Military Misunderstandings

Yesterday night my neighborhood held an impromptu block party. We are lucky enough to live on a cul-de-sac with many kids, so many summer evenings all the kids on our street run around together until the moon comes up and the misquitoes become unbearable (even for a 6 year old).

Most nights we have our little block parties I am happy to attend with my pot luck contribution in hand. Last night Trey was on call, so I was going stag and had a few more than usual trepidations about the event. I knew I couldn't bow out because the goons would definitely know that all the kids were out running around together roasting marshmellows and would ask why we weren't part of the fun. As do many parents in the same situation, it is sometimes just easier to do it than face the questions of the children. It means I have to come too close to the truth.

Something like: "Mommy doesn't want to go because she doesn't feel like screwing on her smile and having idle chatter with a bunch of ladies that look at me with pity because my husband it not with me...again. And for that matter, I don't want to get locked in a conversation with someone about how I am fine. I chose the life of a military wife. I love moving around (minus the logistics of it all). I love my husband, and most days I go to bed thanking God for ALL our blessings. I am not kibitzing with a bunch of gossipy women I barely know. Plus, if we stay home they would think we were being anti-social and I can't even lie about being out because they would see the car in the driveway. Damn-it!"

I find it odd that many women that I have come into contact with, that are not themselves married into the military life, have some real issues with those of us that are, and I believe they maintain many mis-conceptions about this life. Yes, it can sometimes be hard. Whose life isn't at times? I don't want your pity and I don't deserve a medal. I definitley don't want you thinking I sacrificed everything for my husband with any resentment. We have made choices throughout our life together. We are a team. A team that fights together to make our family work...just like everyone else. I get tired of women saying, "tsk tsk...I just don't know how you do it...you are a rock."

Trust me. I am no rock. I have my meltdowns, but not with women I barely know that have no understanding what so ever for the life I have chosen. I call other military wife friends and talk for hours on the phone about how on Earth am I going to make it until dinner time. At the times I need the support, I know where to find it and it is usually with other women with whom you do not have to explain the basics of life. Just like everyone, I scream and cry into my pillow on those days I can't deal with the whining for one more second by myself, where I need a conversation that does not revolve around cars or poopy diapers, where I want to throw on a suit and head out to conquer the world.

I have done the suit thing. It was an experience I will not forget but need not repeat. When I left the suit job to move to our first duty station after medical school, my mentor, an incredible young woman with a shrewd business mind, cocked her head at me and said, "Are you sure this is what you want? You have such a future ahead of you. I don't think I could give it all up." I felt like I was getting marriage counseling in my cubicle.

I belive in women's rights and equal rights for women. This should never go away...options are essential. However, support to those women who choose to take up more traditional roles is just as esssential. I was ready to be a mother. I saw my future in my family. I didn't think a cubicle in the rat race was 'everything'. And niether role I have played completely defines me.

Okay...so, I obviously still haven't truly gotten over the lack of female support I recieved when I left the work force. But, I am completely astounded when other stay at home mothers look at me with the same sort of misconceptions, pity and false accolades that I recieved from females in Fendi I left behind in the rat race of DC. What gives?