There is a term used in public health research called “weathering” to describe the risk of chronic illness in minority groups who experience prolonged socio-economic adversity and marginalization. While this term focuses on racial minorities and economically disadvantaged groups, military families fit much of the criteria. We’ve faced a considerable amount of “weathering” in our own way.
The past two decades of global conflict placed military families under enormous strain and now quality of life stressors are taking center stage. Over time, it has resulted in very real effects on our community’s physical and mental health.
Suppressed neatly beneath the surface of our collective consciousness is the moral injury of the chaotic withdrawal from Afghanistan in 2021. Outwardly, betrayal has been openly expressed from the community as it advocates for safe military housing and single-soldier barracks and economic help to address food insecurity, spouse unemployment and childcare shortages. All of this adds to the declining trust in the institution and the feeling that our voices aren’t being heard.
There is no question that the anger and frustration many of us feel is valid. As a clinician specializing in betrayal and recovery for couples and organizations, I know that it is normal to focus on the pain we’ve endured, the apologies we haven’t heard, and the signs that things won’t get better. These are serious problems, and they feed into a sense that the Department of Defense isn’t doing enough to support the very people it relies on to defend the nation.
When trust is broken, our instinct is to protect ourselves. This guardedness is normal, it is a survival mechanism, and I address it in what I call “phase one” of betrayal recovery. Without support, however, it is easy for the wounded heart to get stuck in phase one, becoming even more guarded, bitter, and eventually adopting a victim mentality. But the fact that this is only “phase one” implies there are more steps to take if we want to heal. There are, in fact, three phases that one must go through to heal broken trust, and these steps apply just as much to an institution, business, or government and the people it serves as it does a couple.
This past week, I had the opportunity to travel with the Secretary of Defense and First Lady Jill Biden on a trip to Maxwell Air Force Base. As Secretary Lloyd Austin announced additional updates to his Taking Care of People initiative, my first thought was “Is this enough?” Many of the comments online echoed the same.
My second thought was recalling that this question is the most common question I hear from those in phase one because although everyone agrees that positive action and behaviors are critical to rebuilding trust, only the wounded can decide if it matters.
Welcome to phase two, where we are in control of our own healing and must decide how long our resentment will last.
The Secretary’s staff welcomed me with genuine respect and shared their efforts over the years to “actively listen” to troops and their families. They shared how they desperately want to get it right. Their new initiatives, outlined in Sec. Lloyd Austin’s memo, are a step forward. While I could expound on the initiatives that were announced, such as continued improvement of housing and barrack conditions, a long overdue expansion of spouse eligibility for MYCAA, and incentives for childcare providers (creating potential jobs for spouses, free childcare, and addressing the provider shortage), I’d rather address the deeper issue of chronic anger and resentment that keeps us from moving forward as a community.
Our unwillingness to notice positive steps when the DoD makes them is interfering with our own healing as service members, spouses, and families. There is a fear that if we allow the DoD’s efforts to matter, we will hope, or perhaps worse, fear we won’t have a voice when it matters.
A willingness to step into phase two separates those who truly want healing from those who don’t.
We must consider the initial steps of forgiveness for our own sake. It requires us to let our guard down and believe in the possibility of change, even if it must be slower than we want. But if we stay angry and defensive, we risk seeing only what’s wrong and missing the steps being taken to make things right.
While these efforts may not immediately solve the deep, systemic issues military families face, they do represent genuine progress. The DoD knows it’s not doing enough yet, but it’s trying to move despite the constraints of a massive, complex system that our nation was built on to provide checks and balances and the voice of the people. Progress matters.
I wrote in my book Military Culture Shift, “If we wish to keep the relationship, we must pursue the other party and work towards repair.” It applies to both military leadership and us as individuals and families. Trust, in any relationship, requires doing the right thing, for the right reason, for a really long time. It’s not enough for the DoD to make policy changes. Families must acknowledge when the DoD is attempting to right wrongs, take accountability, and validate the pain points we have begged them to see.
This is how we take charge of our own healing with an institution that is built to fight and win the nation’s wars, deter future conflicts, and somehow still attempt to care for the people that make it all possible. Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself and, in this context, isn’t about absolving the DoD of responsibility for past missteps—it’s about recognizing that progress is happening and that we have a role in how we respond.
Let’s consider letting go of some of our anger, not for the sake of the DoD, but for our own well-being and the well-being of our families. It contributes to the collective weathering on our souls.