There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you. - Maya Angelou

We all have those moments of fear that if we speak, should we speak, we will not be understood-- will not be met with love. There is so much bravery in speaking when your voice feels shaky, or when choosing to stand beside someone who feels alone. Making that choice is hard. And when someone chooses to make it, to stand in their own voice, it is an honor to be present.
To listen.
To understand.
​And to choose love.
At HWHV, we choose love. 
​~Melissa


 I’ve a thing to tell you.

But it scares me to tell you.

I don’t want to lose this part of my life.
I worry that telling you will cause you to distance yourself even more from me.
I already feel that I've lost a lot of community, simply by no longer being an actual military spouse.
After my divorce, I felt and still feel as though I really shouldn’t still be here.
But everyone’s kept welcoming me, so I’ve stayed.

But this, I don’t know.

So I’m afraid.

And the current mindset in the USA towards Trans people is not encouraging.

And then I realized that I’m not the only one with this.
And I would be doing a disservice to those like me if I continued to hide who I am.
I’ve a responsibility to tell my story.

To actually be fully in public who I am, if I'm able.

No matter the response.

Because I know that when we stand up for our own stories, it gives solidarity to those who can’t speak up yet, it lets them know they are not alone.

Over the last few months, I’ve been slowly changing how I tell my story, because it’s not the safest of things to speak of at this point in time.

And I’ve come to realize that not speaking out loud my reality is not only doing myself a disservice, but also telling others that their own self is not worth speaking of.

So, here’s my truth, my story, the reality of myself:

I’m Trans, genderqueer, to be specific. Neither one nor the other. Happily non binary.

Every time I’ve tried to hide this part of me, it’s damaged myself self worth, my heart, my mental health, everything about me.

I truly hope that this won’t cause me to be pushed out of what I’ve left of military life support.

And I truly fear it will.

But I’m ready and willing to take that risk, so that hopefully these words are seen by someone else who is trapped in the expectations and judgement and fear and know that they are not alone.

We are here, I am here for you.

I see you, and you are not wrong.
​
My name is Deen, and you are not alone.

What do you do, when you don't even know how to start dreaming for yourself and the dreams others have for you have not only fallen apart, but never rang true at all? 
How do you find what you truly long for?

“Second star to the right, and straight on ‘til morning”
But morning never comes
All that’s here is strands of bits of the dreams
Of other people
I can’t even see the light at the end of
The tunnel anymore
No sign of Morning
or that light they promise comes
With every tunnel, money back guarantee
I’ve run out of batteries
Trying to keep running down this path
Everyone tells me I should be on
Over there
In the corner of my eye
There’s a bit of light
A spark
Everyone says
It’s not real
It’s not worth it
Stay on this path with us
Become more in line
With the expected
I don’t want to live
A life
Plotted and planned out
Mapped like a known quantity
I plan to live in the spaces
Which decry:
HERE THERE BE DRAGONS
Let everyone around me
Publicly denounce
Who I am
And the paths I chose to take
Because
If I must live
It must be on my terms
HERE THERE BE DRAGONS
And one other
Striving
To just be
More
Than what was written for me

All quotes, including the title, from J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan

Sometimes, we lose parts of ourselves we never meant to give up or turn away from.
We get lost in the dialogue of who we think we should be, or how others think we should be.
It's not a failing. It's part of how we learn to be stronger, to hold true to ourselves.
Sometimes, this lesson comes later in life than it does for others.
May you learn it, as quickly as possible, with as little loss as can be had.


I gave away my kitchen table.
 
I was so proud of it, I’d bought it with money I’d earned myself, from one of the few jobs I was able to find after I was married and moved to GA. Jobs for cooks, especially military spouse cooks, are few and far between-well, the ones you’d actually want to have, anyway. Not to mention, there’s not much in the way of options when you don’t really have regular transportation except during deployments and you’re outside of Fort Stewart.
It wasn’t really a “kitchen table”, it was a little sofa table, the sort that you place behind your sofa, or in the entry hallway-long and narrow.
What drew me to it, though, was the fact that the top was actually two leaves that folded out, with clever little arms that slid inside when not being used to brace the expanded width.
I could seat 4-6 people at it. It was perfect for what I wanted.
 
