Navy Life for the Introverted Wife

Navy Life for the Introverted Wife

I very distinctly remember the first time I shared that I was an introvert. My very good friend Jon said “Oh my goodness….you should take the test again because it’s obviously wrong, you are so outgoing and you reach so many people.” I tried to explain to him that yes, I am in fact able (through the only trait more powerful than being an introvert: being a people pleaser) to engage others, express my profound love for Jesus and share why being part of a church family is important, but it is more exhausting for me than giving birth. If my vacation involves reaching out to people, I am going to need a real vacation when the fake vacation is over. Confused?  I bet you are.  

Introverts are quite capable of turning it on when we need to, but don’t experience the same euphoria from social interaction that extroverts do.  I spent this past Saturday at a wedding, mingling with people (85% of which I did not know) and I was more exhausted the following day than the caterer, the groom or the bride. 

Often, we (introverts) get a bad rap for keeping to ourselves or being antisocial, but that isn’t the case at all. We want to hang out with you. We want to want your friend. We want to want to come to your house at a moments’ notice, but we just don’t have the same capabilities as you and your extravert friends. As a Navy wife, I find myself in a new group of people every 2-3 years, and it can be quite exhausting for people to realize the quirks and eccentricities I have are quite endearing, so let’s cut to the chase.

1. It is physically impossible for me to ask for help.

I just can NOT ask for help. Period. End of story. No questions asked. A few years ago, a visiting family member was unexpectedly admitted to the hospital. Within an hour, I received a phone call from a church leader, asking if they could bring meals, watch my kids, etc. Ummmmm. No. The person admitted to the hospital wasn’t making dinner for us, so I really didn’t need help. If for some reason, I was unable to throw 2 cups of water and a pack of ramen into a pot and cook dinner for my kids—well that was seriously going to be the least of my issues. I appreciate your offer for help, but I would rather my children eat Ramen Noodles every day for a week than accept help. EVER.

I quite frequently organize meals for people having a baby or surgery, but in my mind I think: you have known for NINE months this was going to happen….couldn’t you have thrown some lasagna in the freezer last week? I certainly would have. And don’t get me wrong: I BRING food to these ladies every time there is a need. I would just never ask for the assistance. Think of it as me saving you time. You’re welcome.

2. It’s not that I don’t like your friends. I don’t know them and I don’t know the difference.

A couple weeks ago I got a text from a friend asking if I would come over and show ‘us’ how Jamberry Nail Wraps works. My first response was “Who’s we?” I absolutely love my friend, whom I have known for years, but the thought of other people (people I didn’t know well) made me want to curl up, love on some Chuck Bass, drink a glass of wine and go to sleep. In my mind I wondered if  ‘we’ included someone who would judge me for not showering that day or if it was someone who didn’t readily understand my quirks. Don’t get me wrong, I KNOW how to socialize with people beyond my circle, but I just chose not to. I like you (not all of you), but I can take or leave your friends. But since I like you, the last thing I want is to leave you explaining to people who don’t know me why I left so abruptly. I’m working on it.

3. I am sorry that listening to you breath is not my love language.

Mostly because we are never, ever going to connect. I am not going to call you without a specific reason. When [if] I call, you can bet your ass there is a specific purpose.

A few months ago, I called my cousin and he answered with “What’s wrong? Is Uncle Buck dead?” Well, no, JACKASS, my dad isn’t dead…why would you think that? Oh, because it’s the first time I have called you in 15 years since my son was born? Well, maybe that was the last time I had something important to say to you.   

Sometimes, I just don’t answer the phone….for DAYS. My brother (whom I love dearly) will sometimes call for a week before I feel like I have the energy to talk to him. It isn’t that I don’t like him, love him or want to talk to him: I just can’t.  Mostly because he really doesn’t have anything to talk about. I mean, prison is pretty much the same thing every day, day in, day out, over and over & I have heard it all before. Don’t get me wrong, if he calls three times in half an hour, I know he probably has some juice on one (or BOTH) of our parents and I always answer that call. It has meaning: to talk shit about our mutual lifelong enemy (I’m kidding Mom and Dad). Anything else is really a deal breaker for me. He’s learned to adapt. And I’m not really sorry; I think it is weird that you would call me with absolutely nothing to say.

4. I don’t give a crap if we are friends.

I have made it clear that I don’t really mingle well with those I don’t know, so it would stand to reason that I don’t put many people in the ‘friend’ category. When I think of friends, I think of people whose parents’ funerals I would take time (and money) from my life to attend. If I’m being honest (which my Aspergers forces me to be) I can say there aren’t really many of those. In each situation where someone has become my friend, one of two things happened:

1.     Our husbands served in the Navy together and therefor we spent a lot of time together during deployments. And by a lot of time, I mean I saw you 5-6 days a week. I didn’t necessarily like you at first, but you were always there and wore me down until I realized you were pretty cool. You probably know enough about me to write a tell-all, best seller and I am pretty excited that you have chosen to remain loyal. Good for you; I like a person with integrity.

