notjustamilitarywife

If being a military wife is a job, then sometimes I feel like I’m a terrible employee.  I don’t measure my self-worth by the rank on my husband’s sleeve.  I don’t attend the monthly luncheons and book drives and charity bake sales that all the dutiful spouses organize.  I DO own a silver tea service- but it hasn’t been used or polished since it was lugged over as a wedding gift two years ago.  I don’t wait at the door for my husband to come home, eager to pull off his boots, serve him a home cooked meal, and hang on each word about the day he spent defending America.  In fact, I’m not even usually at home when he gets off.  He’s lucky if I arrive home an hour after him, grumbling about traffic and the annoyances and quirks of my long day working at my own job; and if I offer to pop something frozen in the microwave on his behalf- well then that’s a pleasant surprise for him.

 The truth is, I bear no resemblance to the typical military wife of generations past.  And there’s a lot of military wives out there today who want to conform to that image, the happy homemaker who serves her country by serving her serviceman.  I don’t have a problem with these woman; I even think I might enjoy that lifestyle.  For a while.  Maybe a couple of days.  But ultimately, that’s not me.  Call me selfish, call me crazy- I’ve got ambitions and dreams and plans that involve more than tagging along after my husband.

I know there’s got to be plenty more women out there like me, women who are proud of their husbands and love their country . . . but who also believe in their unalienable right to dream big, to pursue a fantastic career right to that glass ceiling and through it, and to demand to be treated as a valuable member of every community they live in, even if it’s only for a short while. 

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