My mom raised me alone with a long-distance father for most of my life. My parents married young in a small town without opportunities for a successful life. My father seemingly had one path to support himself and his wife out of high school, and with JR ROTC, the Marines seemed like the best choice. So my parents packed up and moved to Camp Pendleton, California. My introduction to this world of a military child was in the arms of my lonely working mother and my father on the phone in Japan. The physical lack of my father in my life would be a recurring theme. I was two years old when I met my dad for the first time, and even then, he spent most of his time at work. My dad graduated from boot camp, but we still were in poverty, so we had to move into my grandparent's house for three more years. Every military child knows the experience of having to move as often as her parent gets called to duty, and my family wasn't exempt from that experience. My father had to move away for the National Guard in Texas to support the family, while my mom also worked full time. I was given responsibilities at that age to watch my younger brother, take care of the house, and take care of myself at a very young age. I had to grow up fast, which subjected me to saying goodbye to my childhood and developing trauma.
During my time with my dad, he would divulge his downtime to alcohol. His unresolved PTSD from the military translated into a mindless, violent drunk. I have become a victim of his violence as I was the oldest child and the closest person to him. He would rant about the state of our finances, the horrors of being unprepared for adulthood, and the pressures of society that forced him into the military, blaming my existence on our endless debt. The military had torn our family apart, with no place to call a permanent home, with pains that spread like wildfire. I had learned to become smart, silent, submissive, and scared of someone I used to go to for comfort. My mother became depressed, my younger brother would self-isolate, and I would attempt to fix the situation. This butterfly effect led to the development of my mental health issues. After making multiple attempts at my life at sixteen, medical professionals sent me to a mental hospital where I was diagnosed with depression and PTSD.
Because of these experiences, I had to work extra hard to help get myself and my family to a better position in life. It started with addressing alcohol, which took courage and consistency. Then, I had to address the trauma. Finally, I had to learn dedication, consistency, bravery, empathy, patience, taking criticism, and healing. My journey with my family was an endless amount of battles we won. These experiences made me into the strong, hardworking, dedicated person I am today, with a healthy relationship with my father, who is currently overseas, and the breaking of generational curses through therapy. I am now furthering my education because of the lessons I learned and the strength I gained.