyone else.  And this realness has led to silence and tears and heartache and resentments.  And it’s led to the most beautiful moments I have ever experienced. 

We really should have done some of this healing and self discovery work before we got married.  But, alas, we didn’t.  We didn’t love ourselves yet, though we thought we did.  And that made it hard to truly love someone else.  But, we’re learning.  We’re growing.  We’re loving – together. 

And, as the immortal Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City once said (yes, it is a classic), “if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.”  Though, I would go further and say that if you can find someone who challenges you to be the very best you you can be—then that is, truly, fabulous.  And painful.  And for some of us, it’s all rolled up into one messy, magical thing called:  Marriage.

So, if I had known that our journey would involve over half of our marriage being spent on different continents, and overworking, and PTSD, and parenting challenges, and family issues, and painful self-discoveries and and and and … what would I have said on that warm May day in the Vegas gondola? 

YES and YES and YES!

Because while I had no idea how challenging this road would be, I also could never have imagined how wonderful it would be either.  I would say YES every day of this life, even on the hard ones.  Because he has taught me how to love.  He has taught me how to trust.  He has helped me become the me I am supposed to be, and helped me discover the parts that needed healing.  He has driven me crazy and hurt me, as I have done to him.  But, he has loved me more than I ever believed I deserved.  And he taught me to accept his love, and to believe I was worth it.  I hope I have done at least some of that for him as well. 

I would say yes because the gushiness is still there.  The romance and love and passion are still there.  Even though years of war and separations and trauma have tried to tarnish their glow.  They’re in there.  We are in there.  And we are even better than we were when we were covered in lust and naivety.  We are us.  And he is still the most incredible, most loving, most amazing and sexiest (ok, the lust is still there, too) man I have ever known.   And he’s the man who challenges me each and every day to be the very best me I can be.  And I love him for it.    

This is marriage.  This is love.  And to this, to him, I say YES.   

On Sacrifice and Love

On Memorial Day, we honor those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice, and given their lives for us.  We stop and think about those who have left us way too soon.  Or, at least, too soon for us.  But, perhaps, we should be honoring the gifts they left behind. 

I believe each of us is given a unique gift in this life.  And our job is, simply, to figure out what it is and then give it away.  Before we are born, we are completely aware of our gift, and divine self.  And we are aware of the divine nature of everyone else. In fact, there is no separation—we are all one.  We are everything.  We are part of all.  Then, when God decides it’s time, he sends a piece of that all, a piece of himself, into a physical form.  The purpose of this form is to bring a piece of heaven to earth, and to share their gift. 

I don’t know much about how this process works since, you know, I didn’t invent it.  But, I am fairly sure that this purpose has absolutely nothing to do with a BMW or granite countertops or having 728 Facebook friends.  There’s nothing wrong with any of those things, of course.  And if they bring you joy or help you in some way become more connected to one another or be more at peace—then maybe they are helping you get closer to discovering and sharing your gift.  But, usually, these material things and desires actually keep us away from our true purpose, since they tend to be, at best, distractions and, at worst, addictions.  And addictions of any kind—sugar, drama, alcohol, social media, success, codependence—all keep us from finding out why we’re truly here.  (But, hey, that's another blog).

I think our purpose usually – no, always – has to do with love.  Loving someone else.  Letting someone else love you.  Loving everyone else.  Seeing the love in everyone else.  Truly feeling love.  Helping someone else truly feel loved, too.  Or, something like that.  As I said, I didn’t invent the process.  I just know that, when I’m doing anything that helps grow love, I feel closer to God.  I feel more at peace and closer to my gift.  So, that has to be part of the plan, right? 

And then, sometimes people leave their physical form—they leave us—long before we are ready for them too.  Today, we specifically honor those who came to earth and gave their life in service.  For me, this includes those who were killed in combat and those, like my Grandfather, who died a slower death—caused by untreated trauma and alcoholism—years after they returned home.

I can’t understand why some people are taken so quickly or brutally.  I don’t know that we are meant to truly understand.  At least, not while we’re here on earth.  Someday, maybe, it will all make sense.  But, I do believe that, just as God decided when to give us a physical form, so too does he decide when we no longer need it.  We are brought to earth to fulfill our purpose.  And I believe we leave earth, and our physical form, when that purpose has been fulfilled. 

And while I can’t imagine the heartbreak of losing a spouse (though all military spouses live with this fear), I hope and pray that those who have lost their soul mate know that he or she had accomplished what they came to do.  They loved.  They served.  They felt love.  They saved others, either directly or by serving so others didn’t have to.  They fulfilled their purpose.  You helped them do that.  And then, God brought them home.  They melted back into all. 

They are not gone.  They are in God.  And God is in us.  They are in the trees and the air and the sunshine.  They are in each of us.  They are in you.  And their sacrifice, their love has made our earth a better place, which helps each of us to find our gift, too.  Isn’t it a beautiful, incredible circle, this life of ours?  A painful, confusing, and sometimes unbearable circle—but, a beautiful one nonetheless. 

