Dependant or not Dependant? That is the question.

Being a wife and mummy really is the most rewarding part about my life.

But I am not just a wife and Mummy, I am; 

“Military Mummy”, protector of children’s twigs, walker of dogs, half-hearted cleaner of kitchen and bathroom, preparer of packed lunches, chief buyer of food, experienced remote control detector, devoted wife to husband who is never here, mover and maker of copious new homes, fixer of all broken stuff, and now I have a full time job!

We military spouses are a special breed. We multitask, and we juggle; all the regular aspects of life but intertwined with the irregularities of being part of a military family. And it’s not easy. Not easy at all.

I’ve been thinking, (always dangerous, please take cover), about all the amazing ways in which we as military spouses (unmarried partners included) support our serving partners. The sacrifices we make and the amazing ways we shape our lives around the beating heart of the military, like the way Mother Earth protects its core.

1. Are you the person who’s had enough of their nomadic lifestyle? Or did you maintain an independent life from the outset, living most of it apart, in a home you call your own? You have sacrificed living together as a couple; your aim, to keep stability and continuity for your own career or family, sometimes both.

You are amazing. Brave. Determined to succeed.

2. Were you a career person? The one who put it all on hold to follow your heart. Your home is now wherever the military sends you. You used to be called “Specialist” or “Co-ordinator,” “Researcher” or “Sir”. Now you’re called “Dependant“.

3. Are you a stay at home parent? With no time to call your own? Did you quickly adopt a new identity where paw patrol is on repeat and work means extracting Lego from the soles of your feet, and simultaneously wiping yoghurt off magnolia walls?

No matter which version of this you are, you are a wonder-person.

Many of you live in a house that isn’t yours, a house that seems to be falling down around your ears; yet you hold that fort like a person possessed while your military half is detached. Did you know it’s affectionately referred to as a “headless household” while they’re away.

(I’m now imagining a scene where a spouse-come-headless-chicken is carrying a toddler under each arm, while flying around in circles panicking about a leak in the bathroom and simultaneously calling up Pinnacle to report the cooker has broken. No one will come to fix it for at least 5 weeks).

In reality, we very rarely behave like that, do we? We’d sooner be seen with just one toddler under an arm and the other strapped in a high chair while we wrestle with a wrench to stop the leak ourselves.

We have an uncanny ability to just DO. To survive. To adapt and overcome.

I’ve spent so long as a military wife and mum that I hadn’t given a thought to what life was like before becoming a dependant. The loop of devotion, duty and love on a beautiful never ending cycle where I was completely happy but I forgot who Stacey was.

As soon as my children were old enough, I started working in schools, helping other children of military families in their education and supporting children with SEN. It was a natural progression, because I love children and I love seeing the positive impact I was able to have on their lives. But happily for me I was always at the school where my own babies went; still at arms length and able to comfort them when they fell. I never really let go; quite content to be mummy, giver of love, chief finder of lost shoes. I loved it.

This is why I was so surprised to wake up one day and find myself brushing my hair more thoroughly than normal. I put on a suit. My old heels came out of the wardrobe, and I nervously fumbled to find a decent handbag that wasn’t full of pebbles and twigs. Fondly gazing at the forgotten treasure of my children’s younger days stashed in my only decent bag, I popped a few business cards inside, zipped up my husbands travelling suit bag and teetered off to the train station. I carried a big knot in my belly and a selection of slightly creased tops.

Since starting my new job, working for an amazing company that gives support to armed forces families in education, I have been on a rollercoaster ride of self-discovery; realising there is life outside of these magnolia walls, a world where people appreciate me for what I can do with my mind, not what I can find. (Happily “Mummmmyyyyy have you seeeeeen my toilet roll collection?” is not sentence anyone has uttered to me in weeks)! When I caught that train I entered a world where people called me Stacey, asked for my advice, listened when I spoke and respected my professional opinion. I realised I was an expert of more than building pillow forts and finding plasters.

I found myself leaping right out of every comfort zone I’ve ever known. In a scary capital city, in my high heels, with a suit bag and butterflies. I met with my wonderful new colleagues at Panoba, who welcomed me with open arms. I felt like a stranger to myself that day as I sat in a studio chair; makeup, hair, lights camera action. No idea who that is in the mirror! (I seem to have gained a few extra chins since I last looked).  After several fun-filled, tiring hours I came away with professional head shots, and a new, amazing career. It was so rewarding to finally realise that Stacey, Mummy, Dependant, could also live an extraordinarily independent life. I can do both. And I can do both well. And this makes me happy.

It’s been a long time coming, and at first I felt incredibly guilty, but as time goes by I feel excited to feel myself growing again as an individual in my own right. Learning new skills and recovering old ones, taking my life into my own hands again. Life in the armed forces community is so diverse, and it can be extremely wonderful, rewarding, challenging, fun. Yet so many of us dependants are having these shared experiences, struggling with loss of identity, isolation, a desire to find ourselves again but not knowing how. And that’s OK.  The great thing is, we have a tendency to believe in each other more than we believe in ourselves. We have an uncanny knack of holding a friends hand and showing them the way, even if our own pathway is still unclear. 

Dependant or not dependant? That is the question? What do you think?