My Husband Just Made Chief, and I’m Miserable.

My husband has been in the Navy for almost 12 years. I met him in 2007, when I reported to my first ship. Yep, I was in the Navy, too. We both joined in 2005; he in January, me in August; he was a Fire Controlman, I was a Sonar Technician. We met as E-4s (Petty Officer Third Class), and were both stationed onboard a guided missile cruiser for our first “real” duty station. He had been a member of the crew for some time, and advanced to E-5 about a month after I reported. I advanced to the same rank about six months later. For the next three years or so, we served together in Weapons Department, him in Combat Guns (CG) Division, me in Combat Acoustics (CA) Division. We were both Repair Parts Petty Officers, Workcenter Supervisors, and, for a time, Lead Petty Officers.

We were in the same duty section for much of our time onboard. He was Duty Guns, issuing weapons to armed watchstanders and manning the ship’s armory, usually sleeping on a pile of ASP baton training bags in the space due to having to be awake until 2145, from 0115–0145, and up again at 0615 for weapons turnover. I was Duty Master-At-Arms, supervising and mustering crewmembers who were restricted to the ship as punishment for infractions, assigning them tasks for extra duty, and ensuring the general cleanliness of the ship. We conducted Anti-Terrorism Force Protection training drills together, working closely as members of the training team. In 2008, we went on our first Western Pacific deployment (WESTPAC). We stood our respective watches; he in CIWS (Close-In Weapon System) Local or Command-In-Control (CIC), me in Sonar Control. We would see each other on the smoke deck, occasionally share meals on the messdecks, and played a lot of Rockband, which was the console game of choice that year.

We started growing closer, I would actively seek him out to spend time together, to watch movies or play video games at first, later just to talk. We went on our first “date” on liberty in Phuket, Thailand on Halloween. We saw a Fall Out Boy cover band. We had matching bracelets made that said “IH8GMS” (I hate Gunner’s Mates). We walked along Patong Beach. We kissed in the back of the taxi on the way back to the ship. When we got home, a few weeks later, he moved in with my roommate and I in our townhouse.

We went on a SURGE deployment in 2009 for five months. I joined the Vessel Board Search and Seizure (VBSS) Team, he got qualified to stand Combat Systems Officer of the Watch (CSOOW). We were called to conduct anti-piracy operations off the coast of Somalia, and both had our first “real” combat briefing detailing our mission of engaging pirates onboard the Win Far in response to them shooting at our helicopter. I was scared; I wrote a last will in my journal, leaving all of my possessions to my big brother. He was angry; his gun was controlled from inside the ship, but my station was on a Browning .50 caliber machine gun outside on the starboard forecastle. He told me he understood why married couples weren’t allowed to serve on the same ship, and said he was relieved that we wouldn’t be deploying the next year. He met my family for the first time when we took a vacation to Cancun, Mexico for Christmas.

While we didn’t deploy in 2010, we did participate in RIMPAC. We spent about a month running exercises off the coast of Hawai’i, in and out of port the whole time. We spent a fortune on hotel rooms in order to simply sleep next to each other (we were too tired to do much else). He got into a heated argument with the other sailors in his division who told him he was “lucky” to have his significant other on the ship with him. He asked them how they would feel if they had to see their wives/girlfriends every day and not even be able to touch them. How it would feel if their wives had more dangerous jobs than they did. How grating it would be having to fend off accusations that, since they were in a relationship, they must be having sex on the ship.* They shut up.

I had been having knee issues since 2009, and because my job was so physical, I had started using my back a lot to take some of the load off of my weaker, sore knees. In 2010, this manifested as an even bigger problem; I was struggling to do my job, climb ladders, and even getting in and out of my rack was becoming a problem. My back was constantly in spasm, and I started asking our ship’s Doc for painkillers. He gave me Mobic, which I took faithfully, but it wasn’t very effective. He started giving me Toradol injections, too, up to twice a day, to ease my pain. Eventually, I simply wasn’t able to do anything but paperwork, and I was put on an SH-60 helicopter to see a doctor on the carrier. The physician was appalled that I was being given so many acetic NSAIDs, and wrote a letter to my Doc telling him that I needed to be taken off the ship and sent Limited Duty (LIMDU) until a real fix could be found.

