That One Summer in Bootcamp

It’s a hot summer Saturday morning here in Maryland. I am enjoying a cup of coffee in my cool hotel room before taking a long shower and eating a fattening breakfast with my parents.

Reeling through my mind is a slideshow of basic combat training at Fort Jackson and all that we accomplished in 10 short weeks. In the beginning, I didn’t know how the hell I was going to survive after the shark attack and total chaos on Day 1. We were awoken the next morning by loud blow horns, followed by rigorous physical training and endless yelling. I fought to keep my eyes open during classroom lectures and swallow my food in the 5-10 minutes we had to finish our 3 meals. We put in 20 hour days, and soon learned how to function on 3-4 hours of sleep. We were lucky if we didn’t have to stay awake for fireguard, CQ or staff duty.

Every day fed into another. Before I realized it, we were learning to disassemble and reassemble our M4. We donned and removed our gas masks in the gas chamber. We worked together as a team to accomplish various missions. Individually, we completed difficult obstacles, including rappelling down a 40 foot wall and shimmy down a rope on our bellies.

When letters from home started arriving, I couldn’t have felt more relieved. I only cried twice during basic training, and that was one of those times. That was the encouragement I needed to push forward into each phase. Our company red flags were changed over into white. Getting passed red phase felt like crossing a major milestone.

We qualified with our weapons, including live hand grenades, the M249, and grenade launcher. We learned hand-to-hand combatives, first aid, and buddy team live fire. As training intensified, our drill sergeants backed off on (some) yelling. We became more accountable for our own actions, yet still moved as a unit during extensive ruck marches and drills. We were rewarded with brief phone calls home if our PT scores were high.

I was able to call my dad on Father’s Day, and reassure my mom all was well. I stayed awake late at night in our bathroom smiling and reading through letters from my dance family. The small amounts of comfort truly helped me keep my chin up and stay strong when my battle buddies broke down. Whenever there was fighting between trainees, we knew it was mostly due to exhaustion and being stuck together 24/7. I kept my mouth shut and head down majority of the time, not to appear weak but to focus on the end goal.

My mantra: “the fastest way out is to graduate.”

We approached blue phase, the homestretch. We saw the transformation in each other as our numbers dwindled. Some had dropped because of medical or psychological reasons. We stayed disciplined even though our drill sergeants gave us more privileges, such as sitting down and eating in the DFAC on our own. Our graduation requirements were checked off one by one, including the stressful Blue Phase testing which many before us didn’t warn us about.

Side note: if you are about to enter basic training, make sure you study up and practice for Blue Phase Testing! If you do not pass, you do not graduate.

Soon came the biggest hurdle: Victory Forge, a 4 day mission in the woods consisting of all that we had learned, including a 12 mile ruck march to the barracks. We endured little to no sleep in our firing positions, MRE’s for every meal, harsh thunderstorms, and the long trek back.

After the last PT test, we had officially completed all requirements and practiced drill and ceremony. It took only one full day of constant rehearsal for our platoon to take home the winning drill and ceremony ribbon, dubbing Alpha Company the “most disciplined” in the entire battalion.

Then came Family Day. I lied when I said I cried twice in basic training. This was the third time. Standing at parade rest in our OCP’s on Hilton Field, we waited anxiously for our families to locate and pull us out of formation into their arms. Soldier after soldier around me was pulled out. I grew worried my parents couldn’t find me. Sure enough, I saw my dad rushing towards me in his golf shirt with mom and my older brother following behind. It was a time I will never forget.

We had done it. We had conquered basic training, and officially became the 1% of the United States population to join the ranks.

 

Drill Sergeant Lopez holding the company flag, Drill Sergeant Hinson standing before First Sergeant Hutchinson.

Alpha Co. 3-60th females celebrating end of the cycle in the front leaning rest position.

Among the training we received, fighting with pugil sticks was a lot of fun.

In the first few weeks, we learned to work as a team to accomplish challenging missions.

We practiced buddy team live fire and how to safely maneuver between barriers.

Hand grenade throwing procedure: “Proper grip, thumb to clip, twist pull pin, sneak a peak, strike a pose, FRAG OUT!”

