🎧 Listen While You Read: You ARE the Voice Within Podcast
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🎙️ You ARE the Voice Within – Episode Link
I wasn’t planning to post today. In fact, I didn’t even plan to go out this Veterans Day—I think I stopped fighting the crowds for free Grand Slams a while back. But after some convincing from my sister, I found myself at the closest In-N-Out, snagging a Double-Double animal style (obviously) because cheeseburgers are life.
The truth is, I haven’t been doing my best. Some of you may know me well, others just bits and pieces, but most of you probably know—or have guessed by now—that I left the military last year after 11 years. Originally, I thought I’d jump straight from one moving train to another, but instead… life slowed down, and suddenly I was left alone with everything I hadn’t had time to process or unpack while in.
Leaving the military was far from a grand send-off. My departure was unceremonious; there was no long goodbye post, no plaque, no last farewell from the unit. Just a quiet exit—an oversight, maybe—from a place that moves so fast some moments slip by unnoticed. But now, as things have finally slowed down, I’m left in this space of uncomfortable stillness, confronting the layers of hurt, exhaustion, and sacrifice I racked up over the years.
For those who knew me back then, you probably remember that I never quite fit the “mold.” I often put on a front of not caring, acting like I was “too cool for blue” and too modern for some of the military traditions. But I think some people saw through it. They could tell that, beneath the mask, I cared—maybe even more than I wanted to admit. Even with one foot already out the door, people would ask why I still cared so much. And at the time, I didn’t have an answer for them. I just did.
And the truth is, even though I tried to separate my true self from my job, certain moments got to me. I think if you stick around long enough, even the greatest skeptics find themselves somehow intertwined in the history and meaning of it all.
I still remember standing there after completing the final stage of survival and evasion training… after what felt like endless hours in conditions we’re technically not supposed to talk about. We were lined up in formation, and as they had us turn around, they began raising the POW flag.
At that moment, we all silently acknowledged we had only experienced a sliver of what some out there have—and maybe still are experiencing. Those who were lost while serving. I shed real tears that day, caught off guard by my own reaction. It just goes to show—this work gets under your skin, into your blood, even if you swear you don’t have a “blue bone” in your body. You’d have to be something other than human not to feel the unspoken bond between us, the shared understanding that lingers. There’s a connection that goes beyond words, and once it’s there, it stays.
I want people to know that despite my facade of acting “too cool” or being “too different,” I did well, even if I didn’t always fit the mold. The perfectionist in me worked hard to make sure of it. Back in boot camp, my MTI would come through during inspections, look at my spotless space, and joke, “Look, you missed a spot!” as they’d push something over because they couldn’t actually find anything out of place. That perfectionism carried through everything I did.
But for those of us who carry these “perfectionist” genes in the military, that drive can grind you all the way down. The military can give back—yes, but it’s also an unfeeling machine, one that will take and take until you manage to create that elusive boundary and stand up for yourself, or… there’s nothing left to take.
For people like me—the “people pleasers,” the “give-it-all” types—it takes a toll. I tried not to wither up in that system, but if I’m being honest, I think it got the best of me. I could never fully leave work at work. I was the one who couldn’t stop caring, who couldn’t “switch off” at the end of the day, and eventually, I started breaking down more and more. Every time I thought I’d gotten a piece of myself back, something else would come up, and I’d stash it away, adding it to this imaginary bag of unresolved hurt I promised myself I’d unpack later.
So, here I am, over a year out, in this quiet in-between space, unpacking that bag piece by piece. I’ve come to realize that this process—the healing, the letting go—is as much a part of my journey as the years I spent in uniform. Today, sitting at In-N-Out, I was surrounded by other veterans—familiar strangers who share that invisible thread of experience and understanding. I saw older veterans in their American flag hats, young ones fresh out in their blues, those with familiar haircuts, and everything in between. Even though I don’t exactly “look the part” with my piercings and, to some, still looking too young to have served, I still feel that connection with them. It’s like we’re from a different planet, bonded by something that most people will never experience or understand.
You might remember hearing (especially if you were aircrew) that we’re the ‘1% of the 1% of the 1%.’ They’d tell us this over and over, trying to drive us together and remind us of how rare this bond is. We laughed, we shrugged it off. But the truth is… we do share something that most will never understand.
So here’s my overdue update: I’ve changed, and I still am changing, but the connection we share will always be one of the most enduring parts of my life. I’m still here, piecing myself back together, learning, growing, and healing. And one day, when you find yourself ready to make your own departure, just know I’ll be here waiting with open arms.
As I said, most people won’t fully understand the bond we share. But for those of you who do… thank you for your service.
<3 Ariel