To everyone who has lost someone—the one— you love, I am so very sorry.  My heart hurts with yours.  I thank you for loving him or her and helping them fulfill what they were sent here to do.  I know it may feel unjust and horrible, because it is.  I just hope you can also, someday, feel and be comforted by how truly beautiful their life, and everything they gave us, is as well. 

For all of us, let’s not spend this day in sadness or anger over the things we cannot understand.  Let’s instead honor their sacrifice by giving and receiving what we were sent here for:  Love. 

Live your life in a way that honors them.  Live fully and passionately and without fear.  Live so that you can find and share your gift, too.  And give and receive love as much as you possibly can.  Someday, our time in our physical bodies will be over, as well.  But, we will not be gone.  We too will melt back into all, and will remain in those who love us.  Until that day, we owe it to God, and to one another, to LIVE. 

Rest in peace, heroes.  And live in love, survivors. 

Note:  I realize some people reading this may not believe in God.  Or, may believe in a different form of God. And, that’s ok.  Because, really, love is love.  And the message is the same.  Live in love.  That is all. 

Goodbye, 2012

Confession: I typed, deleted, and re-typed this particular blog post about seven times. It started as a post about the new year--about hopes and aspirations, about resolutions (or the lack thereof). It morphed into something a bit different, and something much more honest. While I believe  the new year is a time for great celebration and hope, I also think it's a great time to get real, with others, and especially with yourself--with myself.  So, that's what I'm going to do. Here's a little tale about 2012, and how it kicked my butt. 

First, my husband and I committed the cardinal sin of military families: We planned.  Since PCSing to a training base two years ago, we became comfortable with the idea that he was done with deployments.  After numerous tours in Iraq and Afghanistan and endless separations, we were so very happy to finally be together, we let ourselves believe it might stay that way.  And in this glow of our own naivety and bliss, we even bought a home. 

Actually, we bought a huge home--bigger than we need--with an even bigger yard.  But, we thought we could handle it.  Homes are very affordable here, and we love the neighborhood and the little lake (pond, really) it sits on.  It may be a lot of work, but we can do it, we rationalized.  After all, we'd be doing it together.  

The year began with my husband going away for a six-week school.  Just six weeks. That's a mere blink of an eye compared to deployments.  But, this separation hit me harder than I ever could have imagined.  I became depressed. I stopped socializing.  I was angry, sad, and lonely.  I've always been able to make it through separations with support from incredible friends. But, I don't have the same support system here that I had in our previous home.  I became angry that I was isolated, and reacted by isolating myself even further. I know, not a smart move.  But, as I'm sure many of you know, sadness doesn't bring out the best in us. 

I've also struggled (a lot) in my career this past year.  And by struggled I mean, overworked.  A lot. Overworked to the point that I rarely slept, I have a seemingly permanent twitch in my left eye, and an ulcer I recovered from years ago has resurfaced.  At first, I thought this job was a miracle.  Shortly after moving here, an opportunity arose to become the director of a statewide agency addressing domestic and sexual assault--issues I've worked on for years, and am incredibly passionate about.  I thought the heavens had opened and hand-delivered my dream job.  But, as soon as I started, I dove head-first into 60-70 hour work weeks (sometimes more), staffing disasters, financial meltdowns, and spats between colleagues that can only be adequately described as drama. I found myself completely responsible for the well being of this organization, of my staff, of all victims all across our state (or so I believed). I worked day and night. And even when I wasn't working, I was thinking about work.  This hit home while I was apologizing to my daughter for yet another out-of-town trip.  "I don't mind that you travel, Momma," she said.  "What bothers me is when you're home, but you're not really here."  Ouch.  And so it has been for the past year and a half. My work has consumed me. My family has suffered.  And I allowed it to happen.

Of course, having my friends to support me would have made this stressful career much easier.  But, how could I possible have time for friends?  In previous jobs, I've always become close with my coworkers. But, as the boss, that's not really an option.  (I know it sounds cliché, but it really is lonely at the top).  And when you're at work all day and many evenings, there's no room for a social life.  So, I was alone.  Yes, I have a few great friends I met here. But, I didn't give them the time they deserved. I didn't allow the friendships to develop as they could have, because I was too ... busy. 

(By the way, telling a mil spouse to just stay busy is really not helpful advice. We're always busy.  And staying busy doesn't take away pain, it magnifies it.  I'm learning to really loathe that word). 

When my husband came back from the school, we tried to work through the resentments that had built--not necessarily at each other, but by each of us at the situation we were in.  As he worked to address the PTSD he's experiencing due to years of combat, I had to face the reality that my own PTSD, from years of sexual abuse, had resurfaced.  We spent the year treading around, and often tripping over, each other's triggers.  I would lie awake at night, watching him sleep, and waiting for the next nightmare.  He would sit by helplessly as I shut him out, trying to deal with my memories on my own, as I always have.  And because neither of us did a good job of holding on to friends, all we truly had was each other--each other to lean on, each other to cry to, and each other to let things out on.  Again, not a great decision. 

