I Don’t Miss It: A Veteran’s Honest Reflection on Military Service

Every so often, I scroll through my social media feed and see posts from fellow veterans…some are friends, others strangers…reminiscing about their time in the military. “What an incredible ride,” they say. “It shaped who I am today.” They post pictures of faraway places and talk about their “military family” and how much they miss the camaraderie, the purpose, the mission.

I retired from the Air Force almost four years ago after just over 20 years of service. And I’ll be honest: I don’t miss a single thing about it.

Yes, there are aspects of my service that gave me a unique lens on life, and yes, some of those experiences opened doors. But nearly all of those so-called benefits came at a cost…a high one.

Let’s start with education. I earned my college degrees, including the PhD I’m currently working on, with zero student debt. That’s objectively a good thing. But it took me twice as long as it would have otherwise, because I was juggling deployments, last-minute TDYs, and ever-shifting schedules. There was no “college experience”…just exhaustion and chipping away at my dreams during whatever time I could scavenge.

I did see the world, it’s true. I’ve been to South Korea, the Azores, England, Scotland, Kosovo, Albania, Macedonia, Greece, Djibouti, Afghanistan, Iraq, Greenland…and probably a few others I’ve forgotten. But what those Instagram-filtered images don’t show are the burn pits, the black smoke, and the constant exposure to environmental hazards. Literal poop-burning pits. I now live with the long-term health consequences of those deployments, my risk of cancer significantly increased because of it.

I met some truly incredible people during my time in uniform. I made friends I thought I’d have for life. But today, just four years out, only two people from that chapter of my life speak to me regularly. That “military family” people love to talk about? Turns out it’s usually circumstantial, not unconditional.

My husband and I are now finally free to pursue our creative passions…his as an artist, mine as a writer…because of the pension and disability payments we receive. We’re able to survive without needing what people condescendingly call a “real job” (please stop saying that, by the way). But we earned that freedom with our bodies and minds. I live with an incurable bladder condition that requires special underwear, chronic jaw pain from an explosion, and an abdominal issue that could be surgically corrected…if only Tricare would cover it. And that’s just me. I won’t even get into what my husband endured and continues to manage.

The military shaped me, no doubt. It forged parts of my identity and gave me both scars and strength. But I wouldn’t do it again. Not because I regret meeting my husband, or having my children, or building the life I have now. Of course not. But if I could somehow go back and live a different version of life…with student loans, a healthy body, and real-world experience that didn’t come at the expense of my health and happiness…I would.

I don’t miss the so-called “mentorship,” which far too often meant dealing with toxic, misogynistic, racist leadership drunk on the illusion of power. I don’t miss the burden of omniscience…having to know every detail of the lives of those under my command just in case someone made a bad decision and I was expected to answer for it. I don’t miss the dysfunction, the constant upheaval, the institutional gaslighting.

I’m glad I’m out. Truly, deeply glad. And it’s okay that my truth doesn’t fit neatly into a LinkedIn post or a Veteran’s Day montage. Not every military experience ends with nostalgia and pride. Some of us walk away quietly relieved.

And that’s valid too.