I fell in love with a man, not the Army

"You signed up for this."

The phrase I wish we'd stop using when Defence families admit they're struggling

Those four words are often said as though knowing something is coming should somehow make the hard parts easier.

I remember hearing them during a time when I was really struggling. And honestly, they didn't make me feel stronger. They made me feel worse about myself  and about my ability to find the strength I needed for myself and my children.

After that, I didn't feel safe enough to say when things felt really hard, because I worried that somehow those feelings would just be thrown back at me.

And that's the thing.

Knowing what you signed up for doesn't mean you're not allowed to struggle with it.

When I fell in love with my husband, I knew his career was part of his life.

Like… a big part.

I knew there would be time apart. I knew there would be field exercises, courses, deployments, missed weekends and missed moments. I knew that service would sometimes ask things of our family that other families might not experience.

Knowing that didn't make me love him any less.

And preparing myself mentally for the possibility that, at times, our family might feel like it came second to his responsibilities didn't make it easier when he actually went away, or any day for that matter.

I don't think anyone can truly understand what a life of service will ask of a family until they're living it.

Six years in, I still sometimes feel very new to this life.

We've moved states and schools. We've navigated careers, field exercises, courses and deployments of different lengths. We've missed birthdays, milestones and ordinary moments that we would have much rather shared together.

But I've learnt something along the way:

Every deployment is different.

Your first deployment isn't necessarily comparable to your fifth.

A deployment when you have no children isn't the same as a deployment with a baby.

A deployment with toddlers isn't the same as one with school-aged children.

And a deployment when you're personally having a good season of life isn't the same as one when you're already exhausted, grieving, moving house, juggling family responsibilities or simply running on empty.

The circumstances around the separation matter.

Knowing it's part of the job doesn't make it painless

You can understand why someone is away and still miss them terribly.

I think sometimes there's an expectation that because Defence families know this is part of the job, we should somehow become immune to it.

That we're meant to be prepared.

That we're meant to be resilient.

That we're meant to just get on with it.

But knowing the reason doesn't remove the feeling.

The adult can understand why Dad is away.

The child can understand that Dad is doing something important.

And they can still miss him.

Both things can be true.

You can be proud of your partner and still wish they were home.

You can support their service and still find the separation incredibly hard.

You can be grateful for the life you've built together and still have days where you're completely over it.

None of those things cancel each other out.

It's okay to not be okay all the time

Being strong for your family doesn't mean you don't struggle.

Sometimes strength is getting through the bedtime routine when you're missing them too.

Sometimes it's holding your child's tears while trying not to cry yourself.

Sometimes it's putting on the Dad night shirt, looking at the stars, reading the story, giving the extra cuddle and saying, "Dad loves you so much," when what you really want is for Dad to actually be there.

Sometimes strength is simply getting through the day.

And that is fucking hard.

What I wish people said instead

So when a Defence family member tells you they're struggling, maybe we can stop reminding them that they signed up for this.

They already know.

Instead, maybe say:

"That sounds really hard."

"I'm thinking of you."

"How are the kids going?"

"What can I do?"

"You don't have to pretend you're okay."

Because sometimes we don't need someone to remind us why our partner is away.

We already know.

We just need someone to acknowledge that missing them is hard.

We need someone to sit in the uncomfortable bit with us without trying to make it smaller.

Distance is hard.

Connection matters.

And children need ways to feel loved through it.

Let's face it, so do we. The partners at home. The ones finding the strength to support our children while missing someone ourselves.

With You, I Am Always

I didn't write With You, I Am Always because I've figured out how to make separation easy.

I wrote it because I know it isn't easy.

I know what it's like to sit beside little people who miss their dad while missing him yourself.

I know the comfort that can come from the small things, a familiar shirt, a bedtime ritual, looking at the same stars, reading the same words, having something that reminds you that distance doesn't change love.

Those gentle reminders helped us.

And that's what I wanted to put into this story.

Sometimes, knowing the reason isn't what a little heart needs.

Sometimes they just need connection.

A reminder.

A ritual.

Something to hold onto.

Something that helps the distance feel a little softer.

Because you can choose this life, you can love your husband, you can respect his service, you can be incredibly proud of him. And sometimes, this life can still be really fucking hard.

Charmaine