For the first 9-12 years of their lives, I directly/indirectly prioritized what was best for Army over what was best for my kiddos.
Yah, that is a harsh judgement of myself.
But it’s how I feel nonetheless.
As I’ve watched them come into their own, I’m grateful that they value their own mental health and prioritize it.
I’m just now figuring out the value of mine.
It’s easy to judge myself for the decisions I made in the middle of things.
It’s easy to remember the times that I was angry at them for not fitting the Officer’s Kid cookie cutter expectations.
It’s easy to remember the times I was so anxious at events that I couldn’t help them process their emotions because I was too busy hiding from mine.
It’s easy to remember the times where I signed them up for activities that all their peers did, not necessarily the activities they were interested in doing.
It’s easy to remember how exhausting it was trying to wrangle a toddler for hours before a public event because our lives were “hurry up and wait”.
It’s easy to remember how desperately I wanted to fit in, and by extension, them.
After some unpacking, I’ve realized that I was insane.
Army is a beast.
And I have big feels about her that I’m working through, obviously. I’m probably going to be writing more about stuff like this too.
But first, I wanted to acknowledge the work that my quirky kids put into themselves—working through their stressful beginnings and middles to become these amazing humans.
And I also want to acknowledge that while being a military family is revered, it’s not always revered by those living it or those who have lived it.
And that’s ok.
