Connecting and Conquering
For a few months now, I have been in rehab and recovery from multiple surgeries on both of my legs. I am able to walk, but I walk slowly. Very slowly. For the most part, when I’m in uniform, nothing appears to be wrong with me. I don’t use crutches. I don’t have leg braces. I just move slower than everyone else. The stairs are a challenge. I can feel the irritation in people who are behind me, who are wanting to move around me, but depending on the stairwell or hallway, it might be a challenge.
Sometimes I think, if they could see how hard I’m working right now, they’d be more patient with me. If they could see how much it hurts to take every step – and try and do it quickly – or to move up each stair, they’d not make those loud sighs or walk so closely as though to make me move faster. But they can’t see how much pain I am in, because I don’t have any visible signs of the damage. Not unless I’m in a pair of PT shorts – and then suddenly, everyone wants to know what happened to my legs! Suddenly, everyone is very encouraging, with comments like, you’re doing so well, and they remind me to take it easy.
When I walk across the street, sometimes I wish drivers could see my injuries so they could respond in that same encouraging way. It got me thinking about how I have treated people when I didn’t know what was hurting them. It reminded me of how I was treated in my childhood and not that long ago when dealing with a hurt and had no one to help me. It can be a lonely time, and when you feel like people aren’t there for you or people aren’t helping you, things can spiral downhill quickly. Today, I do have people who help me through this, but the pandemic has made our touch points a bit more irregular. But they do help me feel good about my recovery and my progress. I’m so thankful for that, because the hard moments are real. It got me thinking about times when I haven’t always had a community around me, supporting me. Who do we go to then? And are those people there for us?
If you have ever suffered the disappointment of someone not being there for you when you needed them to be, you are not alone. If you have ever been the person who wasn’t there for someone when you needed to be, you aren’t alone in that either. As I reflect on the ups and downs of my life and career, the peaks and valleys seem to surround moments when I’ve been there for people, when people have been there for me, or when there was a deep void. Those chasms are the ones that strengthened my character, but it doesn’t make those moments feel less hurtful.
The first real disappointment I remember was when I was babysitting my younger brother. He was only about 18 months old at the time. I hadn’t been paying attention, too busy watching television at the time, and a horrible accident left him fighting for his life with third degree burns over 70% of his body. I was responsible for him, and I had failed horribly. I was four years old at the time...in my twenties when my friends started having children of their own, I realized how absurd it was that I was charged with overseeing his care. I carried regret for this negligence for nearly two decades.
My brother’s recovery was painful, and the scars still haunt him today, but the emotional trauma from that time scarred me for many years as well. At the tender age of four, I knew I would never want to fail someone again or fail to do what I was asked to do. And it was only a few months after that awful day when my own father decided to treat me as an adult in every way as well. By the time I was in my early teens, I was so uncomfortable with the relationship, I admitted what was happening at home, and an investigation started. I began counseling, and my family was ripped apart, trying to manage two households on one income, trying to piece together all of the hurts of lost innocence and lost trust. But one day, everything just went back to normal, and we all were a family again. I didn’t know it at the time, but my father was cleared of abuse charges and the case was dismissed.
I threw myself into academics and extracurricular activities and contemplated my options for the future. I had scholarships, but I feared the ability to stay safe and independent. The military academies had sent postcards to me when I was considering colleges, but the military seemed so far removed from the delicate girl I was. Graduating at 17, I found an opportunity to come into the military, granting me the independence I craved and allowing me to still get an education. And just like that, the military became my new family. My supervisors and peers made me feel welcome. They celebrated holidays and career milestones with me. And they gave me a roadmap of what to expect, what to strive for, and how to get there. They were the mentors I needed, the family I needed, and they help me grow from that scared four-year-old girl into a valued member of the profession of arms.
Early in my career, I earned a nickname, Glue, because it seemed as though I was the one who knew everyone, and I knew when to call them as well as what needed to be done, before anyone asked. Something I have always valued is the quality of my relationships. My supervisor, a retired Chief, taught me a lot about choosing the right person, not the right qualifications. He understood emotional intelligence before that was ever a popular term. He gave me a free space to be myself and had hard conversations with me when I needed to grow.
I didn’t always get this right. Because my military family had surrounded me with salt-of-the-earth teammates and leaders, I had become quick to trust those who wore the uniform. I found myself drawn into a relationship with a man who was one of the most charismatic people I had ever met. His passion for others and for a cause made him pretty irresistible, and a few years later, we were married. But a few days into that marriage, while we were moving in together, his true character began to be revealed. I had left my family and friends, and I didn’t know anyone in my new unit. I felt so alone, and it was a devastating time. I had always been a confident woman, but somehow, he had planted this seed of doubt in me. I couldn’t seem to shake it. Over and over again, he found little ways to chip away at soul, making me question reality and my own self-worth. I found myself on my birthday, just two months after taking our vows, crying my eyes out to my dear friend, and she had a candid talk with me. She said, unfortunately I had married someone who didn’t respect me, and once I came that realization on my own, I’d be ready to move on. I wish I could say that I came to that realization on my own that day, but I clung to the promises we had made to one another just months before. Desperate to hold onto the idea we could be saved if I just believed enough, tried enough, and was just good enough. But it wasn’t enough. The belittling behaviors continued, and finally, there was a moment during an argument, when he grabbed my arm aggressively, screaming, “who the f--- do you think you are?” in front of my family. My mother stood in shock, and I left in tears. I had also discovered he was planning a wedding with another woman at that time. At rock bottom, I finally reached out for help from the command chief. In the meeting, I tried to piece together the previous six months’ worth of trials and tribulations; I tried to find avenues of help, and I will never forget his words…he said, “I find this hard to believe.” There I was, back to being that frightened four-year-old girl, back to being that young tween whose case was dismissed, and back to being that lonely person who had to suffer in silence and isolation.