Just as we were starting to figure out how to support each other, without bringing each other down, we received the news.  My husband would be leaving for another year.  Not on a combat deployment this time, but on an unaccompanied tour.  It hit us hard.  Very hard.  He thought he would get to see the kids get older, be here for their birthdays and holidays.  After 18 years in the service, he was ready to finally be home.  And we needed--we need--him to be here. 

I tried to convince myself that it would be better, because at least he would be safe.  But, having him away and not at war almost felt worst.  At least when he's in a combat zone, I know he's there for a reason.  But, what reason is there to rip him away from his family--away from me--just to work in an office?  I know the military has their reasons.  But, it all just seems and feels wrong.  And once he got there, we found out that this may be a two-year assignment, not one.  Two years?  We've survived one-year deployments, even 15 months.  But, two years? 

And what about my husband?  Who is going to gently wake him and tell him everything's ok when he has a nightmare?  Who is going to support him when he's weak, and when he's pretending to be strong?  I became very worried about my husband, and about our family.  And honestly, worried about me.  Here I am in this new home.  The new home that we proudly picked out and bought together.  The new big home with the huge yard.  I didn't plan to be responsible for all of this--all by myself, again.  I know I should have. I mean, I'm an Army wife, separation and independence is what we do.  I've done it before.  But, I wanted so badly to believe that we would, that we finally could, do this together. 

How can I possibly keep up this strenuous job while taking care of an almost-teenage daughter, two very sad and confused step-sons, five pets, and (did I mention) the humongous yard?  I ended 2012 being completely overwhelmed.  And afraid.  That's what it really comes down to--fear.  I've survived so much in my life, and consider myself to be a courageous person.  But, now, I'm truly afraid.  2012 brought that fear back, paraded it around, and sat it squarely in the middle of my living room, so I can see it every. single. day.  But, as I look back on the year, I realize that maybe I needed that fear to be out in the open, so I could finally address it.  I have always said that everything happens for a  reason.  Maybe it's time to start (truly) believing it. 

Yes, 2012 was tough.  And now, as we start a new year, I am trying to be--no, I am--hopeful. And I am excited for the new opportunities it will bring.  A new year is always a blank slate.  And heaven knows, I need it.  And while it will be incredibly difficult being away from my husband for nearly the entire year, I really do know that, somehow, some way, we will get through this separation.  Because that's the kind of love we have--the kind that can survive combat and nightmares and past hurt, the kind that can span oceans and time zones, and the kind that can survive anything.  We will get through this.  Because we have to. 

As for me, I am going to work on facing and finally letting go of fear.  I want that monster out of my living room, and out of my thoughts--for good.  I'm going to try to focus on the blessings I have right now, today.  And I'm going to start making decisions for my career, for my life, based on my dreams, and what I truly want, not on just what I'm afraid not to do.  It's time for some changes.  It's time to reconnect to friends, old and new.  And it's time to focus, not only on my family's well being, but also on my own.  Because I have to. 

It's time to say goodbye, 2012.  You really did kick my butt.  But, you also taught me a lot of lessons, and gave me some great moments.  So, I am grateful for you.  And now, 2013, it's just me and you, kid.  Let's do this.

If I Had Known ...

Recently, I heard a woman on Married to the Army: Alaska say that if she had known what the military life had in store for her, she would have run as fast as she could in the other direction.  This sentiment is understandable.  This life is hard.  Incredibly hard.  The countless separations, unpredictable cross-country (or international) moves, constant fear and worry.  It often seems like too much to endure.  This made me wonder:  If I had known, what would I have done? 

If I had known that my husband and I would be apart for more than half of our marriage, would I still have said yes when he asked me to go on a date with him?  If I had known that my life would eventually revolve around where and when the Army decides to move us, would I still have fallen in love with him?  If I had known that our children would cry themselves to sleep many nights missing their Daddy, would I still have stayed by his side through that first 15-month deployment? If I had known that I would spend much of our marriage in fear for his safety, would I still have said yes when he asked me to marry him?  If I had known that I would spend so many nights with a cell phone clasped in my hand, would I still have held his hand and vowed to love him forever? 

The answer is yes. 

In fact, if I had known how weak in the knees I would get when he kissed me on the forehead after our first date, I would have agreed to go out with him much earlier.  If I had known that he would become my best friend and strongest supporter, I would have given my heart to him much easier. If I had known what an incredible father he would be to our children, I would have married him much sooner.  If I had known how safe I would feel lying next to him, I would have held him much closer.  If I had known how incredibly painful it would be to be away from him, I would have loved him even more. 

If I had known what an incredible man I had found, I would have cherished him from the beginning. If I had known what this life had in store for us, I would have been more grateful for every kiss, every moment of joy and laughter, every second of our lives together.  

And even today, as we're separated yet again, I know that despite all of the heartache and loneliness, and even with everything I know now, I still--and always will--choose him. 

The End of the World

Most people agree that the world will not end today, despite the Mayans’ prediction. Some have even interpreted the Mayan calendar to mean that the world will not end, but rather that today will mark the beginning of a new era.  Some say that December 21, 2012 will be the end of fighting, war, bigotry, and violence; and the beginning of brother/sisterhood, love, and compassion.  Given the events we have seen this year, I certainly hope this is true.