2.     We met when I was a child and no matter how many times I moved, you continued to track me down. I don’t know how we kept in touch prior to Facebook, but I admire your persistence and dedication. Your diligence will be rewarded and we will continue to be friends until one of us dies.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not opposed to the idea of new friends, I just really don’t care one way or the other.

5. I don’t know how to have a conversation.

Through the help of my therapist (I love you Chavette), I realize that I am constantly interrupting the people I talk to. Please don’t take offense. I understand that you are important, as are your ideas, but when I feel a connection with someone, I NEED you to listen to the things I have to say. All the things. This instant. It is physically impossible for me to let you complete your thought because I am so enthralled with the idea of connecting to another human that I need to get all of my ideas on the table before you realize I’m crazy and vanish. I know that ‘introvert who feels affection’ can easily be interpreted ‘self centered bitch’ but I need you to just move past that. Take it as a complement that you intrigue me and move on.

6. Don’t make me make excuses.

If I tell you that I can’t come to dinner, go to the movies or hang out with you, please accept my decision. You can’t guilt me into being with you. I have told both my parents, my in-laws and my best friend that they can’t come visit me. I have a million excuses lined up ready to give you: I have a migraine, I don’t feel well, my depression is out of control, I need some me time, I’m spending time with the kids or I am having a bad day and NO ONE wants to be in my company. Please don’t make me give you those excuses. Just accept my “no thank you” and let’s be done with it.

You probably fit into one of two categories of people:

• Holy crap, it’s like that chick sees directly into my soul. She knows me and we should be friends. (YOU are the reason I have a security system).
• Holy crap, that chick is JUST like my sister (brother, mom, dad, friend, associate, etc) and now it all makes sense.

Either way, I promise that you know someone like me and I probably seem very different than you. That’s okay. We don’t have to all be the same. You people who thrive on talking to…people…well, you give me the heebie jeebies. I am a little jealous of you, though. Okay, I am a lot jealous of you and your ability to go to work all day, volunteer at night, go home and make dinner for your family and still have energy to call your grandma before bed. I wish I was like you, but I’m not and those who love me have just learned to accept it.

Maybe Next Time

Sometimes when I tell people I have panic disorder, they respond with “Oh I have anxiety too.” Panic disorder is very different from the fear and reactions most people have to stressful events. Having an anxiety attack during a stressful situation is pretty normal, I’ve been doing that for years.

These panic attacks are something completely new to me. The sneak up on me and sometimes I can’t even figure out why it’s happening. A couple weeks ago I woke up and immediately felt what has become an all too familiar heaviness in my chest. The first thing I did was look at my “to do” list for the day to see what I have going on: gym, laundry, vacuum, and the Military Spouse Appreciation dinner. 

In hopes to avoid a panic attack, I needed to find the trigger. I always start with the things on my list that are not normally part of my routine and tell myself I can skip that activity.  As soon as the thought of skipping the dinner popped into my head, I felt the weight lifting from my chest and after a few minutes it was nearly gone.

The goal with my anxiety is always to push through it. So, I started to go over all the reasons I should go: I promised a friend, I would feel better if I got out, who doesn’t want to be appreciated? And just like that, it was back. Except this time my pulse was racing and I was sweating a little on my temples. Once again, I decided not to go and my symptoms immediately began to disappear.

I text my girlfriend to let her know that my anxiety was out of control and I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to make it to the dinner. Then I vowed to keep her posted.

By lunch time I was feeling great, hopped in the shower, put on a little make up and thought “I could totally go to that dinner tonight.” To which my body promptly responded with a heart racing, sweating like I had actually gone to the gym, maybe I really am having a heart attack, full-blown panic attack. Over a DINNER. For FREE. With a FRIEND. Where we would be appreciated.

That day, I lost the battle with my anxiety. After my panic attack, I took another shower (I mean I was SWEATING), put on my PJs, told myself I would do better next time and spent the rest of the day watching Netflix.

Sometimes that’s just how it goes. I didn’t grow up in a world where I always got to win and everyone got a trophy. I couldn’t always be the best, but I could do my best. That’s what I did that day: my personal best. Maybe next time my best will be better and I'll be able to push past the irrational fear. Maybe not, but maybe. 