Donning the gas mask and removing it in the gas chamber was extremely stressful!

 

3-60th, 193rd Infantry Regiment on Hilton Field to meet loved ones on Family Day. 

Dad, mom, me and brother Dan on graduation day 🙂

 

Farewell For Now, WordPressers

I started my own YouTube channel to document the beginning of my career in the military, and posted my latest video which you can view here.

My hair is cut, bags are packed and I’m ready to depart for basic. With that said, my blog won’t be updated for awhile. My phone won’t even see the light of day until the end of July. I feel as if I’m about to vanish from society, but I’m a little relieved to unplug and start from scratch.

Writing has been my creative outlet, my source of venting, and my way of offering a new perspective. My education had a huge influence on my love for writing, so has writing in a journal every day since I started college. I threw some journals away, too embarrassed by my terrible grammar and spelling. I also couldn’t stand reading about my past relationships or crushes.

When I noticed how pathetic my written voice was, I bought new journals and directed my writing on topics and people who mattered. I wrote about friends and family who deserved to be in my pages. They were worth my time and energy. I wasted too many pieces of paper on the same guys throughout college. It was no wonder I made the same mistakes over and over again. By definition, I was crazy; doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome. It was my journaling and introspection that made me see where I went wrong, so I started to change my behavior.

Blogging has been an interesting transition from the journal. I took a Writing in the Public Sphere class in my last quarter of college, and learned how to use WordPress. We worked in groups to name our blogs and what issues we would cover. My group of two other young ladies was wonderful. I loved working with them. We had similar interests and anger towards the mistreatment of women in the Middle East, and were intrigued by the power of citizen journalism. We didn’t realize it at the time, but that’s exactly what we were.

Every single one of us is a citizen journalist. What we witness, what we post, and what we share makes us a small part of the media. Newsrooms receive their information from many sources and press releases. Most often, that source comes from an ordinary citizen who just so happens to be in the middle of the action.

I know it’s a cliche, but it’s incredible how rapid information spreads, and it’s not slowing down anytime soon. If anything, it’s only spreading faster.

It’s exciting to think that I will be in the center of military communication and corresponding information to the public. Blogging has been an effective way to practice my thinking and how I speak publicly.

This has been my writing sphere. I am enthusiastic to reach that next level of writing and spread important news.

Until then, it’s time to kick ass.

Fighting Mirrors

The light on my nightstand shined a spotlight on the picture of me and my twin sister, Violet, a picture taken before she was raped and murdered.

I took a deep breath, crawled out of bed and packed for my trip home to North Carolina. My contract in the army was up.

I rolled my clothes tightly, placed travel size toiletries in a zip-lock bag, and tucked the photograph in my back pocket. The taxi picked me up from my hotel in Berlin. I finally arrived the next day in Charlotte where my dad was waiting for me in his favorite bright golf shirt, smiling at the end of the terminal. He opened his arms wide. I hugged him stiffly from the long flight.

“Hi, daddy,” I groaned.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” he said warmly. “Let’s get your bags.”

When I joined the army, I imagined returning home to meet my sister’s murderer face to face.

I pictured the scenario many times while on tour, picturing different outcomes; one being my hands strangling his large throat and beating every breath out of his disgusting body. I dug deeper to carve out some forgiveness. I tried whispering, “I forgive you.”

I failed to finish the sentence every time.

Enlisting was the best decision I made. I finally had the opportunity to make my parents proud and do something great with my life. I didn’t intend to forget her or “outdo” her. I intended to be strong in honor of her. She wanted to be a doctor. She would’ve saved lives. The least I could do was fight for others who still had their own.

I felt closer to Violet as we passed by the prison on our way home.

It was a humid August afternoon. We finally turned down our street and pulled into the driveway. Even though some of the furniture had been replaced while I was gone, the house still had that comforting childhood smell. Biscuit, the golden retriever, wagged his tail as he jumped up and licked my face.

“I baked you cupcakes,” mom called from the front door, rolling my suitcase inside the house.

“Thanks,” I smiled, shoving Biscuit off the couch and wiping away the slobber. “I’m tired. I think I’m just gonna crash.”

