Finding Themes….

I suppose I’ve earned the right to say that I’m “seasoned.”

In the past decade, my family has lived in three different duty stations. Each home that we made established its own sort of theme.

Each created a different version of me, building me up to be a little bit MORE than I was before. 

We moved to our condo in Chula Vista (San Diego, CA) when my son was 6 months old.

I had worked as a police dispatcher right up until his birth, and transitioning to the life of a stay-at-home mom was difficult for me.

California was also the farthest away from home I’d ever been (at that point), and it was a strain. My husband was gone most of the time, and he had 2 deployments in the 2 ½ years that we lived there. 

I was a new mom, flailing a bit while trying to find purpose, and I’d never really experienced being a part of a military spouse community.

But as one of my best friends liked to say, “You can’t throw a rock in San Diego without hitting a sailor.” 

Thanks to the high concentration of military spouses in the MOPs group that I joined, I found a tribe.

They molded me into a stronger woman.

They weathered the same storm that I found myself in, day after day.  With them, I could share the weight that I carried.

They knew it intimately, and they helped me carry that weight, even though they struggled with their own burdens.  

Even with those valuable friendships, I found myself chasing adventures; distractions from the never-ending grind of being the only available parent.

My son and I drove across half of California, hiking and camping, and explored many of the national parks and forests there.

I chased mountain scenery, mammoth trees, and breathtaking hikes, trying to escape the gnawing emptiness that grew within me each time that I wanted to reach out to my husband for help, but couldn’t… because he simply wasn’t there. 

The themes of San Diego became: sisterhood, adventure, and loneliness.

In 2019 (after my husband returned from a deployment in the middle-east), we moved to a farmhouse on five acres in southern Mississippi.

There were fewer spouses around than in San Diego, and we were much more spread out. Far from the rugged beauty of California, I found myself surrounded by pine trees and swamps.

I was lucky enough to have several strong friendships in Mississippi, but my ability to adventure was cut off at the knees. 

Instead of constantly traveling, my son (now 4 years old) and I created a homestead that we rarely desired to leave.

And that was good, because we had so many animals that camping for more than a weekend was a monumental task.

At one point, we had chickens, ducks, turkeys, guinea hens, 2 goats, rabbits (with many babies), 2 pigs (and piglets), a pony, a donkey, 3 cats, and 2 dogs. 

We did animal chores twice a day, and maintained multiple gardens and berry patches. My husband was home more than he had been in California, but still travelled regularly.

My daughter was born there in 2021, right before my son started kindergarten. It was time-consuming to tend so many animals while also caring for a baby; I used to push her stroller around the yard with me just to get all the farm chores done. 

I struggled with anxiety at the farmhouse, not only from the many responsibilities that I handled (often by myself), but also from of the aftershocks that my husband’s absence in California had caused.

I often had panic attacks at night when he was gone, lying in bed alone after finally getting the kids to sleep. 

Despite the struggle I initially faced while re-learning how to share parenthood with my husband, the farmhouse was a magical place.

My kids flourished there, among a yard full of animal friends, green growing things, and the space to enact any imaginary adventure. We spent four amazing years there; the longest we’ve stayed anywhere in the past decade. 

We miss it, still. 

The themes of Mississippi: reintegration, homesteading, and anxiety. 

We moved to the island of Guam in June of 2023. My husband has been home more in the past year than I have ever experienced.

It’s a glimpse of what “normal” might be; a window into what retirement could look like, one day. 

It’s like coming in from a storm to sit beside a cozy, cheerful fire. And, like all things, it will eventually end, and something new will take its place. 

Sometimes I wonder how many versions of me will exist, when our season of military life draws to a close.

Mostly, I hope that I remember what it felt like to be new and uncertain. And how many hands helped to pull me up along the way.

I hope that I remember the adventures, and the weight of the stubborn independence that I wore like armor against the pain of being left behind.

I hope that I remember how much that armor weighed me down, in the end. 

It feels freeing, a decade later, to see the wisdom in finally taking the armor off, and setting it aside. But it took a long time, and a lot of help, to get here. 

*For more from Kaci, visit her MM Author Page.