To be honest, I think that moment was even worse than the months of marriage I had been surviving. I was destroyed. My rational thinking capability started to decline exponentially as I speculated as to what would happen to me if my husband found out I had gone to the command chief. A staff sergeant passed me while I was walking out hysterically, and she was so concerned she wouldn’t let me leave without getting to a calmer state. She didn’t ask for any specifics, but she did offer her help, which was such a solace to me, a real connection point with someone was a comfort I had forgotten I ever needed. The next day, I called my functional manager, and said I had an emergency, but I didn’t want to share all of the details. To be honest, I just couldn’t bear to repeat the situation and have someone not believe me again. He was a champ and based on the numerous times we had worked together, he knew me well enough to know I was not okay. He said there were a few opportunities on the horizon, and he would start working on them. I PCS’d just six months later.
In those six months, along with the Staff Sergeant, there was a Master Sergeant, a key spouse, and a student in my MBA program who continued to check on me. These ladies never knew the full extent of my troubles, they just knew I was distressed. Once at my new assignment, many people recognized me as the other half of a power couple, but my supervisor went out of her way to introduce me as my own independent person, helping me gain bits of my confidence back in little ways. My superintendent went out of her way to check on my well-being weekly, because she recognized how alone I was, working through a broken marriage and trying desperately to sustain a level of competence. Slowly, these strangers who barely knew me became the support network and framework I needed to grow in a safe place. They became my family.
They are forever in my heart because their support was everything during one of the lowest points of my life, and they helped put the pieces of me back together again once I was divorced and learning to stand on my feet again. I don’t share this for anyone to feel sorry for me, but I do share this because it’s important to highlight the good character of people who looked for how to help in situations where they didn’t know all of the information.
How many times have we had to make decisions with limited information? I feel like as we progress in our careers, we have to do this more and more. And when we do this, we have to have trusted advisors around us who also help us build that trusted advisement within us. How do we find those trusted advisors?
I know people use the term “connector” or “networker” to describe me, but for me, it’s more than that - I really just love people with good character. While I had a lapse in judgement in my marriage, I have had excellent discernment with my mentors and friends. And I will be the biggest cheerleader and encourager to people who don’t have selfish motives (ambition doesn’t have to be selfish!) and have a good heart. I have had great success in finding people who I have strong connection points with, and the quality of those relationships is everything to me. Transparency and authenticity have led to a significant depth in high quality relationships. Those incredible friends and mentors have excelled into jobs with huge areas of responsibilities, command chiefs at every level, special duty managers, and senior leaders in joint billets. I think that’s why people think I know everyone.
One characteristic I’ve noticed in each of these superheroes is their ability to be true to who they are. Their word is their bond. Some of them like taking selfies. Some of them share fitness pro tips for days. Some of them share wins and losses. Some of them share silly moments with their friends, families and furbabies with us, and some of them share books and podcasts with us. But they all share a patriotism and loyalty to others that pounds in their veins.
These are the trusted advisors I surround myself with. In every action, they demonstrate humility, their words and actions match, they take responsibility for lessons learned, and they give credit to their teams. Who they are at work is who they are at home, and the habits they forge are so ingrained into their spirit, that when things aren’t going smoothly, it doesn’t make them skip a beat. None of this is new to anyone, but what might be new is listening to our own intuition when we see a misstep. When we see something that lacks character, how do we address it? And when one of our family members speaks truth to us in love, how well do we receive it? If in the moments when I recognized insecurities in my dating relationship, I might have gotten to the root of those situations and recognized where there were inconsistencies in behaviors. I might have paid attention to the smallest signs of disrespect. I might have listened to the candid feedback of my closest friends. And I might have avoided a lot of heartache. But I learned many lessons, and I gained some invaluable relationships along the way. To that core group of women who helped me through dark times and continue to help me today, know that you are treasured forever and have helped me recover and grow into the leader I want to be. You remind me that failure is just a setback or delay in success. You are the glue that put me back together again; you are the family who gave me hope and encouragement that I will no longer look at a grey sky as a dark cloud but as an opportunity to see a rainbow!
It’s been a long time since I have felt disappointment. The phenomenal family in my life built me up without looking at me with pity. No one used kid gloves in giving me feedback. They did offer a lot of care and diplomacy and constructive guidance to help me shape my leadership style. They helped me find opportunities to be vulnerable and grow. They spent countless minutes on phone and video calls, or coffee and pedicure dates to help me not feel alone. That’s what family does. They strengthened my resilience. They strengthened my character. And it has minimized my moments where I may have been a disappointment to others. We aren’t perfect. But we are there for one another, we show up when it’s not convenient, by boat, by plane, by cell phone or by pogo stick. We protect each other when we have hurt that other people can’t see. And we shout from the mountain tops about the wins for our brothers and sisters, to encourage them on their paths, to remind people there ARE bright days ahead, and we give each other hope for a better tomorrow. That is the kind of glue that family legacies are built from! And these are the kinds of legacies that can bring light to the darkness of domestic violence and many other invisible wounds that so many of our members have been suffering. That is the kind of hope that makes me walk a little taller and a little prouder every day.