A week ago today, 20 beautiful young children and six adults were murdered in an elementary school in Connecticut.  Every day, women are being murdered by spouses and boyfriends—people who they are supposed to be able to trust.  Every day, soldiers are being ripped away from their families to fight wars, many of whom never return home.  I truly, truly hope this will all end.  It has to. 

I want today to be an end of sorts for me, too.  I want – no, I’m going to make today be an end to self-criticism and blame, depression, anxiety, and fear.  Oh yes, please let it be the end of fear.  So much of the pain in our lives is caused by fear.  Fear of being a failure. Fear of being hurt.  Fear that you’re not good enough, strong enough, kind enough, attractive enough … just, enough.  And I believe much of the tragedy and violence we’ve seen in our world is caused by this fear as well.  Fear that leads to insecurities.  Fear that leads us to turn on ourselves and one another.  Fear that is consuming our lives and our world.  It’s time for this world to end. 

Today, I commit to starting a new life, a new world for me and those around me—a world based on love, not on fear.  I commit to turning all negative or fearful thoughts into loving ones.  Instead of thinking, “ugh, I didn’t make it to the gym” or “I can’t believe I ate that,” I will think, “I love and am grateful for my body.” This love will inevitably encourage me to care for my body much more than any amount of self-criticism or blame ever could.

Instead of being afraid to take chances in my career, I will be grateful and courageous.  Instead of thinking, “I can’t,” I will think, “I am capable of anything, and I will.”

 Instead of being afraid of failing as a mother, I will be loving and grateful.  I will follow the motto I am constantly sharing with expectant parents: Just love them, then love them some more. And when you don’t know what else to do, just keep on loving them.  With this much love, there can be no room for fear. 

Instead of being afraid in my marriage, I will be grateful for my amazing husband and partner. Being separated so many times by deployments, unaccompanied tours, and schools makes it difficult not to fear.  But, instead of thinking, “I can’t believe he’s gone again,” I will think, “I know he didn’t want to go, and we will get through this together.” 

Instead of being afraid to reach out to friends for help and support, I will feel grateful for the love in my life, and send out love and gratitude in return.  I will surround myself with love—both by giving and receiving. 

Starting today, I choose not to be afraid. I choose to think, feel, react, and live by love. I don’t have power over whether the world will change today.  But, I have power over whether I do.  And today, I choose to make a new beginning.  Starting today, I choose a new world.  I choose love. 

Happy December 21, 2012. Let’s make it a great one. 

Dear Military Spouse

On this Military Spouse Appreciate Day, I just wanted to say …

Thank you for keeping your households, your families, going through deployments, separations, repeated cross country moves, and countless uncertainties.

Thank you for knowing how to make your house a home, no matter where it may be.

Thank you for building friendships quickly and cherishing them eternally.

Thank you for the tears you shed every time a hero is lost—not only because you know what could have been, but also because you feel the pain of those left behind.

Thank you for clenching the phone and whispering sweet nothings to your spouse who’s away, even when static and poor connections cut the conversation short, and even with the frightening sound of bombs exploding in the background. And thank you loving him or her enough to keep picking up the phone, each and every time.

Thank you for enduring dates over a phone line or webcam, anniversaries spent on different continents, and birthdays celebrated alone—again.

Thank you for working, cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping, soothing, chauffeuring, and tutoring, all with a phone held tightly by your side and an instant messenger constantly on and waiting.

Thank you for being by my side while my husband was deployed—again—even if yours was as well.

Thank you for understanding that when I said “everything’s ok,” I really meant, “I need a hug.”

And thank you for knowing that “I’m a little sleepy” meant “I’m worried sick and haven’t slept in weeks.”

Thank you for cherishing every moment with your spouse, and understanding that we truly never know how many moments we may get.

Thank you for the boxes of cookies, inspirational cards, books, and care packages you have sent to the Middle East—even while your spouse was at home next to you.

Thank you for being the first to ask, “What can I do to help?” and the last to leave after everyone else has gone home.

Thank you for knowing that Welcome Home is just the beginning of the journey.

Thank you for nurturing, caring for, hugging, kissing, and comforting your children—often alone—even when you feel like giving up.

Thank you for always remembering that we are still at war, even after the news, and the world, seems to have forgotten.

Thank you for welcoming me into your home, your life, your family, even when I felt like I did not belong.

Thank you for being some of the strongest, most dedicated, most devoted people I have ever known, and for letting me learn from you each day.

And thank you for loving someone so deeply, so completely that you sacrifice more than anyone else could ever understand.

On this day, our day, I just want to say …

Thank YOU.