Deployment Sucks

For anyone who has known me for any length of time, you know that I am a pro at this deployment thing. I take a day to mourn and then (in this house) we move on. That isn’t really working for me this time. I’ve even resorted to “fake it til you make it” mentality and I really can’t even fake it.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my boys are now grown and nearly grown and I don’t feel so much pressure to “be tough for their sake”. Maybe it’s that Tiffany no longer lives across the street, ready to slap me out of it. Maybe it’s because I’m not working. I don’t really know what it is, but at some point this shit has to stop.

Earlier today, a friend posted on Facebook that it was Crew Change day and how two weeks was too long to be away from her man. Seriously, Alicia? I straight up told her that when she said things like that it made me want to punch her. Then I remembered Dave has only been gone 8 days. EIGHT.

Deployment sucks. If people tell you that it gets easier, they are lying to you. It never gets easier. In fact, I am about 99% sure it gets more difficult each time. I have spent some time this week trying to figure out why it is so tough this time and here’s what I’ve come up with.

I love Dave about a billion times more than I did the day I married him. Don’t get me wrong. I loved him from the very beginning, but over the last 13 years, that love has grown deeper. My dependency on him has grown wider. He has learned to read me, to know exactly what I need from him based on…whatever he bases it on. At the risk of being cliché: He completes me.  And without him, I’m feeling a little lost.

I know that this is a season in my life and that it will pass. I know I have amazing friends who are going to help me get through this. I know my kids are there for me every day and always willing to help when they can. And all of those things are great, but it just doesn’t take the place of having my husband next to me in bed each night.

So, it’s time to suck it up and do my job. I am a mom. I am a fighter. I am a navy wife. I am tough and it’s about time I start acting like it.

It is Well

So here I sit next to Dave on the couch as he rocks a keg of beer. That’s right ladies and gents: my husband is rocking the first of two kegs of homebrew like a baby so the carbonation is just right. Today is shaping up to be a good day—even if it is THE day.

Yesterday morning, as we lay in bed chatting before our teenager invaded our bed for a chat of his own, we talked about how something magical had happened over the last 24 hours. We both felt at peace. Neither of us was excessively anxious about the next 48 hours and what was to come. Our marriage is in a great place, our kids are in a good place and we are going to not only survive this deployment, but I plan to make it my bitch.

 But I still felt like something was askew.

On our way to Norfolk yesterday afternoon we passed the lime green “Forefront Church” sign and Dave said, “Church tomorrow?” In my mind I was thinking. Yes, please. We have 27 hours left and lets spend one of them in a church that isn’t home. But it would be his last day in town and if he needed a little Jesus in his life before his deployment, I would oblige.  Sure babe, lets go to church tomorrow.  

So Dave and I visited today for the second time. There wasn’t anything wrong the first time, but it wasn’t right either. The first time we visited ELC I knew it was home (except when Derek would tell me to raise my hands to worship God—I mean only crazy people do that, right?). I didn't get the same feeling from Forefront the first time we visited, but now I know why.  

Dave and I were blessed to attend both ELC campuses last month and in reflection, I have realized a few things:

For starters, ELC was life changing for our family and I don't think anything will come close to being the ‘everything’ ELC was to us. I had to accept that to be ready to move on.

The percentage of people I actually KNEW at either ELC service has significantly dropped compared to what it was a year ago. I felt like a visitor, kinda like it was no longer my home. Once I made that discovery, it made it okay for me to be a visitor at Forefront and to open my heart to making another church home.

While at the campuses, we shared that we were still struggling to find a home church and were worried that we wouldn't find it prior to Dave leaving. People offered to pray for us...and it worked.

Forefront was ON POINT today. Pastor Jason spoke about having stagnant faith and dwindling faith once the “newness” of being a Christian wears off. Once you lose that being “on fire for Jesus” feeling. I realized very quickly he was speaking to me. Not only had I become stagnant in my faith, it had probably been dwindling for quite some time.  He even made reference to turning away from God in times of need instead of investing yourself more into His word, your time with Him and your walk with Him. This is exactly what I have done for the last 9 months.

At the end of service as the worship team sang, “It is well. It is well with my soul!”, my eyes got a little misty. I put my hand on Dave’s back and prayed over him again. In that moment, I realized God was telling me, “It is well. You are well. This place is well and you should be here.”

After service, I went to the Get Connected table (which has been a very scary thought for me on our church hunt) and got plugged in. I met the new ‘Stacy’ (who also happens to be the new ‘Tristen’) and found out she lives in my neighborhood and leads a women’s group on Tuesday night. Some of you realize what big, big shoes she has to fill.

And with that, my husband has finished his last minute packing and I am going to enjoy a few more hours with him before I drop him off at his temporary home later this evening. But no matter what tomorrow brings, I know that it is well with my soul.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Chest rise. Chest fall. 

I have officially lost my mind.

