“Military Brat” is an affectionate nickname for children who grow up in military families, where one or both parents serve in one of the six armed forces. Some “Brats” live on bases where their parents are stationed, while others move frequently from the moment they are born. Many people don’t realize how much being a Military Brat can impact these children. I am one of those “Military Brats.” My dad has been in the Marines for 16 years. 6 years in the reserves and 11 years active. He has another 6 years left before retirement. We move to a new state every three years.
I am the eldest of five kids and I’m 15 years old. My younger sisters, who are twins, are both 13, and my little brothers, who are also twins, are 9 years old. We have traveled to nearly every state in the U.S.; we have visited 12 states and lived in 4. The states we have lived in are Utah, Texas, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. We have also explored Wyoming, New Mexico, New York, Missouri, Montana, Louisiana, Idaho, Oklahoma, Colorado, Nevada, Arizona, Indiana, and Illinois.
Our first move was from Texas, where my sisters and I were born. Then to Utah, where my brothers were born. At the time, I didn’t think much about constantly having to leave friends behind every few years; I actually enjoyed meeting new people. However, when we moved back to Texas, I realized how scared I was to start over. Everyone gets anxious or scared when they don’t know what to expect, but I felt my anxiety was much higher than it should have been, especially for a girl entering third grade.
It became so overwhelming that I ended up throwing up and passing out the night before my first day of school. My sisters were too young to attend school, and my brothers were only babies at the time. I worried that I scared them that night or made them think of school as a place of fear instead of a place for fun and learning.
We left Texas three years later, but by then, my anxiety had worsened. I would panic and overthink if anyone looked at me for too long or if I thought they were talking about me for any reason.
Pennsylvania was next, and we didn’t have a house or anything arranged for us when we arrived, so we ended up living in a hotel for several months. My siblings and I missed the entire first half of the school year because we didn’t have a permanent home yet. We had never started school so late, and I think that’s what made me such a wreck on my first day.
On my first day of school, I almost couldn’t breathe. I never answered the teachers when they called on me or tried to help me come out of my shell. I still remember it as if it happened yesterday. One teacher asked me what one of my hobbies was, and I stuttered so much that some of the other kids laughed, which made me panic even more. I ended up running out of the classroom and hiding in a bathroom stall.
At some point during my anxiety-filled days, I began to shut myself down without even realizing it. One day, I just stopped caring. I don’t know why it happened. A doctor later explained that it was my brain’s way of forcing my nerves to rest and stop running on overdrive. We were only in Pennsylvania for a year and a half because my dad got promoted and moved again. I was there for only 7th grade and still didn’t have all my emotions back on track, but the thought of starting a new school again increased my anxiety.
I’m currently starting my educational journey in Ohio, entering my 8th-grade year. Over the three-month summer break, it felt as though my entire demeanor had shifted. My emotions became more expressive, and I learned to manage when I needed to withdraw, but my anxiety still required significant attention.
Throughout most of my 8th-grade year, I tried to interact with others, but whenever I felt ignored or targeted, I would retreat into myself and stop speaking to anyone for a week or two. There were moments when I would cry spontaneously in my room, which often led to anxiety attacks and hyperventilation. I struggled to find ways to calm myself down. This pattern continued into my freshman year of high school, crying, stressing, and reacting on pure adrenaline in a fight-or-flight mode.
It seemed as if I could never return to the happy and cheerful person I once was before my family started moving frequently. I never understood why my siblings weren’t as affected as I was, but a part of me was relieved they didn’t have to suffer in the same way. There were times when my mental state deteriorated to the point where I would randomly recall past teachers and their words of disappointment toward me. The feeling that everyone viewed me this way made me long for the time before the military life, before the constant fresh starts when my life felt more like my own.
Eventually, I sought therapy. Now that I’m a sophomore, I can confidently say that discussing the challenges of being in a military family has helped me, especially with the current global situation and the looming possibility of World War III. We never know if my dad will be deployed, but I can safely say that I’m in a much better mental state than I was in the past.
I’m not telling this so whoever’s reading to feel pity for me or to think I’m exaggerating, I’m telling it so you think before you speak. A person could seem happy and perfect on the outside, but what if they’re dying on the inside? Don’t immediately assume that a military family or kids, or any kid for that matter, has such a great life. Everyone suffers. Everyone falls, fails, and cries. The important thing is that you get back up, take a breath, and have another go at it. Children, teens, young adults, older adults, everyone has their struggles, their fears, anxieties, depression, and more. Help them, because they might end up helping you as well.