When I was growing up, all meals were eaten around the kitchen table. While they rarely were happy meals, it was still a part of what I’d been raised to believe that homes had.
Everyone I knew, growing up, had a kitchen table that they ate their meals at.
The dream of a happy family, everyone gathered together, enjoying the meal as a family.
Entertaining guests.
 Having holiday meals.
It was just what you did. What you aimed for.


There were a few, a very few meals at that table. Shared with a small handful of my husband’s team members, or other couples from the unit.
Mostly though, we’d sit in the living room, on the sofa, the floor, etc.
When it was just my husband and I, we’d eat in the living room, watching tv or a movie.
 
I still dreamed of it though.
 
In the years after I left my parent’s home, before I was married, I had never owned a kitchen table. I’d always eat at my desk, or on my sofa, generally reading while I ate. I never saw the need for it.
The dream of a happy family around a table wasn’t something that I really was looking for, or wanted, or even needed.

And then I was married.
It was as if a switch was flipped in my head, and I suddenly felt as if I needed a kitchen table of some kind, any kind, in order to actually build a proper home.

I was so proud of that table.
 
After my divorce from my husband, I carried that table with me.
It followed me into a tiny, 350 square foot studio, to a 4 months brief roommate situation, to my current space.


At no point, in the almost 5 years I’ve been divorced, have I actually used it as a kitchen table.
It’s been an excellent cat lounging space, a spot to drop items rather than put them away, a silent reminder that I failed to create the home I realized that some small part of me longs to believe I want.
 
A few weeks ago, I was gifted a lovely steamer trunk by a friend who was downsizing due to a move.
I knew almost exactly how I wanted to set it up in my apartment, what I was going to use it for, and how it would change to flow and feel of the space it was in.
And then I realized that the only way that it would work would be if I moved the table.
But I didn’t have any place to move it to.
And then, as I sat there, considering how I was going to move everything around to suit myself and the space, a little thought popped up in my head.

Why did I still have that table?

I’d never really, truly used it in the manner I’d hoped to.

There is nothing in my life that requires a kitchen table.

I’d never really, truly wanted the sort of life that I felt required a kitchen table, I’d only felt the urge to do what I’d been taught was “proper”.


So why was I holding onto something that did me no good, took up space, and, quite honestly, reminded me not only of my ex-husband but also the sadness of my childhood and the demands of “propriety”?
 
The exact moment that I realized all of that, I took the bolts holding the top to the legs, and posted it for pickup in my buy nothing group.

It was gone, 6 hours or so later.
 
My heart has a small, rectangle shaped hole in it, the loss of something missing that was familiar, the ache of the death of a dream I was told I should have.

​I can feel it filling back up, though, with the pieces of myself and my own, actually my own, dreams and knowledge of who I am, a person who does not need a kitchen table to create a home, to feed others, to bring them together.
 
Growth and rebirth are always painful.


Welcome back, to one more part of myself I hadn’t even realized that I had lost.


Welcome back.

I am waiting

For the spring that should be here already

For my cat to not die

For my acne to clear up again (honestly what is this who authorized this I am not in my teens/early twenties)

For my body to actually not just be hungry, but also let me eat

For the magical moment when all the stress and trauma and everything finally stops affecting every part of who I am

For the moment when I'm finally an adult, not just an adult, but a more adultier adult

For my heart to not fall in love so quickly or so hard

For the ability to actually make a living wage that doesn't require me to work 60+ hours a week so I'm no longer a burden

For my rights and my life to not be in jeopardy

For clothing with actual usable pockets being commonly available in the clothing I'd like to wear

For the moment I can spend a whole night rollerskating and not be terrified I'm about to crash

For the moment I am not terrified to drive

For the farmer's market to open

For myself to be fully comfortable in my own skin again

For the time and energy to see the ones I love

For at least one of these damn animals to go out and get a job and start contributing to the household

For my body to start showing signs I've been going to the gym

For a night of uninterrupted, restful sleep

For the grace to be enough for myself

For peace

For grace

For me

Recently, I was sent this song by a dear friend.