I left the ship in December 2010, ending up working at the base Emergency Operations Center as a training team member. I was issued a cane, told to wear sneakers instead of boots, and was given appointments for physical therapy, e-stim, and chiropractic work. I popped Flexeril and Mobic like Tic Tacs, and drank when that wasn’t enough.

In February 2011, he deployed again, this time for seven months and seven days. I was left behind due to my injuries. Our roommate moved out in March. I learned that I couldn’t reenlist because the Navy Counselor on the ship hadn’t kept track of my Perform-To-Serve paperwork, and I got denied for reenlistment. I found out that sailors can’t get a Medical Evaluation Board unless they have more than two LIMDU periods for the same issue, and that Navy Medical will not put someone LIMDU if their EAOS (Expiration of Active Obligated Service) falls before the end of the LIMDU period of three months. Without a Med board, I would be involuntarily separated, with serious health issues, and wouldn’t have health insurance.

The stress of my situation led to even more issues: anxiety and depression, as well as with frequent drinking and weight gain. I had no idea what I was going to do next. I was trained to hunt submarines, how on Earth was I going to find a civilian job that wanted my credentials?? He was stressed too; he was completely helpless, 5,000 miles away.

I got a job teaching English in an after school program for charter students. I didn’t make much, but it was something. A month or so after I got out, he came home, and while we were both relieved that our relationship had survived the deployment, we needed to figure out how it would work with me being a civilian and him still being active.

He transferred off the ship, serving his three year shore duty at the regional maintenance center. He made E-6 (Petty Officer First Class) just after his transfer and spent his time there learning how to lead and manage people. We bought our first house in December 2011. I enrolled in business school on my Post 9/11 GI Bill.

In October of 2012, he proposed, and I said “yes.” I immediately started planning a wedding for the summer of 2014, but my VA disability rating still hadn’t come in, and we married in secret on our five year dating anniversary, Halloween 2013, in Las Vegas, NV. The only ones who knew were my mother and his chain of command, so that I could get healthcare, and he could get a boost to his Basic Allowance for Housing.

I graduated Summa Cum Laude with a Bachelor of Science in Technical Management in January 2014. He took his first Chief’s exam that same month. We adopted a special needs pit bull in February and I started my MBA in March; he found out that he wasn’t eligible for the Chief’s board a few weeks later. “It’s your first time, nobody makes it their first time!” I told him, but he was still disappointed. We had our “second” wedding that August, with our family and friends around us. His shore duty ended shortly thereafter, and he took orders to an LCS detachment for surface warfare.

In January of 2015, he took the Chief’s exam again; again, he failed to make board and was disappointed. At this point, I was a little annoyed. I never saw him study. It seemed like he would simply cram in the week before the exam, and then be devastated when he didn’t do well enough to make board. I told him he wasn’t allowed to have it both ways, that he either cared enough to put in the effort and study, or he didn’t, and if he didn’t, he wasn’t allowed to mope. I asked him if it looked like I maintained my 4.0 GPA doing nothing. He said no.

I felt terrible after telling him that, but it is a very common attitude that sailors adopt. They act like they don’t care about making rank until advancement results are released, but get incredibly depressed when they aren’t selected. I had little patience for that kind of behavior, and I wasn’t about to let my husband engage in it, even if he was the love of my life.

Fortunately (for both of us), he took my statement to heart and began studying that fall in preparation for the January 2016 exam. Wonder of wonders, we found out in March that he had made board and would be considered for advancement to Chief Petty Officer. Now, if you think two months is a long time to wait to find out if you passed a test or not, the wait to find out if you’ve been selected by the board is five months long. I’ll wait while you do the math.

