"Becoming Unrecognizable to Myself"

Has anyone ever looked in the mirror and not recognized the person staring back at them? I feel that way often. I find myself wondering how I got here, to this version of me that feels so far from who I once was. Sometimes, my memories from the military seem like they belong in a book I read ten years ago, not like pieces of my own life.

Losing My Fearlessness

Back then, I was fearless. I stood up for what was right, even when I knew it would bring challenges. It didn’t matter if it caused me grief—I knew who I was, and I believed in what I was doing. I wish my husband could have known that person; maybe he’d see me differently now. Maybe he’d listen more, or at least take my ideas more seriously. Somewhere along the way, in the years after the military, surviving became the priority, and I lost touch with that person. I know my core is still there, and I’m slowly finding it again, but it's hard to reconcile where I am now with where I thought I'd be.

A Defining Military Moment

There’s one memory that stands out—a defining moment from my military days, a time when I knew exactly who I was and what I was capable of. I was called to deploy because of my experience in the federal prison system. My unit was tasked with working in the SHU—Special Housing Unit—and I was one of the few chosen. But this wasn’t an ordinary deployment. The unit had already gone through training and was in Kuwait, acclimating to the weather before heading to Iraq. I had three days to prepare, pack, and fly to a base in Texas for six days of rushed training. In those six days, I got multiple vaccinations, had two root canals, and not even an hour later, had to qualify on my weapons. It was intense, and I barely had a moment to process it all.

When I finally joined my unit, I had only a day or two to meet everyone before we found ourselves in Iraq. The active-duty soldiers we were replacing were supposed to brief us, but they refused to let me into the main area to learn the job. I thought they were joking, but they were serious—they wouldn’t let me in because I was female. Instead, they stationed me up on the catwalks with non-lethal ammo, watching over inmates to prevent escapes. At first, I felt anger and disbelief, but I was lucky to have a unit that was incredibly supportive. My fellow soldiers, including other women, backed me up. When the active-duty unit finally left, I became the first female to work in the SHU, guarding men who had worked under Saddam Hussein.

Does That Part of Me Still Exist?

That version of me—the one who stepped up, who knew her worth and stood her ground—is still there, somewhere. I just have to find her again. Now, I feel like I’m floating through life, trying to make the best of every day but never truly making progress. I keep searching for that same sense of purpose and impact I once had, but some days, it feels like I’m invisible, like my voice doesn’t matter as it used to. I sometimes wonder if other veterans feel this way. How do you go from making such an impact to feeling like a nobody?

Rediscovering My Purpose

I’m not sure where I would be today if it weren’t for Operation Welcome Home. I feel lucky to have a board that supports me and gives me the guidance I once had in the military. I’m fortunate to work with other veterans and civilians who believe in a cause as deeply as I do, in an environment where I can keep growing. They allow me to make mistakes, learn, and become better. My heart aches for other veterans who haven’t been given the same chances.

Do You Ever Feel Overwhelmed by Expectations?

Still, every day I worry about letting people down or not doing things the way they expect. Sometimes, the fear of rejection is so strong that I don’t even share what I’m working on. Being in the public eye makes it harder—no matter what choices I make, there will always be people who criticize and tell me how I should have done things differently. I’m all for self-improvement and making things better for the future, but when criticism comes daily from almost everyone around me, it gets lonely. I miss the support I had in the military—my brothers and sisters who always had my back. We knew we were all we had, and that trust ran deep because, without each other, we might not have lived to see the next day. In the civilian world, people just keep moving on after they throw out their criticisms or hurtful comments.

Ready to Reclaim My Voice

Turning 40 this year has me thinking about who I am now and the person I still want to become. I want to find that balance between being cautious not to hurt others and being so afraid of rejection or dismissal that I lose my voice entirely. My goal now is to think highly enough of myself and to love myself enough that I stand up for myself like I do for the people I love. I want to rediscover the girl who wasn’t afraid to take on the world, even if she didn’t always get it right. She’s still there, and I’m ready to bring her back.

To the Warrior Behind Me

If you’ve ever felt disconnected from who you once were, know that you’re not alone—and that, in your own way, you’re a warrior, too. Every one of us is fighting a battle, whether it’s with our own self-doubt, our past, or the expectations that weigh on us. I hope that sharing my story reminds us all that those powerful parts of ourselves are never truly gone—they’re just waiting for us to reconnect.

To the warrior behind me: your life, your battle—it matters. Here’s to finding strength in who we once were, and courage in who we’re becoming.

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