I've been going through a breakup that seemed like it came out of no where, but really just had built up over time.

It reminds me of my marriage.

How long I let it linger, until I was in a place (literal and figurative) where when it ended, I would be able to move forward and heal and be as okay as you can be in that situation.

There are all these memories though.
The memories of all the little moments that made it all worth it.
That made me seize the moment no matter the cost.

Those memories.

They catch me in in the dark, sad, wistful moments.

But.

"Don’t hold your breath,
forget you ever saw me at my best
You don’t deserve what you don’t respect
Don’t deserve what you say you love and then neglect"

Why am I even still here.

I haven't been on any kind of military base or to any kind of military anything or really talked to anyone active duty or retired or their family or anything except briefly on social media in years now.

Years.

My "connection" the military ended, legally, on the day my divorce was finalized.
Technically, the day I turned my ID card to the MPs at the station right outside the main gate at JBLM.
Emotionally, it's lingered on. While I doubt my right to any kind of connection, to any kind of say.

And yeah, I still have friends, many of them very near and dear to me, still involved in military life.

But not me.

No more FRG, no more waiting for him to come home from work from the field from school from deployment.
No more having to learn to adjust life around injury schedule PTSD TBI.

My memories of being an Army spouse are both clear and completely faded.

I no longer have the sharp edge of knowledge, of current concerns, of my life balancing on an edge that has nothing to do with me or what I hope for.

So why am I here.

Why am I still talking to you.

Why am I still listening.

Because my story is not uncommon.

Because I am still a part of it, even having moved on.

Because those still in the thick of it tell me that I have the right to my story and my words, while honestly wondering if they have the right to theirs or if anyone would even want to hear what they have to say anymore.
They remind me that life is not just about military. Life contains a multitude, of all kinds and all stories, and to deny that denies a fundamental part of what makes us who we are, and silences the words and lives and stories of others.
That sometimes, often times, people need to hear about more than just the one view that can be life as seen through the active duty military dependent lens.


So I am here.

Because so many have told me that my words and my story still matter.

So I am here.

To show you that if my words and story count, then so do yours.

Keep talking. Keep telling.

You matter.

Done
Finally
Another stress filled jaw clenching shit ass excuse for a crap ass day
Full of bullshit
Stress
Things I can not change
Expectations I can not make
 
But here now, this box next to me
Stare at it
Cans filled with maybe slight ease
 
Crack slight hiss
Possible release
 
Everyone knows I don’t really drink hard stuff any more
But does that count when
Everyone knows I can drain a tall boy in under ten minutes not even trying this little bitty 12 ounce can of almost nothing maybe I can squeeze another couple in before
Shit
It’s past time for bed
 
I’m sober enough
Wouldn’t drive but not yet
Stupid except for what the voices say
Hush up
 
Bed time now
Gonna sleep but can’t even with the cans the silence found half way between the push of stress  and the push of slumber lost in the panic that splits the night up at 3am no more sleep okay one or two more just to take the edge off
Fine
We’ll start trying the meds juggle the balance between the bottles cans and pills the hard heavy push to drown out push down the panic jaw clenching memories knowing that the day next comes too soon that edge is sharp don’t get too smart you’ll cut yourself
 
Sober is as sober does do your job do your due diligence do your deeds don’t fuck up it’ll all come out in the wash
 
It’s turtles all the way down
 
Staring sideways into the mirror are you ever going to sleep again can you sleep without something bearing you down into that darkness the panic the dark of the terror is too much to let that soft dark in
How much longer before the flat heavy darkness of the crack slight hiss pushes you past the end of the dark you can come back from
 
I don’t know about you my friend but

I make no plans for next year


If you need help, please reach out.
We have been here. Lived here.
You can learn to make plans for next year.
Please, reach out. To us, or one of these groups:

Courage Beyond

1 (866) 781-8010 Web: http://couragebeyond.org/

MILITARY ONESOURCE

Consultant Line: 1(800) 342-9647 Web: www.militaryonesource.mil
Military Crisis Line: 1(800) 273-TALK (8255)