She sighed and nodded her head. Dad sat down on the couch and turned on ESPN.

“Okay, honey. You want to see a movie tomorrow?” She asked as I started ascending the steps with the dog at my heels.

“I have an interview tomorrow,” I said.

“A job interview?” She asked eagerly.

“Sort of,” I responded.

Walking up the stairs, the memory of that night came rushing back.

I remembered my sister lying face down, completely still, on her bedroom floor with torn clothes in a pool of blood with her legs spread open.

There were several EMT’s, police officers and investigators. They took her body, but the blood stains remained on the carpet as they asked me questions about who could have raped and killed her.

Biscuit and I paused in the hallway. I looked inside her old room which was turned into an office. The carpet had been replaced by wooden floor.

I had no idea at the time who he was. Everybody loved Violet. We assumed it was a stalker or some criminal socially unrelated.

I was too shocked to realize that she wasn’t even supposed to be the victim. He was after me.

I settled into my room with the dog nestled at the foot of the bed. I decided not to change my clothes, and fell asleep within minutes. My eyes opened at the sound of my 4am alarm. Biscuit continued snoring as I scrambled through my suitcase for my toothbrush and clean clothes.

By 4:10am, I was downstairs and out the door with my parents’ car keys in hand.

My parents let me stay home during the court case. They knew I would break down if I saw my boss from the gym standing in front of the judge in handcuffs. I stayed out of the settlement process and spent my time grieving over my sister.

He confessed to the police about murdering Violet after he had been arrested for sexually assaulting one of his clients.

I kept quiet about his inappropriate comments and gestures while I was working. He always made me feel uncomfortable at the gym and his strength intimated the hell out of me. But I had no idea he had followed me home several times. But he didn’t know that I had a twin sister.

The judge sentenced him to forty years.

When I got to the prison, I waited in the car for visiting hours to start.

If I had told my parents I was visiting Vic, they would’ve talked me out of it. They would have said that it’s not worth it. Six years after her death, five years in the army, and I was STILL afraid of him. I didn’t want to be afraid anymore, nor did I want to be silent.

He strolled into the meeting room wearing an orange jumpsuit. I could see that he maintained his muscular appearance, assuming he lifted every chance he had.

That moment when I saw him sit down on the other side of the glass, I felt fire in my chest. I wanted this man dead. I wanted my sister back. Hate was all I felt. I had waited for this moment for years, but I choked.

He didn’t smile. His face was motionless and unshakeable, as if he was playing poker. I worked for this man for three years. All of a sudden, I had no idea what I came here to do or say. I was too angry to cry. I was too lost to do anything but stare at him.

“Hello,” he said in that stupid deep voice, finally breaking the awkward silence.

“Hi,” I replied.

“How are you?” he asked.

I couldn’t believe he would even ask such a generic question, as if we were working together again.

“Conflicted,” I answered. Suddenly, I screwed my head on and poured my heart out. “I don’t know whether to hate you or forgive you,” I said.

“I messed up. But I’m a changed man. I’ve moved forward, and you should too.”

“MOVE FORWARD?!” I shouted. “You raped and murdered my sister! You wanted it to be me, but you were too stupid to see that it wasn’t. Well here I am, Vic!! You want me NOW?!”

I couldn’t stop myself from word vomiting. But I had held onto these words for so long, and it was time for them to be heard.

“Why did you – ”

“Shut up, Vic,” I said cutting him off. “You had your chance to talk in court. Now it’s my turn. You hurt so many people, and you take no responsibility for it. You have not changed. You will have nightmares about the lives you took. They will haunt you until the day you die an old, lonely, ugly man. I DON’T forgive you.”

His face grew redder as I jabbed. Before he could say anything, I grabbed my keys and left the building, finally letting the tears fall down my cheeks.

Even after four deployments in Iraq, facing Vic was by far the hardest battle I had ever went through.

I drove home and never looked back. I counted the years until he would be released, but I did move on. Little by little, Vic was erased from the forefront of my mind.

Every anniversary of my sister’s death, I visited her grave. I shared with her stories of the women’s self-defense organization I opened. I told her about the strong inspiring women who trained there.

