When I was in basic training, the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” marked a historic moment. I remember my battle buddy shouting, “I’m gay!” and the entire company erupting in laughter—not out of malice, but perhaps out of relief, joy, or even disbelief that such a moment had finally arrived. Around the same time, I also witnessed women being welcomed into combat engineer roles with open arms. These moments were more than just policy changes; they were cultural shifts that redefined what it meant to serve.
I bring these memories up because they shaped the military I came to know and love. I had the privilege of training alongside combat engineers, openly gay veterans, and even a few transgender service members. In the trenches—where blood, sweat, and tears are the great equalizers—it didn’t matter what someone’s gender was, who they loved, or how they identified. What mattered was that they had your back, just as you had theirs. That’s the military I knew: a place where camaraderie and mission readiness trumped prejudice and outdated stereotypes.
But today, I worry. With new policies being enacted and bills being signed, the military I served in—one that strived for inclusion and progress—feels like it’s at risk of sliding backward. It’s hard not to feel a sense of loss, not just for the institution, but for the people who may now face barriers to serving openly and authentically.
When I first joined the military, I was told I was selfish for enlisting as a mother. I was told I “should be at home in the kitchen, making sure my family was alright.” I was told that women didn’t belong in the military because men would be too distracted protecting us to focus on the mission. But the military I experienced wasn’t like that at all. Women didn’t cry any more than men did. Men didn’t hold doors for women out of pity or condescension; they did it because we were all equals, all part of the same team.
The military I knew was far from perfect, but it was moving in the right direction. It was a place where people could prove themselves not by their gender, sexual orientation, or identity, but by their dedication, skill, and willingness to serve. It was a place where the only thing that mattered was whether you could do the job—and do it well.
To those currently serving who may feel targeted, excluded, or disheartened by these changes, I see you. I understand the weight of serving in an environment that doesn’t always see your value. But I also know the strength and resilience of those who wear the uniform. You are not alone, and your service matters.
We cannot let the progress we’ve made be erased. The military I knew—one of inclusion, respect, and shared purpose—is worth fighting for. It’s a military that reflects the best of what we can be: a team united not by our differences, but by our commitment to each other and to the mission. Let’s not go backward. Let’s keep moving forward.
To those who have served, who are serving, or who are considering serving: your courage, your sacrifice, and your authenticity matter. The military I knew was better because of people like you. And I believe it can be again.
