Glass Castle

"I've spent my whole life watching people, dancing on the inside, while I'm looking in. Hands pressed up against the glass window, wishing they would invite me, to come in" ~ Justina Lyn

Being raised on a religious hippie commune in Northern California, you can imagine that I did not exactly fit in with other children. I had to wear long-sleeved homemade dresses over pants and wasn't allowed to socialize with children outside of our religion. My family was dysfunctional to the extreme. They were the embodiment of sex, drugs, and alcohol mixed with end-time paranoia prepping. I never felt comfortable around people because I knew my family wasn't typical. We were gossiped about behind our backs and, even worse, on occasion, ended up in the newspaper and not in a good way. I lived outside of a large glass castle representing normality, wishing that someone would invite me to become a part of their ordinary happy world.

For most of my teen and adult life, I have wanted to be a part of something more. I thought I had found it in music and women's ministry, but that turned out to be false. Being a part of a church is like having a club membership that expires once you move away. The same can be said of neighbors who you thought were friends or even family members whose lives differ from your own. It wasn't until I joined the military community as a caregiver that I felt I had become a part of something bigger than myself, something real, and gained a sense of belonging.

For many, being a caregiver isn't just a job; it is an identity. My mom recently told me that even as a little girl, I was her little caregiver. How many caregivers out there can relate? My veteran said to me that he had always wanted to be a soldier. As a young boy, he dreamt of serving his country and being a hero like Rambo. During my childhood, I was busy rescuing baby birds or bottle-feeding kittens whose mommies had died. It is no surprise that we both ended up in professions representing the core of who we were and still are.

There is a misconception that being a caregiver ends if your loved one passes on or if the relationship ends in divorce. I tell my divorced caregiver friends that they are still caregiving for their veterans because they are. Most of them still have to do all of the scheduling of visitation, time management with reminders, and act as a mediator between children and other family members. We encourage each other by starting support groups like The Coalition's Veteran Caregiver Alliance (VCA) for those in the trenches of everyday caregiving. The VCA was founded by caregivers to encourage and support other caregivers on their journey.

Being inside the glass castle of caregiving means that people can look in just as we can look outside. There will always be those who misunderstand our lives, judge or pity us for staying, or lack the comprehension of how exhausting the job of caregiving can be. I have learned to accept a certain level of isolation beyond that of my caregiver family. My value and worth are not determined by what the outside world thinks of me because I know I am needed by my veteran. The caregiver community is strong, and we are growing stronger every day. We love and support each other because we live it, and no one can understand our lives like another caregiver. Military caregivers have been given the added responsibility of caring for our nation's heroes. Without their caregivers, many veterans would end up homeless or in a VA care facility. We, as caregivers, are the veteran's last line of defense, their advocate for better care and resources. I am no longer on the outside with hands pressed up against the glass window, wishing someone would invite me. I have found my home, my life, and my community as a military caregiver.

Written by: Justina Lyn, HTH Representative & Veteran Caregiver