Sometimes it felt as if she responded lovingly through the soft wind, and encouraged me whenever I saw her face looking back at me in the mirror.

Louder.

“You have no idea what you’ve just started. Best of luck.” – Matthew Crouch, via matthew.crouchnasm@gmail.com.

I received his threat around midnight on Monday. He read my latest post about his attempt to bully me on my own blog. My voice has been heard, but I don’t think it’s been heard loudly enough.

Let me spell it out for him. I DO know what I’ve started.

I have unapologetically stood up against an abusive and threatening man who seeks to feed off of weakness to build himself up. I care about my own pride and self-respect as a human being, as a woman, and as a future soldier. If I let a lonely, insecure and drug dependent boy talk down to me, how could I ever be strong enough to protect my country and fight against actual enemies in close combat?

Owning up to my impulsive anger, I’m partially responsible for perpetuating this battle. But I’m not sorry for them, nor will I stop speaking up against a misogynist who thinks he has power over me, when he has no power over himself.

This hyper-masculine domination hits home. My aunt was overruled by a vicious monster for all of her life. He controlled her in so many belittling ways. She didn’t fight back, because she found no avenue or way out. As a result, she suffered emotionally, psychologically and physically.

I refuse to allow history to repeat.

Do you know the Soldier’s Creed, Matt? Look it up. Maybe you’ll learn something from it. By the way, have some respect for those who have served. They give their life for their country and swear to protect the innocent against villains such as yourself. Also, your messages will go to spam. If you ever try to threaten me, my friends or my family, you will be reported to law enforcement.

Was that loud enough for you?

Psychological Warfare: Back for a Final Punch

I discovered something this morning that has left a renewed scar on top of the psychological bruises Matt gave me two months ago.

“Always a victim,” he said under the name Ed West in a response to my blog post titled, Lessons from Psychological Warfare.

He couldn’t come up with a more obvious name?

And I’m not a victim. Not anymore. I was back then when I let him use me as well as several other people. I didn’t approve of the comment which is why it can’t be viewed publicly. I have the power to throw it in the trash which I will gladly do after a few fighting words.

I stumbled across his response this morning, and felt the anger rush back as if it all happened yesterday. Two months is a long time to get over an unofficial ex. You would think that I’d be done with him by now, but it’s not so easy to move on from being bullied, especially when it’s an attempt to bully me on my own blog.

Let me back it up.

Following the publishing of my blog post in February, I received a call from Matt. I deleted his number from my phone, so I didn’t know that it was him.

“Hello?” I asked.

“I’m going to need you to take down that blog post,” he said.

‘Oh hell no,’ I thought, but I didn’t say a word back.

*Click. Block.*

Penny sent me a long text a few days later requesting that she would appreciate it if I edited her out, especially the part where I called her ‘psychotic’ and ‘manipulative.’

I laughed.

*Click. Block.*

Their responses told me one thing: My voice was heard.

Not a word from either of them after that. I did, however, hear from a few people that they were in a similar boat that I was in – feeling relieved and completely shocked by Matt turning against them in such unexpected, personal and threatening ways.

Nothing happened until I came across that comment today, which still makes me question myself, saying that I took no responsibility for my actions at City Gym.

Well, one thing I will own up to 100% is that I hated that job. I didn’t want to be there. I was only there because he hired me while we were dating. I didn’t want to turn it down, because he was doing me a favor and trying to help.

I could’ve said ‘No, thank you. I’ll apply somewhere else.’ But I would’ve appeared ungrateful. Plus, I had worked at a front desk before and was fine with the job. I was actually even happy that we were able to spend more time together there.

Gag.

In the comment, he criticized me for setting up my laptop at the front desk and doing research on Army careers. (Says the guy who would watch skateboarding videos on his phone while he was at the front desk…?)

Whenever a client came in the gym, I was attentive to them. In the comment, he added that I was “ignoring customers.” I don’t know why he kept that lie around.

“There was a complaint to management on almost every shift,” he said.

No complaints were brought up to me. It’s possible that no complaints were brought up at all, because there WAS NO management. If that were true, how was I supposed to know what I was at fault for or the severity of the complaints if “management” never brought up said errors to me?

