I've sold myself into the USMC way of life. But marrying into the military, I've learned the hard way, is completely different. There’s a lot I have given up, and a lot I have yet have to give up, for my Marine. Though our marriage is healthy and otherwise happy, having the military institution in the way makes every single day of our lives a constant uphill battle.
At times we don’t feel good enough. We don’t feel like we’re doing enough.
When it comes right down to it, I’m his dependent, and dependents are not looked upon kindly in the military. Military spouses are practically second-class citizens, not much of a step above the average civilian. Actually, the military wife, referred to as a “dependapotomus,” is probably held in far less esteem than the average civilian.
No matter how loyal and competent a wife I am, I’m made to feel like I’m not good enough by the surrounding military “community,” which is more like a shark tank than anything else. If I work, I’m still not doing enough for my serviceman. If I’m a homemaker, I’m considered a fat and lazy. One who simply married her husband for his benefits and a cushy life — believe me, the lifestyle is not cushy. It’s harrowing and painful and strips me right to the bone. It is an especially excruciating experience, when my husband is on "trip" or deployed and struggling with separation anxiety, loneliness, and constant stress; when I’m left to sleep alone at night; when I’m left wondering for months on end if he will ever come home alive, or disabled, or dead; and when I’m left to deal with a lot of crazy stuff on my own without his help. Hardly comparable to what craziness he has to deal with overseas, but crazy enough to fray one’s nerves either way.
My word doesn't really mean anything beyond the ear of my husband, either. I’m talked down to on a constant basis. Whether I am in any given situation acting like a pretentious ass who deserves to be talked down to, or a fairly innocent party, it really doesn't matter. I still get the same treatment, regardless of what I say and the way I act — though I very rarely use foul treatment as an excuse to treat others any-old-way I want.
I can’t lie. There are some days that sort of thing really gets me. It does effect me, as hard as I fight not to let it. It’s a relentless ordeal that challenges the very foundations of my sense of self-worth.
I constantly grapple with feelings of inadequacy. My friends, family, and husband’s fellow Marines seem so much more successful than I've been. Because I don’t do the amount or intensity of work that Matt does, I feel like dead weight more often than I care to admit. Having accomplished as much as I have isn't so much of a confidence-booster when I haven’t published anything worthy of note, don’t have the specific career in any field that I set out to have six years ago, and am not the one feeding mouths between us. It certainly does not help that the current state of United States military culture makes a point of making wives look and feel like disgusting, useless worms who aren't worth the air, water, or food they consume.
I am ever-reluctant to ask my husband for help with various items under most circumstances, because I don’t feel like I do enough work to deserve it. “Holding down the fort” and making sure the household runs smoothly while he’s busy elsewhere doesn't feel like much, despite how stressful it can be a lot of the time. “That’s stuff I’m supposed to do anyway. I could be doing more. But I’m not, so I suck,” I sometimes catch myself thinking.
Fortunately, I married a good man. Matt makes a point of telling me how much he appreciates me, appreciates what I do for him and our household, and that loving him is beyond enough. Outside of my opinions and how I value myself, and beyond his opinions and how he values me, nothing else really matters when it comes to our marriage, and how good a wife — a human being — I am. No one else has a legitimate say, and in our heart of hearts we know that we shouldn't gauge ourselves by the perceived standards and performance of others. “Looks can be deceiving,” “the grass is greener on the other side of the fence,” and all that.
It should be noted that there are indeed a number of spouses who fit the “dependapotomus” stereotype. However, they’re not a universal rule by any stretch of the imagination. There are good military wives, and plenty of them. I’m not a perfect human being, if there ever were such a thing, but as Matt makes a point of telling me on a regular basis, I am a good wife to him: I am helpful. I am intelligent and knowledgeable. I am resourceful. I am honest and dutiful. I am understanding. I am supportive. I am witty and fun to be around. I am a major source of comfort for him. I take good care of my body and my mind. I take good care of him when he is tired, sick, and/or hurting. I am creative, and a competent writer. I am also pretty good at cooking and baking. I give him something to look forward to. I give his life a purpose that he’s wanted for so long but never had before. I’m there for him to make happy, and I make him equally happy in return.
My job might not be the biggest, flashiest one in the world — I don’t maintain Ospreys like my husband does, -but what I do is very important to him, to us. Being a wife is still a respectable job. I’ve accomplished a lot in my past, and still continue to accomplish much that is worth being proud of. Not necessarily “big” things, but important things nevertheless.
My husband serves to remind me that the little jobs are still important jobs. Even within the military, this is so. Not everyone can be a four-star General. Not everyone is Commandant of the Marine Corps. Someone has to sit at a desk in the communications unit, making sure all modes of communication remain operational. It’s a boring, tiring, endless, thankless job, but someone has to do it. Someone has to clean the shitters. Someone has to work in the kitchens. Someone needs to maintain the waterworks. Someone needs to attend to towering stacks of paperwork, because that paperwork is not going to file itself. If everyone were on the front lines engaging in guts-and-glory battle-madness, everything would fall apart. There would be no coordination. If everyone were a senior officer, who would be doing all the necessary grunt-work? No one. Nothing would get done. It’d be too many officers and not enough grunts .
We must do what we can, to the best of our ability. The little advancements, kindnesses, and justices DO add up. They DO change lives. They DO make waves.
Matt was never wealthy. He couldn’t afford a college education. He was a poor kid, working at Taco Bell, aspiring to become a Marine, with nothing to give but his hands, his speech, and his heart. He saved my life, gave me a new sense of purpose, and made me glad again. With words that might seem small to others, he breathed life into me again, when nothing else could.
When feelings of inadequacy strike, remember that every word, every action, every person, matters. Remember that even the smallest word, the smallest action, the smallest person, can make a difference. Perhaps a small difference, but an important difference all the same.
We are only useless and powerless and “not good enough” when we talk ourselves into feeling and thinking that way, or allow others to convince that we are such. Remember this.
