I thought I was prepared for my husband’s military deployment. Then I realized I had no one to support me.

• Heather Sweeney is a freelance writer who lives in Virginia.
• The following is an adapted excerpt from “Camouflage: How I Emerged from the Shadows of a Military Marriage.”
• Her memoir, out now, tells the story of her life as a military spouse and the search for identity after divorce.

If military spouses could compile a list of things not to say to a military spouse, one of those taboo sentences would be “You knew what you were getting into.”

It’s impossible to comprehend and foresee military life until you’re in the thick of it. You can read the books. You can watch the news. You can absorb the tales of those who have done it. But knowing the logistics of what you’re getting into when your spouse becomes a service member is far different from knowing how you’re going to react to it, knowing to what degree those logistics are going to upend your life, his life, your family’s life. Even military brats who grow up to marry service members must learn for themselves how to navigate the lifestyle as a spouse, as a parent, instead of as a child.

I underestimated what came next

I had no idea what I was getting into when Tristan joined the Navy, and I certainly didn’t know that I was about to face far bigger challenges than a lack of meaningful friendships.

Six months after Grady was born, Tristan deployed to Iraq.

We had three weeks to prepare for the six-month deployment, a timeframe that was somehow both not long enough and painfully drawn out.

This deployment required legal documents like wills and a power of attorney. It included purchasing gear and creating a staging area in the house to incrementally pack. It included somber discussions about Tristan’s possible death and his wish for me to remarry a good man to raise Grady, about where he wanted to be buried, about who should inherit his most valued possessions, conversations meant for an older couple with gray hair and complaints about aching feet and resolutions to wear more sensible shoes. At 28 years old, we were too young for this heaviness.

But the most heartbreaking aspect was planning for what this deployment could mean for Grady, a process that included Tristan filming himself shaving, tying a tie, and reading “Guess How Much I Love You” and “Goodnight Moon,” videos we called “Daddy TV” that Grady could watch to connect with his absent father, to remember his voice, his face, and in the worst-case scenario, to have a piece of Tristan in the event he didn’t return.

Watching Tristan film himself talking to Grady, watching the two of them play on the floor with blocks, watching them cuddle in our bed for story time with Cody beside them, all filled me with emotions I didn’t know quite how to label. These scenes seemed so natural, so normal for a father and son spending quality time together. But they were far from normal.

I was full of mixed emotions

I was proud of Tristan for serving his country, but every thought I had between his announcement and his departure was laced with anger. Or anxiety. Or sadness. I was paralyzed with fear not only for his safety, but also for the indelible imprint war would leave on him when he returned, if he returned. I needed someone or something to blame for putting me in this spiral of emotions, for giving me only three weeks to prepare to send my husband to war. I could blame President Bush for initiating the war in Iraq. I could blame the Navy for accepting my husband into their club. I could blame Tristan’s CO for signing off on the deployment. Or I could blame Tristan because he had volunteered for it.

I didn’t have the support other military spouses had

Tristan’s deployment classified him as an individual augmentee, or IA. This meant he wasn’t going to Iraq with his command. He wasn’t part of a unit that deployed together. He was temporarily leaving his command in Pensacola to join a different one in Iraq.

This also meant I was the spouse of an IA. I didn’t have a support system within his command because no other spouses were going through what I was going through. I always imagined that if I ever had to face a deployment, I would have other women to bond with, to commiserate with, to call for help, to chat with while our children played together, to drink wine with as we shared babysitters.

But this deployment wouldn’t resemble that daydream at all. Tristan was deploying on his own, and I was being left behind on my own.

Just as I’d been warned about other aspects of military life, I’d heard the preparation for a deployment was almost as tough as the deployment itself. It wasn’t a romantic time spent cuddling and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. And it didn’t include promises, because those weren’t guaranteed. I fought to ignore the stress, but the stress won. Some days, I wished he would leave already and get it over with.

On the outside, I tried to prove to him that I could handle this, that I was the independent military wife he needed me to be, that I could keep the home front running so he didn’t have to worry about his family while he focused 100% on his mission.

On the inside, I was crumbling under the facade that I was OK with all of this. I was supporting my husband, but who was going to support me?

Excerpted from “Camouflage: How I Emerged from the Shadows of a Military Marriage by Heather Sweeney.” Copyright 2025 Heather Sweeney. Published by Knox Press, an imprint of Post Hill Press.

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