“Penny had asked her not to park in the small gym parking area when she was in town but not on the clock. She did this repeatedly. At the last event, she told Penny ‘Hey, I’m cheap. Suck it up.’”

Indeed, I parked there because I was working that day and was heading to a nearby coffee shop to work on the employee handbook – something I volunteered to do for the gym without pay.

And “in town”? Um, I live in Riverside…

I didn’t want to walk to the gym, because I didn’t want to walk home alone in the dark after my shift. There was construction going on in the parking lot, but it wasn’t my responsibility as an employee to pay for parking elsewhere. The same issue occurred with other employees. I wasn’t the only one who had been complaining about paying to park in order to get to work.

And that whole “Hey I’m cheap. Suck it up” quote was completely misconstrued. I was being sarcastic when she asked me why I was parking there, and said jokingly, “I’m cheap.” I never said “Suck it up” to my boss. I WOULD NEVER, I repeat, WOULD NEVER say that to my boss!

Is this the lie he tells clients when they ask what happened to me?

Finally, the last comment was: “The last straw came when someone called to ask about an annual membership and management heard her telling the caller to call back and ask someone else later because she was busy right now.”

What?! Wow, we’re getting pretty crafty now.

I know what he was referring to, and here’s what actually happened:

A person called asking about a Groupon, and I wasn’t sure because I had never heard of that discount before. I responded with saying that they could redeem it if they brought the Groupon with them in person to the front desk and let the person know about it when they arrived.

I texted Penny confirming the situation, and she said to call them back and tell them they can redeem it at the front desk.

I thought, ‘I literally just told them that…’ So I put my phone down and ignored her text.

Matt came over to the front desk ten minutes later and asked if someone called about a membership. I explained what happened. He grabbed the phone angrily, and started dialing.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said.

In that moment, I knew what had happened. Penny texted Matt, because she realized that I was unresponsive to her.

I threw the comment in the trash, but here’s his final punch:

“One space cadet gets fired, but it has to be a deep psychological drama where everyone else is at fault and she is a pristine wonderful person. Check back when she’s been fired from another 5 jobs. It’ll still be the same boo-hoo. Always a victim. No responsibility.”

I’m going off to fight for my country, dumb ass. What the hell are you doing with your life? Spreading herpes?

No, not everyone else is at fault. Just him and Penny. Two people who have done a fantastic job of running a terrible business, and being completely ignorant of the good people they’ve impacted.

If they’ve done one thing positive in my life, it’s that they lit a fire in me to never give up. Because there are toxic people out there like them who abuse their power to hurt others, I want to fight harder and protect innocent people.

When I face an enemy and seek to destroy them, I’ll know who to think of.

 

 

 

 

Healing Through Community

Tragedies around the world can put us down, even when we’re hundreds of miles away. Turn on the news and we find out about the catastrophes in Ecuador and Texas. Families and communities were lost in minutes. We feel their pain, their sorrow, and their loss. Who are they going to for help?

Maybe you reach out and try to help through Red Cross. Or maybe you continue on your way, move through your day and place the tragedy at the back of your mind, not knowing how to help. Sometimes, we have too much of our own baggage that we simply must carry on. That’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that. How can we help someone else when we’re still figuring out our own lives? We are accustomed to dealing with our own battles and the problems we already have on our own plate. What we don’t see is that there are hands around us in our community to help lessen that weight.

For some of us, our plate is heavy. Too heavy. Some of that weight is invisible to the rest of the world. Many people don’t know that you went through some serious stuff and you’re still learning how to talk about it to those around you. You want to connect with people and not allow the memory, the trauma, to completely take over your life.

Turning off the memory takes therapeutic recovery. Memory is a powerful weapon that we often use against ourselves. Sometimes, it’s the main reason why we find it difficult to function. We’re hit with our memories, like one bullet after another, but we fail to realize that we’re the one pulling the trigger.

That is the effect of trauma. Many know that it resides in the mind, but some don’t know that it also rests deep in the body. In my internship with LA YOGA Magazine, I interviewed a survivor of human trafficking who confirmed that the assaults left a scar not just in her subconscious, but in her tissues and in her bones. The body is extremely sensitive. It doesn’t forget. It’s the one holding all of the stress and anxiety.