Maybe It's Not All the Military, After All

Lying in bed one night, staring at his side of the bed--which was, once again, empty--sobbing uncontrollably, I started to wonder what was truly causing all of my grief, all of this anxiety. Is this really all happening because of this life? Am I really this distraught over him being gone--again--or is there something more, something deeper? My husband has been to Iraq three times, Afghanistan once, and countless other remote areas prior to these wars. While we weren't together for all of these deployments, we have spent the majority of our relationship at war. No, actually, we've spent our entire relationship in a war--either with him deployed, or with us dealing with the ramifications while he's home. And now, he was gone just for a school--a short, six week stint that is as normal as Sunday brunch (perhaps more so) to any military family. So, why am I now having an uncontrollable meltdown?

I realized that my fears are connected to much more than this military life. Yes, there is the persistent frustration and exhaustion associated with having to deal with everything on my own--again. Yes, there is the anxiety and sadness associated with your life partner and best friend being away--always. And yes, there is the constant worry about what may happen, even when he's just a few hours, and a gloriously non-interrupted domestic, phone call away. But, there's more ...

We've been so wrapped up in dealing with my husband's trauma and the effects this war, these wars, have had on us. The mood shifts, the nightmares, the depression. The memories that are too strong and too unimaginable for him to ever erase. Those memories that he is now starting to share with me. A development in our relationship that I am grateful for, although these images now haunt my thoughts and dreams, as well. But, there's also this nagging feeling that I don't feel safe--again. That I may never truly feel safe. As I lie in our bed crying, trembling, I feel completely and utterly vulnerable. Afraid. And I know that, although being at war has caused the fire of fear to spread throughout our relationship, it didn't light the match.

As women, most of us are dealing with trauma and fear that stem from far before the Iraq and Afghanistan wars began, possibly far before we ever met our spouses. About half of women have experienced some form of sexual assault in their lives--including attempted and completed rapes. Half. And about one out of every five has been in an abusive relationship. Some are facing these issues right now. As women, we deal with sexual harassment, discrimination, and countless other struggles, each and every day. We are cautioned by loved ones and our own internal voices to park in well-lit areas, stay near friends, don't go out too late alone, keep our children close. We are constantly bombarded by reminders that we are not safe. That our children are not safe. At least, not completely. And, for many of us, facing the reality of war, and of our partners never returning the same as they left, adds to these already existing layers of fear. I know it did for me.

I was sexually abused by my step-grandfather my entire childhood. I disclosed the abuse to my grandmother (who raised me) when I was 15. She threw me out of the house. I dealt with the effects of this abuse for years. And, by dealt with, I mean ignored, ran from, jumped into unhealthy relationships to avoid, and lived in denial of--until I finally started to face it. After a lot of hard work, and incredible support from friends, I started to truly believe that it was not my fault, and that he could no longer hurt me. I even dedicated my career to helping other abuse survivors.  I finally, truly, felt safe.

And then ... we were at war.

My husband is the only man I have ever truly felt safe with. I can lie with him, completely vulnerable, and know that he would never hurt me. Never. I finally got to the point that I could trust him, wholeheartedly, without reservation. But yet, he leaves me. And when he is leaving to fight for us, for all of us, my own guilt won't let me be truly angry with him, or face how very scared I am to be vulnerable again. But, with him safely just a few hours away, my true feelings begin to emerge. I am angry at him for leaving me again. I am angry because I feel vulnerable. I am angry because he was supposed to protect me (as much as that statement makes my feminist skin crawl). And most of all, I'm scared. Even as I type that, my stomach hurts, because it's not something I like to admit. I'm scared because I love this man so very much. And I know that I can't protect him. I can't protect him from going back to war. And I can't protect him from the horrific things he's had to endure. And if I can't protect him, maybe that also means I can't protect myself, and neither can he. After all, isn't he now just as vulnerable as I am?

I have always been fiercely independent, and the thought of relying on anyone--especially a man--even if only for love and support, is frightening. The thought of relying on someone who is also now broken in some way--well, that's almost unbearable.

I have learned through my work with victims of sexual and domestic violence that trauma is like an onion. It's layered and complex, with repeated trauma building upon our prior histories. As we add on years of war and deployments and fear, the onion gets bigger and bigger. And for me, this onion has now, once again, brought me to tears. Uncontrollable, relentless tears. If I only look at the outer layer of this onion, it looks to be born completely of war and the turmoil of this military life. But, if I do that, I am missing the true culprit, the core, of my anxiety and distress. For me, and I believe for many women, the core is fear.  Fear caused not only by this war, or any war, but by a lifetime of experiences, often including abuse and assaults.

I felt overwhelmed by this realization--that I now had to revisit and re-address my own trauma. But, I knew that I would have to before I could truly help my husband, and myself. Now, I use my own experiences to relate to what he's experiencing. We compare things that trigger memories for us--the cologne worn by my grandfather for me, the smell of anything burning for him; the feeling of vulnerability for me; the feeling of rejection for him. We compare nightmares, and offer each other comfort. And we reassure each other that to be hurt does not mean that we're broken, it means we're human. Bonding through trauma may seem odd for some, but for us, it's life changing. It's necessary.

Before we can ever truly feel safe with our soldiers, we have to feel safe with ourselves. And if we haven't yet been able to face the past trauma we've experienced, or if it's just time to revisit it, there's no better time than the present. While the thought of facing your own trauma while also experiencing his may be daunting, the alternative is impossible.

