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Years ago, I was standing in line at the Norfolk Naval Station personnel center, eagerly awaiting my paperwork to get a Military Visa to accompany my husband to Italy. As I looked at the uniforms that surrounded me, I felt a sense of nostalgia. I had worn that uniform myself not that long ago.
I had just separated from the military, and being a civilian wasn’t really familiar yet—not when so much of my life was bound up in the service. I met my husband on our ship, and when my enlistment term was up, I decided to get out. I reasoned that it would be easier to become a civilian, to do my own work (and for only one person’s occupation to dictate moving considerations).
I approached the window, I handed over all of my documents. I was asked for my husband’s Social Security number, along with my ID.
After the specialist looked through the records, he politely informed me that I would need a power of attorney if my husband wasn’t present.
When I took off my uniform, I lost a sense of my professional and personal identity, along with any requests for my own Social Security number and the ability to navigate a system I knew so well.
I had just separated from the military, and being a civilian wasn’t really familiar yet—not when so much of my life was bound up in the service. I met my husband on our ship, and when my enlistment term was up, I decided to get out. I reasoned that it would be easier to become a civilian, to do my own work (and for only one person’s occupation to dictate moving considerations).
I approached the window, I handed over all of my documents. I was asked for my husband’s Social Security number, along with my ID.
After the specialist looked through the records, he politely informed me that I would need a power of attorney if my husband wasn’t present.
When I took off my uniform, I lost a sense of my professional and personal identity, along with any requests for my own Social Security number and the ability to navigate a system I knew so well.
Going from active duty to military spouse felt like I was going from having one hand on the wheel to being thrown in the trunk and going along for the ride. [Life] used to be focused on our careers. When I left, it felt like the goals and dreams I had for me no longer mattered. It was a hard transition, and one I still sometimes struggle with.
Amanda Huffman, blogger at Airman to Mom
November 2018 edition if our quarterly MSEJ
Charlie Palumbo was our 2018 Writing Intern. She is currently the Director of Transition and Employment Programs at the Virginia Department of Veterans Services (DVS). Read her full article on transition service roles in our November 2018 MSEJ.
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