I have spent the last hour, lying in the darkness watching. Listening. Feeling. Inhale. Exhale. Chest rise. Chest fall. My hand feeling his heartbeat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Chest rise. Chest fall. Thump, thump. Inhale. Exhale. The time for listening to my love sleep has almost come to an end.

I won’t lie: Dave sleeping is a little more like listening to a lumberjack sawing through a 100 year old tree than the peaceful picture I probably created in that last paragraph. A week ago I would have gently nudged him to roll over: a nice suggestion he probably would have slept right through. Next I would have shaken him with a little more urgency and he would have obliged with this “fish out of water” dance he sometime performs for me at night. Seriously, dude? I can SEE that you just wiggled around, didn’t turn over, and are hoping I won’t realize you are STILL snoring.  Finally I would have physically put my hands under his back, said a little prayer that he wasn’t too close to the edge, and rolled my husband over to his side chanting something like “For the love of God, Dave. ROLL OVER!” Then I would have spent the next 15 minutes pissed off, trying to fall back to sleep.

But tonight I can’t do that. This week I can’t do that. This husband of mine has had a rough week. Up by 430, out the door by 5 and never stepping foot in the house before 1835. He’s exhausted. I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, and feel it in his tension filled shoulders as I rub them until he falls asleep.  But he never complains. Man I love that about him. 

He knows I’m watching him as he unpacks his still full lunch box. He shrugs and says, “I just didn’t have time. Send it again tomorrow.” We sit down for dinner and he says Grace over our meal, asking God to keep our family strong over the coming months and to bless those less fortunate than us.  I realize I love that about him, too.

Tonight, while I was getting ready for bed, I heard him and Patton in our room talking about something. I came out to join them and before I realized it, I had broken the rule and Patton was yelling “SWEAR JAR” at me. So I opened the drawer and grabbed a dollar. Apparently my taking money out of Dave’s dresser to pay my debt caused him to owe a dollar as well. McKinley was finishing up the kitchen when I put the money in the jar, and I invited him up for our nightly ritual of Occupy Mom’s Room, which includes the four of us laying on the bed for a while, chatting until everyone eventually leaves for their own rooms and Dave and I were left here alone.

I looked into his tired eyes and said, “Aren’t you exhausted?” He says he can sleep when he’s dead. Tonight though, my love is going to sleep. And with each breath is a new prayer. A prayer for his safety, wisdom, health, patience, acceptance,  both mental and physical strength. A prayer for his fellow shipmates and their own safety, wisdom, health, patience, acceptance, both mental and physical strength. A prayer for our marriage and the marriages of the thousands of other families like us. A prayer for me, the spouse at home, suffering and dealing with daily increasing anxiety and depression and the others I know who are doing the same. A prayer for our children and the thousands of other Navy Brats facing the same difficulties we are. And with every breath, a prayer for my husband to remember who he is and what he believes: that in all circumstances he radiates the love of Jesus to those around him.

And for tonight I’m just going to listen, watch and feel him sleep….because I still can.

Tick...Tick...Tick

A couple weeks ago a friend asked me when Dave was leaving for deployment. My reply was “We have four weeks of fun planned.” That’s what we do, we think in terms of fun times we have left until deployment & again how much time must pass until we can once again enjoy fun times together.

A few days later Dave made a comment about “4 weeks of fun” and my heart stopped for a moment.

“You can’t say that. Soon it’ll be three weeks, then two…and I’ll become a little more sad every time the number changes. And soon enough I’ll be nothing but sad.”

So we haven’t been counting down. Instead we have enjoyed every moment for what it is: a chance to make a memory to help us get through what will be our longest deployment to date.

Our first adventure a few weeks ago was a road trip to visit Dave’s brother and his family in South Carolina. With any road trip, the objective is to “win”. In order to “win”, you must shave time off Garmi’s original projected arrival time. So here’s the conversation...

Dave: Look, I’m winning!

Me: Yeah, until you have to stop for coffee.

Dave: I would rather fall asleep and die than lose the game.

Me: But if you die, you pretty much lose.

Dave: No. The game will be over and I was winning before it ended, therefore, I still win.

Couple hours later I thought we needed to discuss the need to "win" again…

Me: Hey, babe, I need you to try really hard not to crash us.

Dave: Isn’t that always the goal?

Me: Well, I’m in Yoga Pants, with no underwear and would rather not have to change into a hospital gown at any point.

Dave: (look of disbelief) Well, that’s kinda your own fault.  Again.

There have been a lot of adventures since then, but today I just want to post one I have already written about because I’m just feeling sad: still in my robe, PJs, no bra, ordering pizza for dinner kinda sad.  I am feeling overwhelmed, but am so thankful for a husband who just says, “I love pizza babe. And the color of that robe is amazing on you.”

Am I a lucky girl or what?