I am comforted by the thought that all military spouses stand with me, as I stand with them--as spouses, as mothers, as women. And together, we can free ourselves of fear, and finally feel--truly--safe.

 

The Military Child

Our youngest son, Q, absolutely adores his Daddy. They look alike, talk alike, act alike, and share the same ornery smile. People often say that Q is my husband’s clone, which is a pretty accurate description. When they’re together, they both light up, and you can easily see that there’s nowhere else they’d rather be. But, unfortunately, in Q’s six short years, Daddy has spent more time in Iraq than in the U.S.. Daddy has missed most of Q’s birthdays and many important holidays. And, now that we’ve PCSed 18 hours away, Daddy and Q only get to be together on holidays and during the summer. (Q and his brother are my step sons--although we don't use that term--and live most of the year with their Mom).

Because he doesn’t get to see his Dad often, Q loves to see anyone who is dressed like Daddy. And, since the boys live with their Mom, they aren’t around a lot of military folks. So, when Q does see someone in uniform, he always yells, “a soldier, a soldier!” If my husband is with us, Q will ask, “Daddy, do you know them?” To which my husband will quip, “Yeah, they look familiar.” And Q will sit back content, proud of himself for once again reuniting Daddy with a long lost friend. Q likes playing with his Army men (GI Joes, of course) and loves anything in camo. Basically, he just loves anything that reminds him of Daddy, especially when he’s far away.

During my husband’s last deployment, my daughter and I would make the drive to visit the boys as often as we could. They missed us and would always ask us to visit. But, to be honest, I selfishly just needed to be with them—to have as much of our family together as we possibly could. We would rent a family room at the nearby Air Force Base, which was right outside the playground. (Our children coined this the “park hotel.”) The playground is complete with all the staples: slides, swings, merry-go-round, jungle gym. But, it also has a large globe, where children can play and learn about the world. During our last visit, Q went to the globe and asked, “Where is Daddy?” I sat beside him and pointed to Iraq. And then, I held his hand and traced the path from Iraq to our home. “That doesn’t look so far,” Q said. “But, it takes a long time to get there, huh?” “Yes,” I said. “But, hugs and kisses get there really fast.”

After staring at the globe for a while, and tracing the path from Iraq to home back and forth several times, Q looked up to see an older boy looming around. “My Daddy’s in Iraq,” Q said, pointing at the spot on the globe. “Yeah,” the boy responded, “mine’s been there, too. But, he’s home now.” Q’s eyes lit up. “Your Dad’s been there, too?!” “Yeah,” the kid said, as if everyone he knows has been there, so why would it be a big deal? “He’s right over there,” the boy said, pointing at a tall man pushing a baby girl on the swings. Q immediately sprung to his feet and ran to meet this man who had also been to Iraq. Somewhat unsure of what he was about to do (and thinking that it could be anything from introducing himself to asking for a ride to pick up Daddy), I of course ran after him.

Q tugged on the man’s leg and excitedly asked, “Did you see my Dad in Iraq?” The Airman at first looked confused, but then just smiled. He had a tender look in his eyes—the look of a Dad who has had to leave his babies far too many times. “Wait, what’s your name?” he asked. Q responded. “Oh, yes! I did meet your Dad! He’s very strong, right?” “Yep,” Q said, proudly. “Yes, he’s a good guy. And he misses you very, very much. He can’t wait to get home.” Q’s face lit up with a huge smile. Then, somewhat hesitantly, Q asked, “Is he ok?” The Airman dropped down to look Q in the eyes. “Yes, he’s ok. He’s safe. He said he has lots of love from his family to protect him.” “Yeah,” Q said, “we sent him lots of that.” “Well,” assured the Airman, “keep doing it. It’s working. And I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

As Q skipped off to tell his big brother and sister the good news, I stood there with tears rolling down my face, and whispered “thank you” to the kind man. He just nodded and smiled, with that look that says I understand.

After the kids were done playing, we went inside and talked to Daddy on Skype. Q gleefully retold the story of meeting Daddy’s friend at the park. My husband looked confused for a moment, until I leaned over Q’s shoulder and winked, indicating that he should just play along. “Ooooh yeah, I’m glad he found you. Did he tell you that I miss you a lot?” “Yep,” Q said. “Well, I do, you know. And I can’t wait to give you a big squeeze.” “Me too, Daddy.” Q then trotted off to play (or torment) his older siblings, happy and content.

We would have many conversations after that about where Daddy was, when he was coming home, whether he was safe, and why he needed to be there. But, the reassurance he received from that kind Airman would keep him going for the rest of that tour. And if one of our other children asked why Daddy always had to be gone, Q would respond, “because he’s a good soldier, and they need him there.” Although Q was often the saddest without Daddy home, he is also the most proud. He loves to tell people that his Daddy is a soldier and that he sometimes has to go far, far away to protect people.