It hurts to revisit the sight of pain and band-aid it over and over again. We just want it to be healed, already, and not have to deal with it anymore. But the band-aid falls off. It’s not strong enough to hold you together.

The metaphors are tiresome, I know, but stick with me.

Perhaps you begin to truly heal by taking a little extra time to talk about it with your husband, sister, or someone close to you. You start to maybe even realize that your problems are manageable once you face them with another person by your side. For some, speaking to a counselor or a psychologist isn’t therapeutic at all; it might even bring on more anxiety. On the other hand, it may be the best thing for you to talk to someone outside of your family. Whoever that person is, they are stronger than that band-aid you used to cover up and forget the scars.

It’s not a cliche to say that ‘you are not alone’, because it’s the truth. You have an abundance of love, care and support around you. You are not weak or selfish by asking for help.

When you feel more than strong and ready, maybe you can volunteer to help lift someone else up. Slowly but surely, you will be able to see just how weightless that plate is and how unified your community is.

Watch the love for yourself and others grow. When that happens, you’re the hero in your own story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Army Basic: Are you ready?

Often times, I am asked if I’m ready for army BCT (basic combat training). I leave in 28 days, so I better be ready! But the answer is more complex than that because there are specific things to prepare for.

To narrow this question down, I decided to launch a 3rd YouTube video answering this very question to deliver a clearer response.

Subscribe to my YouTube channel, Amanda Ridder, and check out the latest video by clicking below:

Army BCT: Are You Ready?

Grasping the Female Soldier Perspective

How do women preserve their femininity while in the military?

I asked a female recruiter if she experienced a sense of unwelcoming from the males when she went through basic. Her answer was pretty straightforward: Do your job, do it well, and that’s it.

That answer didn’t satisfy me. I still wanted to know the depths of gender discrimination and how women protect their femininity while doing a “man’s job.”

To answer this, I looked through online articles and blog posts written by female veterans who give specifics on what’s acceptable for a female soldier to wear and do. None were insightful.

Heaven forbid she wears a skirt off-post showing off sock marks from long days of work! Sock marks, ladies? That’s what we’re worried about?

Next.

I found an essay written in 2013 by a student named Kristal Marie Gray at Minnesota State University, titled: “The Emotionally Supportive Sister-Soldier: How the United States Military Values Normative Femininity and Devalues Noncomformist Servicewomen.”

Now we’re talking.

I’m hooked and intrigued by her claims, especially when discussing dating and marriage in the military:

“Fraternization is happening in the military, people do date, and there are married couples in the service. To confuse matters, the U.S. military considers married couples are mission ready and competent in their jobs even while presumably sexually active. Married couples are allowed to live together during deployments. Single servicewomen who openly fraternize are labeled, devalued, and ignored. The sister-soldier must be silent about her sexuality in order to be protected and accepted.”

In other words, it’s okay for men and women to have sex and date in the military, as long as they can trust each other to not exploit the relationship unless they get married. Once they’re married, their relationship is highly valued. At the same time, fraternization, if caught, is grounds for punishment. The final two lines hit home, but it’s also true for civilian women – isn’t it? Women who openly talk about their sex life are deemed promiscuous and slutty. For men, some can do the same without being labeled a man whore, but if they’re in any masculine dominated environment, bragging about banging a female (or even more than one at the same time) is celebrated.

I would like to know how women could trust any males in the military? Not all male soldiers are stereotypical meat heads who can’t shut up about their libido, but I’ve also had bad experiences with guys in my past. I personally have lost a lot of faith in men, but I’m hoping that that can be restored. The guys I chose to let in made me see all of the possible horrible males out there, and I’m afraid that going in the military, I’ll only see more. But I digress.

This essay also showed me that women used to be given the option of an ACU-A, Army Combat Uniform Alternate, which could’ve been adjusted to fit more comfortably and suit a woman’s chest, hip and waist size. In my opinion, this is awesome. I wish I had this option, but I’ve been informed that this is outdated and not current to the new uniform.

