What Is the Line Between Anger and Losing It?

Turns out it is the white dashed lane line just beyond the Delta sign, and before the sidewalk ramp at the Departures Level of the Baltimore Washington International Thurgood Marshall Airport, but what if…

What if the line never needed to exist? What if the line that limited happiness and invoked sanctuary in being numb, was much, much earlier? What if there was a moment in time that could have changed it all?

What if the oaths written and sworn to protect meant more to the Navy than social media? What if it meant more than a byline? What if it meant more than evading questions, mischaracterizing me, and lying to the Inspector General’s office?

The moment I crossed the white dashed line and drove away from BWI— after saying good-bye, AGAIN, and I was supposed to act as if I hadn’t built up a muscle for it, over and over, I was supposed to act like I cared you were leaving rather than I was happy to live my solo life – as a solo, not a duo— attempting to make it, solo— is the moment I lost it.

I had been holding it in. Hanging on, until you leaving, again, gave me permission to let it all out, lose it, melt down, let it go, run down my face, soak my t-shirt, puff my eyes, and lose it all. Purge it from my chest, root it out of my core, even if only your part. When I drove over the line, away from the curb where you no longer were, I was free to lose it.

The line for my anger was May 2020. I was grieving two babies, and one phantom pregnancy, undergone devastating couples’ therapy at the hands of a young widow, hired by the Navy and not held to HIPAA, not a member of AAMFT, but licensed by the STATE OF MARYLAND (more to come), and was in the midst of the same pandemic as everyone else. There was nothing special about that. We were all together, yet separated, in our Covid Pandemic experiences. I was done, but when I expressed that, when I asked for help, I was shut down. Vehemently. Repeatedly. Then came the posts.

Inside I was devastated, in pain, diminished beyond what was recognizable. I had exhausted my means of seeking help, a way out. Instead, and unregretably, I made Covid special for B.

I blew up a small pool and filled it with water and placed it in our kitchen. Colter and I enjoyed poolside margaritas, while B splashed and played. We planted plants, tons and tons of plants—and it was every bit about the journey and watching them grow….as the destination was less than fruitful… I placed a trampoline in our living room. B jumped and smiled, jumped and laughed, jumped and fell, and laughed more, before jumping on his tush, and laughing hysterically. THIS.

This laughter, is all any parent wants for their child.

When Colter deployed, B was sad, confused, so I let him break all the rules — we jumped on our couch, we took naps in the guest room, under the sunlight streaming though the Brown L Track, we ate donuts every Sunday AFTER the gym, we ate breakfast for dinner, stopped for treats like warm banana chocolate chip bread after every music class, and even sat on our dinner table to eat because B asked and well…why not? Who cares if we sat on our Barn Table surrounded by teddys, eating bananas and Mac and Cheese? No one. It was the best of times.

Do we still sit on tables? No. Do we break rules when Daddy leaves? YES! Not because he is gone. We do it because we are carving out our place, finding our boundaries, finding our joys. One must discover those, embrace them, cherish them, so they can be strong when the moment comes and you need to feel strength in yourself and hone your journey.

I hope B remembers the laughter, the love, and the fun while Colter is gone. As he grows older, I see how strong he is becoming, and recognize the fragility of his youth. I am beyond grateful for our memories of laughter and fun, and breaking all the rules.

In April and then in May of 2020, the Navy broke more rules, more customs, regarding our family, than was necessary, warranted, or even fathomable. The Navy raped my family’s autonomy and stole the possibility for it to to grow that year. Not Covid. Covid was a challenge we rose to meet. The Navy’s continued and systemic bullying of our relationship wasn’t breaking rules to embrace the moment. It was simply breaking rules because the Navy cultivates a culture of neglecting its wrongdoing. Its public words do not represent what is done behind closed doors.

This is a systemic problem. The double-speak is damning to many who have experienced it. For my experience to be wrought with such systemic institutional bullying at every turn, this double-speak, this torture, this oppression by damaging false rebuke is unforgivable. The Navy’s gaslighting and emotionally abusive responses to me are unacceptable and are CONDUCT UNBECOMING, to say the least.

While I hope there are fewer good-byes, I do cherish the “solo” moments, reclaiming boundaries, laughing, and seeing how strong these kids are becoming.

I’m still angry. Letting it out helps me not to lose it, or lose myself. I think instead of thinking of it as “I’m going to lose it,” I will think of it as, “I’m going to flush it out, cleanse it from my soul and spirit.”

When I cross that dashed white line next time, I will find myself there…

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