Q still doesn’t completely understand what a deployment means. Anytime I tell him that Daddy’s at work, Q assumes he’s in Iraq again, and will sigh with understanding. When I tell him that Daddy’s just at his office, which is just a few minutes away, he always seems confused, but happy. And when he does get to finally be with Daddy, he relishes every moment, and every hug and kiss that he finally gets to have in person.

This is a military child. A child who has said way too many goodbyes. A child who sees his Dad more on webcam than in person. But, a child who understands the true meaning of gratitude—gratitude for our soldier, gratitude for the kindness of a stranger, and gratitude for every moment we do have together. A child, just like so many other military children, whose heart is big enough to span the ocean. And a child whom we all could learn so much from, if we just take the time to listen.

April is the Month of the Military Child. Take the time to listen to a child, and give a few extra hugs, today.

Forgotten Sacrifice

Sitting in the pews of the Post Chapel on Easter morning, I was surprised and saddened by the number of people who had no one there to share the day with. Easter Sunday, a day to spend with family and friends, yet so many were spending it alone.

I found myself staring at the young, smiling woman sitting two rows ahead of us, singing the hymnals in a pretty, soft voice. She smiled at everyone, yet her eyes looked very sad. As the Chaplain prayed for our troops, she glanced at her wedding ring. I wondered if her husband was deployed, and assumed that he was.

I looked at the older man sitting on the other side of the sanctuary, tightly grasping his Bible in two wrinkled, and obviously over-worked, hands. He also glanced at his wedding ring, which looked tarnished and well loved. A veteran, I assumed. And likely someone who outlived his wife. I wondered if she sat at home waiting for him while he served in Korea or Vietnam. I wondered if she, too, had sat in Church alone on many a Sunday morning, waiting for her husband to return home. And I thought about how very much he must miss her.

I glanced toward the young mother in the very back of the Church, struggling to quiet the cries of her two young children. I looked for her spouse, partner, family member—any adult who might be there to help her. But, she and her children were also alone. I wondered if she was a single mother—a single soldier—struggling to care for her children alone, wondering when she may have to leave them again. Or was she was a military wife whose husband was away—again—struggling to balance motherhood with constant worry and fatigue? The look of sadness and exhaustion in her eyes made me assume it was the latter.

I thought back to the dinner our family had out at a local restaurant on Veteran’s Day. They advertised a special for a free meal for military members and retirees. There, too, I saw numerous retired veterans and current service members—some in uniform, others wearing distinctive buzz cuts or tattoos—dining alone. I joked with my husband that we should have invited them all over to our house. I still wish we had.

I thought back also to a recent experience in the airport, picking up a family member. Many US troops were returning from tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. As they entered through the arrival gates, the USO representative would call, “welcome home, hero!” and most people would applaud. (My daughter shot scowling glances at those who did not). Most of these soldiers were greeted by smiling (and sometimes crying) spouses, parents, siblings, and children. But, many were not. They walked past the embracing families with their heads hung low, probably headed to the barracks or a small apartment—alone. I hoped they knew how much we all appreciated what they had done, and how happy we were that they were home. I clapped even louder for those troops, just to make sure they heard.

One soldier was greeted by his wife and their baby, who was probably about six months old. The tears that immediately started rolling down the soldier’s face indicated that this was likely the first time he had held—and possibly seen—his child. I wiped the tears from my eyes as well. Although my own husband missed the birth of his oldest son—and I know how often it happens—I am still always struck with sadness when I think of a parent missing the birth, and early months, of their child’s life. I just can’t imagine.

With thousands of military members being deployed at any given time, and each of their families at home, waiting, worrying, and wondering, it’s hard not to notice how many people are here—alone. It also seems hard not to notice military couples struggling to maintain their relationships through multiple deployments, combat stresses, and the lingering effects of war, resulting in high divorce rates and crumbling families. Spouses left behind, children without parents, families breaking apart, mothers and fathers never returning home, children being born with fathers in combat—all right in front of us, there for us to see. Yet it seems that so many of these stories—these people—go unnoticed. It breaks my heart.

So, I’m asking each of you that if you do nothing else to honor—to thank—military families, please do simply this: Notice. Offer a smile, a hug, a helping hand. Military members and spouses may be frequently on their own, but they do not have to be alone. Reach out. Notice. Remember. And never stop saying thank you.

Where Has the Time Gone?

I read once that a blogger should write a new post at least once a week, preferably more, to keep their readers’ attention.

Oops.

I apologize to each of you for being absent for so long. Things have been a little, well, hectic lately. Here are a few of the things I’ve had going on in recent weeks:

· Working a new full-time (nine hours a day) job;

· 45 minute commute each way, every…single…day;

· Teaching online courses part-time (usually done in the late night/early morning hours);

· Staying in contact with friends/family (although doing quite a poor job at it, I must admit);

· Trying to continue working out every morning (usually done at 4am);

· Running a consulting business (also done late at night, after everyone else is in bed);

· Mommying (aka, chauffeuring, counseling, hugging, feeding, calming, caring, and coaching);

· Helping my husband find lost socks, paperwork, and anything else that mysteriously disappears;

· Filing taxes (oy ve);

· Maintaining a household;

· Hosting a houseguest (husband’s grandmother);

· Trying to remember to breathe;

· And sometimes, sleeping (although very little).

