Armor

There are many different forms of armor. From clothes that protect from the elements to the bullet-proof vests Soldiers wear into battle to the emotional walls we put up to protect our hearts and souls from the daily emotional attacks we deal with.

Most physical forms of armor only seem to physically protect us. Keeping us safe from those things that can injure our bodies. Bullet-proof vests protect against bullets and shrapnel. Coats protect us against the winter weather.

The emotional walls we gain through life exist to protect us emotionally. Someone breaks your heart so you build a wall to keep it from happening again, or at least from hurting as bad the next time. Someone criticizes a project you worked on for hours on end and a wall is built making it so that the criticism you receive doesn't affect your ability to shake it off and continue down the path of your life.

Every once in a while, we come across a talisman, a symbol that reminds us of the strength to withstand that we have inside, an object we give power to that is really nothing more than a reminder of that emotional armor we have built up. Sometimes we can inadvertently give such an object too much power, coming to see it as the source of the armor rather than merely the reminder it is.

An example is a military uniform. Nothing more than clothes at first look, but if you see what it stands for, the different power people have put behind it, it is so much more than than just clothes. At Basic Training, Soldiers are taught about something called Military Bearing. It is this bearing that allows a Soldier to be shot at and be able to react rather than let fear take over. This bearing allows a Soldier to be yelled at regularly by Drill Sergeants and not let it get them down, or to stand in front of their Commanding Officer to answer for a mistake and keep the Soldier standing tall rather than crumpling under the pressure. It is the cement that solidifies all the different pieces that comprise a Soldier and makes him strong.

To me, the symbol of this Military Bearing is the uniform. In the almost 2 years I spent in the service of my country, the uniform I put on daily became that symbol, as well as the symbol of my personal strength to withstand. In that uniform I felt I could handle almost anything because of all that I did handle and all that others have handled in it. I made it through the stresses of Basic Training, the Drill Sergeants, gas chamber, field training exercises, confidence course, and everything else that was thrown my way while there. I was able to keep it together when i called home from Basic after not being able to for a few weeks and hearing a female voice in the background and not jump through the phone to find out what was going on. I was able to handle the night my kids were taken into Protective Custody and the interviews that followed that night without going completely insane or imploding like I felt I was going to. I did end up in a state where my mind was refusing to process anything serious for a couple months, but i made it through that as well because of the strict battle rhythm of the military. I stood tall during the house inspections, the hurry up and wait of the court system, and standing in front of my Commander as he told me that he had no choice but to separate me from the Army because I wasn't able to meet all my military and personal obligations. Again, that sent me into a state of numbness, but not as bad. I was able to accept it, understand the reasoning behind it, even if I didn't fully agree or want it.

I fought my way into the military. I wanted to join after high school, but got pregnant a few months before graduating, so i told myself that i didn't really want to go that route. I never lost the love of the military that seemingly came out of nowhere. It stayed with me. Five years after graduating high school and two kids later, I was biking the three miles to work when it hit me that if I was able to do this, then why wasn't I able to do that military which would not only pay better, but also give me the housing and medical benefits that being a part-time cashier at Wal-martcouldn't offer me. So i talked to my husband and a recruiter and didn't let anyone talk me out of it. I went through four months of strict dieting, exercise, and weekly weigh-ins to get my weight and run time down to meet the requirements. I fought my own battle to get into that uniform. I wanted it so bad that it wasn't funny. All the recruiters in that office knew me on sight and knew that I wouldn't talk about joining to anyone but SGT Ricks. he helped me in my battle. Ran with me to help with technique and speed, cheered me on and cheered me up when I got discouraged. Because of this personal battle, it felt great when I finally made it and was sworn in. i loved every second of it, any and all contact with the military I had, and formed bonds that will last a lifetime.

Then I was separated. I rebelled against it in my own way. Tried to prove that i could do it, refusing to accept that I was too late and that this was what it was. Refusing to allow myself to believe this was any more than a bad dream and I would wake up any second and go to PT just like any other morning.This is what it is. I put so much power into that uniform that it meant more to me than I realized. It was my protection from all the emotions that I felt would otherwise consume me. it held me together when all i could think to do was fall apart. I stood strong and didn't shy away from Brian when he came to pick up his stuff, violating the place I felt the safest, because I was in uniform. It was one of the hardest things emotionally that I ever had to do. I no longer wear that uniform.I am now dealing with that emotional bombardment that I knew was there all along but felt I could handle because of the support of the uniform I wore. I feel in a way like I have been thrown to the wolves with nothing more than a toothpick to protect myself. Like I am standing naked in front of a crowd. Stripped. Beaten. Sore. Wounded. Vulnerable. Weak. Lost. Small.

It's kind of funny how people try to congratulate me, assuming this is a good thing that I am getting out. I won't deploy now. I won't have to work grueling 14, sometimes 30, hour shifts any longer. I am free now, right? Free, yes, but at what cost?

The truth is that getting out of the military isn't always a good thing. It truly is one big family. They really do take care of their own.

I feel like a lost child that no one knows what to do with so they just turn their backs. I feel let down, even though I understand that it had to be done. I feel like that family-type of support only goes so far and that I reached my limit without realizing that there was one. I came to rely on that support so much that I am lost without it. The Army was the only place I have found so far that i have felt accepted, cared about, like a member of the team and not just on the sidelines watching.And now it is gone. All my armor, all my safeties that were placed strategically to keep me from falling are gone. Stripped out from under me leaving me scrambling to find replacements for them while I feel myself going down. I would give almost anything to have the military back. Anything except having no guarantee that I won't deploy leaving behind my two precious children after all they have been through already.

So my reasons still stand. I can't deploy and leave my kids without their mother after all they have been through. I have had to choose what to sacrifice. I can go on without the Army. I can find another path and make my way through this world. But I cannot--WILL not-- intentionally make my kids go any long length of time without me like they did the four months they were in Foster Care again. Not if I have the ability to choose not to. They are my world and I will make the sacrifices needed for them.