I was a junior high school English teacher when I met my husband. Since then, I’ve been a blogger, newspaper columnist, tutor, writer, editor, volunteer, board member, intern, grad student, full-time mom, magazine editor, congressional liaison and a think tank program manager.
I’ve been unemployed, underemployed, government-employed, part-time and full-time employed and self-employed. Sometimes these choices were mine; other times, the Marine Corps or motherhood made them for me.
When I met my husband, he was training to be a U.S. Marine Corps pilot. He earned his wings, and for the rest of his 20-year career, he flew planes for the Marine Corps (or worked in USMC pilot production — so pilot-adjacent).
When he retired from the Corps in 2025, he did what many retiring military pilots do: He secured a job with an airline. He earned his wings and qualified to fly 737s. The change was uncomfortable for us all in some way, but that’s the thing about changes. New routines are supposed to be a little uncomfortable, and if there’s one thing a military family knows how to do, it’s embracing the … slightly less than ideal circumstances.
I watched my husband earn his wings via Zoom. Sure, I wanted to be there — even had a first-class ticket — but a freak snowstorm in coastal Carolina kept me home. Yawn — I saw that disappointment coming a mile away.
While he was away earning his 737 qualification, our garage door broke, locked in the down position … right when I needed to leave to pick our daughter up from school … obviously. Primed for moments such as this, I pulled that little red handle to disengage the motor and lift the door manually. When even that didn’t work, I forced that garage door open one click at a time until I couldn’t be sure if those clicks were coming from the door’s track or my knees and back. With the help of a step ladder, I finally pushed the door high enough so that my SUV could clear it. And you know what, I wasn’t even the last car in line for pickup.
A day later, our washing machine wanted in on the action, deciding it was no longer interested in running the spin cycle. Please, that’s not even a challenge. I just draped dripping laundry all over the laundry room and bathrooms. Things got a little gnarly at our house around the third day of dual appliance failure.
After trying and failing to lower our garage door, the repairman simply never returned and stopped taking my calls. The washing machine repairman solved the problem twice. Neither worked. So, now my washing machine was in pieces, the garage door was wide open to wildlife and prying eyes, and I started worrying the vein on my forehead would never recede to its normal size.
Not at all comfortable, but we were making it work.
Then, my husband would call when he finished with his training for the day. Pilot spouses, you know these conversations can go two ways: he’s having a great time, crushing coursework and thriving (ideal, but annoying while I’m feeling like the dog in the “this is fine” meme), or he hates it (not good, now no one is having fun).
His situation was the latter. He was making the grades but not loving the lifestyle. Not loving being away from home for weeks with a future of being gone constantly after he just finished his career at that pace.
I did the only obvious thing there was to do: I gave him encouragement and tough love while I did laundry in our bathtub, triple-checked the garage-entry door every night, and nursed my daughter through Flu B (oh, yeah, that also happened).
Not a complainer by nature (or nurture — a Marine, after all), I knew we had a problem when the tough love didn’t work.
What I Didn’t See Coming
He returned, winged and qualified (and no one here is shocked that all the appliances were suddenly repaired and our daughter’s fever broke). And he returned, knowing this job wasn’t for him. So, where tough love failed, I gave him my support.
By the end of that week, he’d officially resigned and had a start date as a government-contracted instructor close to home. His stress practically melted away before my eyes, and he even started laughing at my always-dry, always-hilarious humor again (phew).
So, what did I learn?
- If the cost is comparable, just buy a new washer instead of getting the broken one repaired.
- Parents have superhuman strength — enough to lift a car (or a garage door) to get to their kids.
- Murphy’s Law lives on after military separation.
- And, most importantly, the retirement plan may change. The first job might not be THE job. He might have to try on a few second careers to find one he wants and find out what he doesn’t want.
I didn’t see that last one coming, despite my own kaleidoscope career. It’s the one thing I would tell any military spouse whose service member is approaching retirement. It may take a couple of tries, but they’ll find the right fit.
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