“You are not a mother, you are a soldier!” I will never forget those words. That was in 2007, in Mosul, Iraq, my first of many deployments. I was a newly pinned staff sergeant (SSG) and for the first time in my adult life was in a place without my family for a very long time. I was a mother of four children, ranging from ages 3 to 17. I was in charge of the operating room (OR) section of my forward surgical team. We had been in Iraq for only two months when our detachment sergeant was sent to another location and in his place, we got a sergeant first class (SFC) from another unit who, from the get-go, seemed to have an issue with me. Those were his first words to me, standing in formation while introducing himself to the enlisted members of the team.
I didn’t understand where those words came from. They were like a stab to my heart. Who the hell was this guy to tell me I was not a mother? He didn’t know anything about me, and as time passed, I realized he couldn’t have cared less.
Everyone on my team knew I was a mother—and a dedicated surgical team leader to my soldiers. I promised myself that the soldiers under my care would come home safe to their families. It is what I would have wanted if any one of my children were deployed.
I was an older NCO (non-commissioned officer), I joined the Army at age 30, and believe me, basic training was not a cakewalk back in ‘99. Drill sergeants were not what they are today. Why did I join? Was it patriotism, a need to excel in something most women feared, or excitement? No, no, and no! I joined out of pure necessity. I was a single mother of three children at the time. I had done everything I could to take care of my children and not live off government assistance. I knew I could do it ... until I couldn’t.
Prior to joining the Army, I worked as a police and fire dispatcher, working the night shift and donating plasma twice a week to be able to buy milk and cereal for my kids. The day I realized I wasn’t going to make it was the day I had just gotten off work and was standing in line ready to pay and felt like everything was spinning. The cashier was talking and I couldn’t hear her, my ears were ringing so loudly, she grabbed my hand from the cart I was holding with a death grip as my youngest child sat in the cart crying. The cashier walked me to a bench and asked me if I was ok. “I thought you were going to pass out at the register; you turned white as a ghost.” She looked at my arm, which still had the self-adhesive wrap from when I had donated plasma, less than an hour before. She said: “You should eat something before you get up.” I grabbed a banana from one of the bags and started eating it. Mikey, my baby, started to cry.
I knew I was not going to be able to do this much longer. That was when I decided I had to do better for my children. They deserved a mother who was physically able to take care of them, to provide them with basic needs, something I was struggling to do.
I grew up in the military. My father was, and always will be, my hero. He was a U.S. Army combat engineer who always seemed to be in the field training but somehow also always managed to be present. That was something that at that moment in my life, I was not.
Basic was hell, no lie! I thought I had been loaded up in a cattle truck and shipped off to a prison camp. What the hell had I gotten myself into? But I knew it was all just a mind game to get us all thinking the same. Just keep my mouth shut. Do as I was told. It would be over in a few months.
He said the only way he would let me walk out of the clinic without crutches was if I could hop on one foot. He made me hop on the good leg then the side that hurt. I gritted my teeth and hopped, he looked at me and said, “You are a determined young woman and I respect that.” He gave me a walking profile that expired the night before graduation. We could not graduate if we had a profile that extended past graduation. He told me his only stipulation was that I get seen when I got to AIT and not continue to suck it up—which I promised to do.
When I got back to my platoon, they were in the dining facility eating lunch. I walked up to my drill sergeant and handed him my profile. He crushed it up into a ball and threw it at my face. I picked it up and walked away. Every day until graduation, he tasked me to be the road guard in formation (you run out of your place in formation each time the platoon has to cross a road). I did what I was told, and wish I had known he couldn’t make me run. But I did it. I ran at each crossing, all the way up to the theater where we were graduating.
No one was there cheering me on. I didn’t tell anyone when I was graduating. When my name was called I walked across that stage: head held high, back straight, and shoulders back. I gritted my teeth and made sure I didn’t limp even once. I wanted to cry; all I could think about were my children. “I did it, Denise, Toni, and Mikey, Mommy did it!” I did it for them. It was the beginning of a better life for all of us.
Why did I tell you all this? Remember that detachment sergeant who said I was not a mother, that I was a soldier? He was wrong. I will always be a mother first, soldier second, and proud to be both.
Being a mother has never kept me from being the soldier, NCO, or leader I have always strived to be. In fact, being a mother made me a better soldier, NCO, and leader.
Do not assume that because a woman is a mother, she lacks the motivation to be the best. Women throughout history have sacrificed their lives to protect their families, and many have fought alongside men when women were still considered weak and our place was at home. Those women are my heroes. They showed me that determination and unconditional love are a woman’s greatest weapons.
So yes, I AM A MOTHER AND A SOLDIER.
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