The essay also goes on to talk about sexual harassment which is said to have zero tolerance in all branches, and drill sergeants are getting more training in detecting any form of harassment in their area. I believe that is something to be greatly aware of, but still doesn’t cover the femininity issue.

Gray continues with how women are given more opportunity to participate in combat operations, but then blames the media for bringing more attention to women’s vulnerability. Of course, the essays gets interrupted with viewpoints from other scholars and not her own perspective. But she also brings in something that I find to be the exact same feeling I got when the recruiter failed to answer my question.

“Sjoberg (2007) argues the lack of comment by the military and media response to the torture at Abu Ghrab is an example of how gender can be downplayed. The female soldiers involved in that event were outside their gender norms and the military chose to officially decline comment on the role their gender played. The silence around gender is gendering.”

The silence around gender is gendering. Exactly!! The elephant never gets addressed, until someone who can no longer put up with it, finally states the obvious. The female recruiter side-stepped the issue and has probably been heavily influenced to suppress her own concerns that females face.

At the same time, I don’t blame her. She’s been trained to focus on eliminating any bias towards the way women are seen in the military in order to be accepted. It’s understandable that females need to act, think and talk like the males to fit in.

I’m still in the process of reading through this essay, because it’s 90 freaking pages of research and analysis on gender. In the mean time, I’m learning more about the graduation requirements so I can move on to do my job.

 

YouTube – Back at it again!

Dammmmmmn Daniel!

ugh. Can’t believe I’m saying that. Anyway, I’ve got a new video up on YouTube about why I’m joining the army.

Be sure to check it out by clicking on the link below! Thanks!

Why I joined the Army – short video

 

 

Not so fearless.

 

“I am not fearless. I get scared plenty. But I have also learned how to channel that emotion to sharpen me.” -Edward Michael “Bear” Grylls.

I am not fearless in any way. My palms sweat when I see someone bungee jumping. My entire body clenches climbing up a roller coaster. I have a love – hate relationship with Paranormal Activities 1.

Waiting to reach that threshold, like climbing the roller coaster, is terrifying. I want to get the worst over with and know that the rest is cake. The drop is my favorite part, even though I scream like a little girl. At the top, there is no question of going back.

The anticipation of missing my family and forgetting why I joined the army is what terrifies me. I am scared of feeling lost and alone. Although there isn’t a question of turning back, there’s a long and uncomfortable waiting period, as if the roller coaster is undergoing technical difficulties and taking its sweet time.

Fear is what urges me to go higher and faster. I’m not in any way an “adrenaline junkie,” nor do I crave acceleration or danger. I’ll admit that it’s exhilarating to go through the intense motion to come out laughing and full of adrenaline. Standing in line, I’m scared and don’t know why I’m going on that ride, but I go through with it and allow the fear to turn into something that excites me and pushes me.

Counting down the days, believe it or not, actually helps me stay focused. Keeping the fear of the unknown and of fear itself at bay has been an animal I wrestle with until it subsides.

While joining the military is nothing to be taken lightly, I feel like I can’t dive too far into my fear, otherwise I’ll be drowning in it and wasting my energy. This might also be my coping mechanism. Fear is negative energy. Not that I’m suppressing fear, I’m allowing myself time to relax and focus on what is important – like staying in shape, spending time with friends and family, and learning more about what to prepare for.

When I’m standing in line and hearing someone behind me talk repeatedly about how scared they are of going on the ride, I wish they’d say it only once and shut up. We get it. You’re scared. Saying it over and over again doesn’t make you any braver. It makes everyone, maybe only me, more scared and motivated to punch you. I remember when I traveled to Europe with my best friend, we were going down the elevator in the Eiffel Tower which is a small space when a little boy kept saying, “can you hear that? That’s the sound of the cords snapping!” He was tormenting his friend and everyone in the elevator. Our friend finally spoke up and told him to shut the F up.

In kinder words, fear can be infectious. It spreads. I’m not saying make light of every situation, but not everything that terrifies us needs to be unleashed. It can actually be harnessed.

I’m sorry to be another one of those who say – it’s okay to be afraid. But it is. Sometimes I need to sidestep my fear in order to get a job done, and that’s exactly what I’m signing on to do.

Gonna leave you with some words of wisdom…