That’s right, results came out this week.

Out of 300 Conventional FC1s who took the exam this year, the top 25% were advanced. Of the 75 who advanced, he was number 33. He was the only one in his detachment to get selected for Chief, and thus was sent to LCS 101 to join their four Chief Selectees in their six-week Chief Petty Officer 365 training cycle.

Over the next six weeks, he will be receiving intense leadership and management training from about 20 Chief Petty Officers. Yes, you read that right. A group of five is going to be trained by a group of 20.

As a former enlisted sailor, I have known people who have advanced to Chief, but the initiation process, while long, is kept tightly under wraps. Those of who are E-6 and below, or commissioned officers, have only the vaguest idea of what they get up to. We just know it’s intense, exhausting, and frustrating for the selectees. I’ve heard it compared to bootcamp and to shellback ceremonies, I’ve seen the selectees running in formation with their port and starboard running socks, supported them in their fundraising events, and heard the screaming and singing from inside the Chief’s Mess on the ship.

They’re constantly under scrutiny. Everything they do is wrong. If one of them screws up, they all get punished. Teamwork is mandatory. It’s late nights and long hours. I’m typing this at 9:00 at night on the first Saturday of the season. I don’t remember him leaving this morning, but our security system says he armed it at 5:40 this morning when he went in. Needless to say, he isn’t home yet.

I knew this would be hard on him. I was totally prepared for that. What I wasn’t prepared for is how hard it would be on me.

Yes, I realize that reads a hell of a lot like a selfish jerk who can only think of themself, but it’s true.

I knew I would have to support him when he was tired and frustrated. I knew I shouldn’t expect him home for dinner. I knew I would have to do all of the chores during this time, because he simply would be too busy to do them. I was totally fine with all of this, and cheerfully started doing what I could to take his non-work responsibilities off of his plate.

What I wasn’t fine with was seeing the look on his face and hearing the tone in his voice when he told me he had been screamed at by 20 Chiefs literally all day. When he told me they asked every morning what he would bring to the Mess, that he didn’t have a clue how to answer, and how they had screamed when he told them “nothing” (“‘Nothing’!? Why the hell should we want you in this Mess if you’re bringing ‘nothing’??”). That I would not only miss him like crazy when he was gone, but that I would be jealous of the bonds he was forming with his fellow selectees.

I feel so apart. So “other.” When we started dating, we were both active duty sailors. The same rank. Hell, we were on the same warship, in the same department! I knew exactly what he was going through, even when I went on shore duty for LIMDU. When I was discharged in August of 2011, I was a civilian, but I still had a pretty good idea of what he was up to. Now, five years later, I can finally see the rift between us that has been growing slowly wider with every duty station change, every promotion, every experience he has that I don’t.

I feel like I’ve been left behind. I feel like I can’t relate to him anymore, like I’ve been out of the game so long I can’t empathize the way I used to. I never made E-6, and I sure as hell never made Chief. I’m isolated. Sitting at home alone on a Saturday night while he meets with his fellow selectees at one of their Chief’s houses to work on one of their secret projects.

It doesn’t help that I still struggle with anxiety and depression. It doesn’t help that my two best friends in the world moved away, one because her husband got stationed somewhere else, and the other because she got stationed somewhere else.

It hasn’t even been a week and I’m miserable. I’m wondering if him making Chief is going to have long-term consequences on our fledgling marriage; he found out he was selected for advancement on our two year anniversary (okay, technically, it’s not our “real” anniversary, but it’s the one we use). It was also the anniversary of my discharge from the Navy, which was the six year anniversary of my enlistment in the Navy. August 2nd causes a wide range of emotions for me.

I suppose, like everything else I thought I couldn’t handle, (thanks, inferiority complex!) I’ll get through this. “This, too, shall pass” and all.

But that doesn’t help me right now.

*For the record, we never did. I know many of you won’t believe me. I don’t care.