Latest news with #basehouse

Yahoo

The 3 phases of becoming ‘another milspouse in the group chat'

No one ever told you, but there really are three phases of becoming a milspouse. You're probably already showing up like this in the group chat. But here's the thing: Even if you don't love the group chat, even if you don't admit it's pinned to the top, we know you're already one of us. Everyone thinks they're different at first. You show up to your first duty station with a carry-on full of ambition and exactly zero intention of becoming 'that spouse.' You've got a career. You don't wear red, white, and blue in the same outfit. You don't even own a Cricut. You're just here to support your person and mind your business. And babe? We get it. We've all mentally subtweeted about the welcome coffee invite (that's pre-phase one in case you're wondering). We've all side-eyed the FRG Facebook group. We've all whispered, 'Please don't let me become that person.' (Plot twist: you might already be her because you're on your way to phase one.) Because the truth is… if you've ever cried in your car after a day care drop-off, rage-cleaned your entire base house at midnight, or sent a panicked text about Tricare and then immediately apologized for it? Yeah. You're one of us. Phase one: 'I don't need other spouses.' This is the era of polite distance. You're not judging anyone. You're just… adjacent. You've got your own friends. You're busy. The spouse scene doesn't feel like your scene. It's too pastel. Too perky. Too themed. And then the deployment orders drop. Suddenly, your civilian friends are like, 'Can he just say no?' and you're wondering how to explain the emotional architecture of separation to someone who thinks 'rear detachment' is a car part. You don't want to need the group chat. But you find yourself scrolling through it at 2 a.m. anyway. Looking for someone—anyone—who knows what it's like to hold down the whole damn fort with a frozen lasagna and a stress rash. Spoiler: they're in there. Muted, maybe. But they're there. Phase Two: 'Fine, I'll go do the thing, but I'm not making friends.' As far as phases go, this one is maybe a little easier? Mixer. Potluck. Unit Day with some egregious name like 'Taco 'Bout a Party!' that makes you want to disappear into the wallpaper. But you go. Begrudgingly. Arms crossed. Exit strategy engaged. And then someone else rolls her eyes at the cupcake contest and you laugh, too hard, too suddenly. Next thing you know, you're talking about PCS horror stories and trading blackout dates like war crimes. You didn't plan to connect. You didn't want to. But something softens. And that's when you feel it: the quiet relief of being understood without translation. Phase Three: The soft launch (a.k.a. 'I can send ridiculous memes and no one will judge me') You've worked through all the other phases, but this one starts with a reaction. A heart emoji. A 'same.' Then someone mentions their partner just headed out for an FTX, and now you're casually dropping a list of survival tips like a seasoned oracle of training exercise chaos. You don't even realize it at first, but now? Now you're in. Suddenly, you're one of the people who knows where to get good wine and which gate guard won't check your ID if you're crying. You've become part of the thing you swore you'd never need. And weirdly? It doesn't suck. Why we resist (and why it makes sense) Here's the thing: most of us showed up to this life with sharp edges and big plans. We weren't trying to be 'different.' We were just trying not to disappear into the miasma of being a military spouse. It's scary to get close to something that might swallow you whole. It's scary to be seen in a role you didn't choose. So we armor up. We keep our distance. We pretend not to care. But military life doesn't ask you to give yourself up. It asks you to let others in. You don't have to bake themed cupcakes or chair a committee or memorize all the acronyms. (Probably should memorize a few of them.) You just have to admit (either on some late night or after a hard day) that it's okay to be held by the weird, warm chaos of this community. Because this life will break you open. And the group chat? That's where we hold the pieces. You don't have to love the group chat But you're already part of it, whether or not you have accepted it. You're allowed to be skeptical. You're allowed to keep your sarcasm (Also, all parts of the phases, too). You're allowed to be a whole, wild, complex person who still doesn't fully understand what your partner does for a living. But don't sell yourself short by pretending you don't need anyone. You do. We all do. You don't have to become someone else to belong. You just have to stop pretending you're the exception. Because if you've ever cried into a load of uniform laundry, prayed there will still be leave left over to go home for the holidays, or sent a vulnerable meme into a thread of half-strangers who made you feel less alone, you're not 'like other milspouses.' You're exactly like us. Welcome to the chat. Mighty MilSpouse Mighty MilSpouse The 3 phases of becoming 'another milspouse in the group chat' By Jessica Evans PCS One month to go: 5 things every military family should do before a PCS One month to go: 5 things every military family should do before a PCS By Daniella Horne PCS PCS Hair Hustle: Why finding a Black stylist shouldn't be a military mission PCS Hair Hustle: Why finding a Black stylist shouldn't be a military mission By Tamika Sherman Mighty MilSpouse You're already behind on back-to-school budgeting, but here's how to catch up fast You're already behind on back-to-school budgeting, but here's how to catch up fast By Tamika Sherman PCS PCS Purgatory: The untold chaos of moving overseas with kids, pets, and a whole lot of baggage PCS Purgatory: The untold chaos of moving overseas with kids, pets, and a whole lot of baggage By Tamika Sherman Solve the daily Crossword