Unseen and Forgotten: The Other Side of the Uniform

As we approach Memorial Day, many will pause to remember the brave men and women who gave their lives in service. But today, I want to speak on behalf of another group—those who came home but still didn’t survive. Those of us who once wore the uniform, followed orders, sacrificed stability, family, and sometimes identity—and then were discarded when we no longer “fit.” I want to be clear on something - what you are about to read is my story and how it relates to my understanding of how some people can't see past the door that closed. I have personally known and worked with two people who took their own lives. One of them was one of my best troops and someone I never in a million years would have thought was suffering in silence. He had just had a baby. Yet, he couldn't get past the internal pain that was burdening him. No one saw it. Maybe they did, but chose to ignore it. In my journey, this was true. 

I know the story all too well. I can not tell you how sick I became of being asked why I didn't do 20 [years]. I separated myself from anything affiliated with the military for quite some time. In 2021, I began therapy. This is when my healing journey from all things, including this, began. This is also when I allowed myself to be a part of military-affiliated gatherings and programs again. I still get asked why I didn't do 20. However, instead of allowing the question to cause depression and anger, I now simply say "it wasn't meant to be that way for me." I also refer them to my book, Reclaim Your Life, where I talk about what happened and how many doors closed, but I still kept trying to find a way to fulfill my obligations while becoming something more than just a female aircraft maintenance professional who always had to prove herself in a male-dominated career field, even as an E-7. I did not conform very well, so my journey wasn't pretty. Nevertheless, I always took care of my people and I always did my best. In the end, that just wasn't enough. 

In 2018, I returned to Jacksonville, FL and began what would become the final chapter of my military career. After 15 years of service in the U.S. Air Force, including a transition from active duty to the Reserves under Palace Chase, I believed I was still on the path to retirement. I had served faithfully while silently battling the lingering effects of military sexual trauma (MST), childhood trauma, and the stress of uprooting my family time and again. 

In 2014, when my husband received orders to Japan, I was asked to choose between my family and my career. I chose my family. This is when the system chose to write me off. It was a long and painful process. It was an uphill battle the entire time. I got met with more "no's" than I ever imagined. Every time there was a shimmer of light, it was dimmed. To say I began to lose hope was an understatement. Yet, I put on a smile and acted as if it didn't bother me. The mental weight showed to those closest to me. However, it's easier to ignore the hard stuff. So that's what we did - ignored it. I was a professional supressor at this point, so it wasn't a big deal to supress something else. 

Even after I gave word to my unit that my husband received orders, they told me to go to my tech school anyway and that we would "figure it all out" afterward. That is what I did. I was slotted for Medical Laboratory Technician (MLT) training as an E-7. This would be how I completed my career - or so I thought. Upon graduation, in April 2015, my unit decided to let me know they would not support me taking a slot for MLT while working in a lab in another part of the world. The Reserves was a completely different world to me. I did not understand most of it. What I was trying to do at the time was called IMA - Individual Mobilization Augmentee. This would give me the flexibility to work overseas in a lab and still get credit for my time as a Reservist. My unity in Georgia declined my request. This began the first stage of my battle. 

Let's keep in mind this was also after I had been relieved from the Interservice Physician Assistant Program (IPAP) that I worked tirelessly to get into and stay in. I was taking exams for the prerequisites while my mom was fighting for her life. She passed away on September 29, 2009. I was seven months pregnant. I wasn't there with her because I went back to take a final. That's how much I wanted to get into that program. Only a certain amount of applicants were accepted and I worked hard to ensure I was one of them. When I got relieved, it was like a dagger in the heart. Not only that, but I was sent back to the same flight line I had left. It was gut wrenching. I felt like such a failure. I got treated differently, but I still overcame it and kept pressing on. I tell you this so you know by the time everything started with the Reserves, I didn't have as much fight in me, yet I still fought as hard as I could. I would shift the things I couldn't control with things I could - me. When PA school didn't work out, I started my Master's degree with Columbia Southern University. I was trying to go into civilian PA programs due to mentorship I received, but all progress was met with so much red tape. Finally, I just ended up in the Reserve recruiter's office at Moody Air Force Base in Georgia. It was the only thing that I didn't have to fight as hard for...until I did. 

After being in Japan for about a year and trying everything including switching units, I decided to throw in the towel and go inactive Reserves, otherwise known as IRR (Inactive Ready Reserve). As many acronyms as I learned in all my years in the military, I was still learning new ones I had no idea existed. When I went IRR, my unit officially wrote me off. There was no communication. Therefore, I had no idea that I was required to still do physical fitness tests. My last one was in 2016. I found out about the requirement when I tried to come back into active status when we were returning stateside. I was told that my physical had expired and since I was on disability at that point over 20%, the likelihood of me being about to come back in and retire was slim to none. 

By March of 2019 I had tried everything - Guard, Reserves, Officer slot, something else - anything. I even redid my security clearance that year. Yet, all I kept hearing was a lot of "no's." They finally wore me down completely. This is the part of the story I will tell you that my marriage was also not great. We were having some issues in Japan and then we separated due to his orders when we got back stateside. It was just our daughter and I here in Jacksonville. Everything I knew was slithering away - my marriage, my military career, my business, and myself. I realized then I never knew who I was. Without the military and those who I coached, I had no identity. I was just a face in the crowd. This was the beginning of a season of depression like no other. This is when I praise God for my daughter because I know for a fact I would not be here writing this article had it not been for the gift God gave me of her. My need to be here for her kept me alive. No one would have known what I was going through at that time. I didn't talk about it. This is where I call on organizations that help veterans to start thinking outside the box. It's not always the ones who ask for help. It's usually the ones who don't seem like they need it. They are written off by society. They've been written off by people around them. They've been written off by the mlitary. Why keep going at that point. 

