A recent conversation was perhaps the kick in the ass I needed to get back to some personal writing and doing some actual revival of this site. I kicked the dust off my fiction gears this year thanks to Nightmare Fuel over on Google Plus, but the personal writing has been more journaling to sort out my PTSD.

I’ve taken on a lot of volunteer positions during the past year. (Yikes, I can’t believe it’s been over a year since I’ve updated.) Anyone who’s volunteered for anything knows that it requires a lot of giving of yourself. Which can be draining, particularly when your brain isn’t wired properly. So while you’re trying to be happy-smiley-go-lucky, your brain is largely trying to make sure your anxiety has a tight lid on it and you don’t freak out on people and don’t start randomly canceling on folks and being a giant flake and… essentially rage quit everything.

Because that’s what happened just a handful of years ago. I was giving so much of myself, my brain was short circuiting because I wasn’t able to figure out a balance, I wasn’t giving myself time to recharge and heal, I had a massive breakdown, and I rage quit everything with which I was involved, because nobody at that time was willing to see that I was struggling. Nobody was willing to say, “Hey, we’ve got you. Take a break, breathe a little, and come back when you’re ready.”

I also worked really hard so they wouldn’t see that I needed a breather, so it wasn’t a one-way street, there.

This time, though, with MarvMan on shore duty, I was able to see it for what it was before it became a full on breakdown. I reached out for help. And I received the help – in the form of counseling and, this time, medication.

So now that I finally have my head on straight, and now that I’ve got help in keeping the PTSD monster leashed, I’ve been able to look at things with a fresh perspective. Specifically why I abandoned this site for so long, why I stopped writing for so long…

I won a contest awhile back. It was, largely, a popularity contest. And I, admittedly, lost myself in it. I realized why I didn’t do pageants when I was younger. There was a certain mold you were supposed to fit yourself into, and I’ve never been good at that. When I was in theater, I was never particularly interested in the goody-two-shoes characters, or the always happy, bright eyed, protagonist. I found a lot of joy in playing the more complex characters. The ones who were struggling, or the ones who were outright bad because it felt good. Now that I think about it, it’s likely because those roles were the easiest for me to step into.

For this particular contest, though, the mold was different. It was that pageant mold. It was that “if you struggle you better give Jesus all the glory for seeing you through it” kind of mold, which is really hard to fit a Jewish woman into in the first place, let alone someone who wants to be honest about her struggles. It was the kind of mold that promoted a happy happy we can do all the things view of being a military spouse, and if you can’t do all the things, don’t worry, someone has written a book that will tell you all about just how much you need Jesus and then you’ll be able to do all the things.

Except I’m not that kind of spouse. I’m a great spouse – an amazing spouse if you ask my husband. But I’m an honest military spouse.

I prefer being honest.

I prefer telling you that this shit sucks sometimes.

I prefer using the word shit instead of poopy or caca.

I have an improper affinity for the word “fuck” in my vocabulary.

I am growing to prefer being outspoken about my PTSD. Yet it’s almost as if military spouses are supposed to hide the fact that some (a lot?) of us have mental illnesses. And that, sometimes, those mental illnesses were caused by the military, whether it’s prior service or something that happened to us or our spouses during their service.

But this mold… this mold was toxic in that, sure, you could be yourself, but only according to certain guidelines. You best not speak poorly of the military, even if you’re calling it out in love. You best not be “different” in any way – mental illness or, worse in their eyes, LGBTQIA+.

When looking at the other candidates I was up against for making it anywhere in this competition, I realized there were a lot of common threads between candidates.

And that my wool was rather blackened in comparison to their freshly washed whites.

I’m a Jewish Navy Veteran with PTSD caused by Military Sexual Trauma. And that’s not marketable, apparently. It’s funny, because having been close to the music industry while growing up, I could have told you that it wasn’t. My Dad could have told me it wasn’t marketable. I have a degree in PR & Marketing (Magna Cum Laude, baby), and I should have known because I saw it. And I thought I could beat the system.

But when the core of who you are isn’t marketable…

I took down books I’d published because of “questionable” or “mature” content. I cleaned out seven years worth of blog posts on this site. All in the hopes of mediating the parts of me that weren’t marketable with an otherwise squeaky clean appearance.

I sacrificed a large portion of myself on the altar of marketability.

It’s taken well over a year to regain that sense of self and to get comfortable again in the spouse skin I wear, if you’ll entertain that analogy. A lot of hermit-ing up on my part to try to fix the damage I did to myself. Because, yes, I made those choices. I own those choices. But I did not make these choices without a keen eye for the fact that these choices were “strongly encouraged.”

If you’ve ever been involved with the military, “strongly encouraged” generally translates to “it’s mandatory in our eyes, even though we can’t actually say it’s mandatory.”

I’ve been really lucky in that I’ve found a tribe of friends who love and appreciate me for who I am, flaws and all. Because none of us is a picture perfect military spouse – even those who have achieved higher echelons of external recognition.

I’m comfortable in the role I play behind the scenes now. I revel in the connections I make by being honest about who I am and what I’m about. I love that I walk around our base here and almost always run into someone I know. My smiles and hellos are genuine, now. I know who I am, flaws and all, and I’m not ashamed of that.

If only those with more exposure knew how to inclusively celebrate those of us “unorthodox” spouses.