NATIONAL SUICIDE PREVENTION LIFELINE

1 (800) 273-TALK (8255) Web: www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

NATIONAL DOMESTIC VIOLENCE HOTLINE

1(800) 799-SAFE (7233) Web: www.thehotline.org

NATIONAL SEXUAL ASSAULT HOTLINE

1 (800) 656-HOPE (4673) Web: www.rainn.org

NATIONAL CHILD ABUSE HOTLINE

1 (800) 4-A-CHILD (422-4453) Web: www.childhelp.org

NATIONAL CENTER FOR MISSING AND EXPLOITED CHILDREN

1 (800) THE-LOST (843-5678) Web: www.missingkids.com

Note: Many of these have options for those with communication
needs such as Español only or hearing impaired. Check the organization’s website for details.

SopThis time of year

The sky reflects my inner self

The brightness of my hope and plans and dreams

Contrasting the darkness of how my brain tries to undermine me

But reframe

I know the words my brain whispers
Into the depths of my very being
They are lies

Depression lies

And so I look closer at the clouds in the sky

And I realize that it is not
Never ending darkness coming to overwhelm my brightness

Those are rain clouds

They're bringing the rain that sustains my growth

They bring the brightness out even more clearly
By the contrast
By the washing away of the
Dust
And everything
That clouds my vision

And in that rain shower
I can feel myself
Growing
Healing

Becoming more

Because no matter what my brain tells me

The darkness is not forever
Unless I allow it to be
Sometimes, that means I must ask for help
For someone to come and shine their light to help me back

To help me remember

There can be no darkness
Without the light

Which tells me
It's still there

Just waiting for the clouds
And storms
To pass me by


If you, or someone you know, is struggling to find the light outside of the darkness, please.
Please reach out.
We are here for you.


Courage Beyond

1 (866) 781-8010 Web: http://couragebeyond.org/

MILITARY ONESOURCE

Consultant Line: 1(800) 342-9647 Web: www.militaryonesource.mil
Military Crisis Line: 1(800) 273-TALK (8255)

NATIONAL SUICIDE PREVENTION LIFELINE

1 (800) 273-TALK (8255) Web: www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

NATIONAL DOMESTIC VIOLENCE HOTLINE

1(800) 799-SAFE (7233) Web: www.thehotline.org

NATIONAL SEXUAL ASSAULT HOTLINE

1 (800) 656-HOPE (4673) Web: www.rainn.org

NATIONAL CHILD ABUSE HOTLINE

1 (800) 4-A-CHILD (422-4453) Web: www.childhelp.org

NATIONAL CENTER FOR MISSING AND EXPLOITED CHILDREN

1 (800) THE-LOST (843-5678) Web: www.missingkids.com

Note: Many of these have options for those with communication
needs such as Español only or hearing impaired. Check the organization’s website for details.

I am
Walking around these memories

Prodding at the things
The bits and bobbles
Upsets
Learnings
Which have brought me
Here

There are all these
Memories
And actual twinges
Of past/current pains carrying into
This moment

Here
Is where I am standing
Living
Striving

They say the hardest path
Is the right one

Things worth learning
Worth doing
Worth knowing
Never come without a struggle
Without pain of some kind

But days like today
Weeks
And
Months
Like today

I have to remind myself

Here’s the thing that people forget to tell you
About
The things which injured you in the past
The things
That you “should”
Have
Or
Currently should
Be doing
 
No matter how healthy it is to walk away from it
No matter
The blood
And trauma
That would come from following that
Path
Into the rest of your life
 
There is loss
Even if it was someone you should walk away from
Even if it is realizing that those babies
In the bearing
Would very possibly, literally kill you
The job
Which brought so much security
But
Slow destroyed who
You
Are
 
There is
There will be
Mourning
For those dreams you dreamed of and with
That which you held for however long
 
Remember
That sorrow is not telling you to return
It’s reminding you
That your dreams are
So
Powerful
That they create tiny worlds
 
And it is more than okay
It is healthy
In fact
To mourn the death
Of what could have been
 
Remember to keep dreaming
Someday, we shall all learn
To dream
What shall be
To learn how to
Create it without damage
And
It shall not kill us