I remember a call with the Guard recruiter. She said, "well, you can get rid of your disabillty and go back through MEPS (Military Entrance Processing Station). This is where I started. This is the place all new recruits go to start their mlitary career. I was 15 years in at this point. I remember my response. "Back through MEPS?" I said. At that moment, I wasn’t a veteran. I wasn’t a human. I was a number no longer of use.
And this—this is the other side of the uniform that people don’t see. This is the side where we fight and fight until we have no more fight in us. 

Most Americans picture military service as parades, folded flags, and a dignified end. But for many of us, the end comes not with honor, but confusion, isolation, and mental and emotional spirals that no one prepares us for. I honestly felt like I wasted 15 years of my life and for what? Sure, I had a lot of experience. However, I was no longer a team leader. I was a nobody - at least that's what I told myself. I remember thinking, "no one would miss me at this point if I died except my daughter." That last part - except my daughter - has been the driving force behind why you are reading these words today. Every time I have found myself in the wilderness, the thought of passing any trauma down to her through my own battles would keep me going. It still does. 

Over the last few years since I began my healing journey through my terminal end to service member status, I’ve talked with so many veterans who feel the same. The transition is harder than most realize. We get told, "thank you for your service." But many of us don't know how to respond to that. We served a master and that master let a lot of us down. We put all our eggs in that one basket for all of them to be crushed. Our livelihoods were threatened and we were easily replaced. I remember being told that we needed to always be "training our replacement." To this day, I still do that in all things I do and am involved in. This is why I educated. Nevertheless, the weight some of us carry can be heavier than most will understand. Some veterans made it to retirement and still struggled. Others, like me, were forced out and left behind. The systems we served often don’t serve us back. The support we’re told exists feels more like scattered puzzle pieces hidden in silos and red tape. We are expected to “just figure it out.” By the grace of God, I finally did. However, many don’t. I thank my upbringing and God being there for me even when I wasn't with Him for overcoming all the things I have. I know wholeheartedly it could easily have looked different. I could have given up completely. This is the power of choice. We can quit or we can fall forward, which I did up until this year. 

This Memorial Day, I won’t just remember the names on military plaques—I will remember the ones who died by suicide after the uniform came off. I’ll remember the men and women I knew personally, who couldn’t find a way forward because the darkness became louder than the light. I’ll remember the moments I almost became one of them. I will continue to share my story loudly as I continue to not only find my voice, but use it for the greater good. I know others need to hear from someone who gets it. This is why I keep going. If I don't, I won't be able to help those I am meant to help on the massive level I am meant to help them. I know now my purpose is bigger because of everything I endured. 

You would have never known.
I smiled. I showed up. I pushed through. But the thoughts? They were heavy.
And it’s the thoughts that take us down.

That’s why I’m sounding the alarm.

I still get asked more often than not, "why did you only do 15? You could've retired." I just smile. Sometimes I respond with simply, "God had other plans for me." That's usually enough. I have come a long way since the first days of constant doors shutting. I still don't fit into societal norms and am often the outcast. Nevertheless, I have what others don't see - a God who loves me and who has restored me for His glory. 

A Call to Action for Veteran Organizations

It’s time to stop operating in silos.
It’s time to stop assuming people will find you when they need help most.
We need real collaboration. Not performative partnerships. Not one-time grants or holiday support. We need unified, continuous, accessible support.

At Convene Communities, we are building a hub where resources aren’t scattered. Where veterans, families, and service members can come to find the help they didn’t know existed. But we can’t do this alone. If you’re part of an organization that truly wants to help, we invite you to join forces with us. Let’s bring your services to one place. Let’s stop making people search for lifelines while they’re drowning.

Need help getting your information on our hub? Contact me today and let’s chat. I would love to help you.
We don’t need more people doing their own thing.
We need one mission. One hub. One heart for our veterans.

Join our Military and Veterans Community today and be part of something bigger - be part of a movement that takes more than one organization to make it so.

To join, simply go to https://military.convenecommunities.com/guest/905. Joining us will prove you are ready to do more. Or, stay on your own island as many veterans continue to suffer in silence because they don't even know you exist - like me in 2019. 

The choice is yours. We are a veteran-owned collaborative hub. We believe in connection, communication, and collaboration on a massive level. If you believe in these things as well, join us. Nothing is required of you except your ability to show up. 

If you would like to learn more about Jodi as the speaker, click on the banner and pull my speaker one page. Reach out. Let's have a chat. I am here to serve. I want to know I did all I could to bring these issues to light before it's my time to leave this earth. I look forward to working with you and supporting your cause. Together, we can do more. 

God bless you and thank you for reading. Join our discussion inside the Lady J Empowerment Community. No one is left behind and it's a safe space for you to be supported through whatever you are facing in this season of your life. Keep the faith. Don't quit. Overcoming is on the other side of doubt and fear. I am here for you. You are not alone!