Once upon a time a total stranger asked me how I was doing, in a voice of sincere concern, and so I told him truthfully that I was feeling a teensy bit overwhelmed to be standing on a stranger's patio sipping iced tea mere moments after spending a small fortune on a house in a province where the trees were too tall.
Mr Helpful Stranger then proceeded to educate me. In a ringing voice he explained that Sar Tech wives are as strong as oaks, resourceful, independent and reliable, never a peep out of them, just a great bunch of gals who get the job done without fear or hesitation. He helpfully explained that my current situation was not in any way unique, that he understood precisely every thought I was having about it and that I needed to get over it pretty quickly, because everyone else had.
In this case, everyone else was my new peer group, which happened to be a backyard filled with Sar Techs and their spouses. As I mentally counted off the 10,000 anxieties of the day swirling around in my brain, I glanced around at all of those faces and every one of them, it seemed to me, was nodding agreement and looking at me with undisguised pity.
So it was just me, then. With the giant ball of worry in my belly about leaving my family, new homes, mortgages, finding employment, fitting in, finding a decent hair stylist and generally just trying to survive in a new province while Husband was away on seemingly endless taskings. Because they had all "gotten over it."
Okay.
Let's examine that statement. I don't have a problem with any of the adjectives in particular. I am delighted to consider myself creatively resourceful. Ask my mother and she will tell you I was independent in the damn womb. I work with children with special needs, I think reliable comes with the territory. Nope, as lists of attributes go this is nearly complete apart from eloquent, artistic, delightful and really tall. Check, check, check and check.
It was... the tone.
The tone was firm. It made it clear to all and sundry that, no, I couldn't possibly be worried or stressed, because that is simply not how things were done. Best buck up, stiffen my lip and answer properly next time, wouldn't do to let the team down, no sir.
As ambassadors to new communities go, this guy really needed to revisit his job description. Effectively, probably without thinking about it, he ensured that I would actively avoid the members of this new community of mine, that I would hide from them in the super market or "accidentally" not find out about events until too late to attend. I couldn't let them find out that I was absolutely not "getting over it." Better to be pasted a snob than a basket case and be subjected to more of those pitying looks.
It took me about a year to realize that I didn't have to "get over" anything. That it was perfectly normal to be worried when your safety blanket slips off and gets left behind in another province. There is nothing wrong with admitting that you are overwhelmed, that you feel worried or scared when the pager goes off and your heartbeat races out of the door, leaving you with laundry and bills and mountains of snow and helpful strangers with too much advice and not enough compassion.
All of these icky feelings are coming around again, as things do when military postings are bandied about and no one knows what is going on. If I may offer some advice of my own, to those of us who know military families: be kind. Don't assume you know what is going on, each situation is absolutely unique, despite similar circumstance. Offer to go for a walk or to grab coffee and talk about anything else, unless they broach the subject. Above all, be normal, because normal is the one thing that is rapidly vanishing as all the stressors mount up.
I am a strong military wife because I carry on in spite of these things, honestly and openly freaking out while I walk the dog, or spend hours getting the house show room perfect, or play the radio all night to fill up the empty corners. I do not need to be an oak tree. When the wind is too great for the oak to bear, the oak will snap.
And we don't want that, now do we?