I’m not complaining. In fact, I feel blessed to be so busy. But, I do regret that I’m not able to write as much as I’d like. I also regret that haven’t been able to post about the important topics we discussed earlier for April. But, I will. We may just have to push some of those discussions into May. I hope you will all understand.

The full time job I recently started has given me the opportunity to work with military families through deployment, reintegration, and relocation issues. And, I must tell you, it has given me an even deeper appreciation for what we all do—each and every day. The bonds we build, the tears we hide, and the sacrifices we make. They may not be visible to everyone, but they are very clear to me. So, to each of you, I say thank you. And even while I’m absent from the blogging world, please know that you are in my thoughts every day. And, if no one else has told you recently, I’m proud of you, and thankful for all that you do.

Bye for now. But, I promise, I’ll be back!

April: The Month to Speak Up

April brings so many exciting things: April Fool's Day (which is in full force in my house), the final onset of Spring and warmer weather, Easter, tax day (ok, that one's not so exciting). But, April is also a month to recognize many great causes, a few of which I want to draw specific attention to today. I hope you will join me in making this a month to remember, and a month to make a difference.

First, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. As a survivor as well as a long time advocate, this cause is very near and dear to me. One out of every three women will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime. That means that each of us knows someone who has been a victim. This epidemic will touch each of our lives in some way. And it's time we get involved, learn more, and find out how we can prevent sexual violence and support survivors.

A few ideas for how to get involved:

* Volunteer your time and gifts to your local sexual assault advocacy program.
* Take a stand against sexual violence in all its forms, including victim blaming, sexism (including so-called "jokes"), and sexual harrassment.
* Support survivors. Here are three things to say to a survivor of sexual violence: 1. I believe you; 2. This was not your fault; and 3. I support you.

For more information, visit: http://www.nsvrc.org/saam.

April is also Child Abuse Prevention Month. No one wants to see a child hurt. Yet, child abuse is a persistent problem in our country. Every child deserves to feel safe and loved. The best way to accomplish this is to start listening to children and holding perpetrators accountable for their abuse.

A few ideas for how to get involved:

* Become a supportive person in a child's life. Having just one caring adult can drastically change a child's outlook and chance for success. Be that person.
* Support protective parents. The best way to support a victim of child abuse is to support their non-abusive parent. For example, rather than judge a mother whose child has been abused, ask what you can do to help her.
* Volunteer with a child advocacy or domestic violence program in your community.

To learn more, visit: http://www.preventchildabuse.org/publications/cap/index.shtml.

April is also Autism Awareness Month. To be honest, autism is something I knew very little about until meeting my nephew. He is smart, adorable, and sweet--and he is also autistic. And after seeing how much his parents fight to get him the support, care, and education that he deserves, I've realized how important it is to raise awareness. He, and all children and people with autism, deserve our love and respect.

A few ideas to get involved:

* Find out more about autism. There are numerous websites, books, and other resources to help you learn more. Take the time to do so.
* Support a family who is living with autism. We all know someone.
* Stop viewing people who have autism as different, and start seeing them as unique, valuable people, who also have something special to teach us.

To learn more, visit: http://www.autism-society.org/about-us/national-autism-awareness-month/.

And finally, April is also the Month of the Military Child. And, of course, I have three adorable reasons to be passionate about this cause. Whether they're at home worried about their parent who's once again deployed, or preparing for yet another cross country move, military children endure incredible sacrifice and heartache, and do so with amazing resiliency. It's time we start showing them the support they deserve and so desperately need.

A few ideas to get involved:

* Thank a military family. Not just the soldier, the entire family.
* Buy a Daddy/Mommy Doll for a military child. Our kids love theirs, and it's great to have something to hug when your parent's deployed. You can order them here: http://www.huggeemissyou.com/?gclid=CKmu4dba-6cCFQat7Qodp1QPrA.
* Understand that the war is not over. And even after our troops come home, they and their families still have to heal. Help by offering a hug or a shoulder.

To learn more, visit: http://www.monthofthemilitarychild.com/.

It may seem overwhelming to learn about each of these issues, but each is important, and deserving of our time and attention. And they are also all connected: They each teach us that we have a duty to ensure every person in our society has a voice. That does not mean speaking for them. Everyone has a right, and has the ability to, speak for themselves. Whether they are a sexual assault survivor, victim of child abuse, military child, or a person with autism, everyone has a story to share. Our role is to silence the voices of abusers, critics, and those who choose to be apathetic and uninvolved. By silencing these voices, we make a space for everyone to speak their own truth. And that, for me, is the only way to truly raise awareness.

So, for all of these reasons, I’m renaming April “The Month to Speak Up.” We can all take a stand, raise awareness, and make a difference. Won’t you join me?

I will be posting more about each of these important issues throughout the month of April. So, stay tuned for more ways to Speak Up.