Recognizing When it’s Time to Move On

“Why did you get out of the military?” What a question. I’m hesitant at times to share these aspects of my journey. But I do hope that, perhaps, sharing my experience could help someone else.

This question can be hard to answer because it’s tricky to wrap up all the factors that go into the decision to separate from the service. But there was one moment that really changed my views of, well, everything, and it had such an impact on how I showed up that it was time to move on to other things.

And this is because I no longer understood what it was that I was ‘fighting’ for.

I’m going to do my best to walk you through a combat mission. My goal is not to delve into the operation, but to provide enough context to help you understand the feelings that followed. Here we go:

It was during a deployment to Afghanistan.

We were overhead during a nighttime operation. A U.S. ground team was embedded with an Afghan partner force, conducting a mission in support of stability in the region. I was a gunner on the AC-130 crew overhead. The ground team began taking fire. At that time, the rules of engagement (ROE) were incredibly strict. The JTAC (Joint Terminal Attack Controller) sent the request for us to fire. In addition, the Ground Force Commander sent up his initials to fire. They needed air support…badly.

We were built for this moment. We were the gunship in the sky. And yet, we did nothing.

Why?
Because our hands were tied. Because the circumstances of the ROE would not allow for us to engage.

And in my opinion, no one wanted to wake a general in Washington, D.C. to get permission.
Because red tape was more important than the lives on the ground. That’s my interpretation of it. And I’m not here to blame anyone. The lack of leadership, again, in my opinion, came down to what lacked in DC, not the military leaders on this deployment. This was (unfortunately) the culture of the war at the time. But that doesn’t make it easier to sit with.

So we stayed overhead—silent. Watching. Being “eyes in the sky.” I can only imagine what that team felt on the ground. Watching us circle, knowing we had firepower, and still—no support. Nothing.

We eventually left the mission area. And the next day, one of the sensor operators stopped me before our shift on plans and told me that multiple people were shot from the ground team.

 At the time, I was dumbfounded. It shouldn’t have happened.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how preventable it was. About how it didn’t have to happen that way. About how we had the means to help…but not the permission. On these kinds of missions where the ground team is taking fire, not only do you naturally feel the tension of the situation, but you also hear it. You hear the rounds going off on the ground. You hear the desperation in their voice; that was always one of the more complicated things to sit with for me.

It was a complete mind-f**k. That was the moment something in me shut off, but maybe something else in me woke up.

How do you sit with these kinds of things, right? Is there anything that could have gone differently? No. Situations like this make you take a step back and really ask yourself, “What game am I playing?” I no longer felt that I could make a difference. Because at the end of the day, it all comes down to the fact that there are human beings with their lives at risk on the ground. They are the ones sacrificing everything. And I think I came face-to-face with the reality of being a pawn on a chessboard for someone else’s game.

That ‘sense of purpose’ many veterans seek is something that left me while I was still in. I noticed a shift within myself, and slowly, it became a job I wasn’t sure I wanted to show up for.

So when it came time to reenlist, I didn’t. I transitioned to the Reserves for a short time, but even that didn’t feel right. Eventually, I fully separated.

It wasn’t easy, but I’ve come to believe this:
We are handed complex, moral, and emotional situations in this life. We can’t always fix them. We can only navigate them. And sometimes it’s okay to step away.

Looking back, you’ll wrestle with all the “would have, could have, should haves.” But the truth is—you couldn’t have done anything differently. You were doing your job. You followed the rules. You acted within your bounds.

And at some point, you recognize when it’s time to move on. And that’s okay.

You don’t have to keep fighting for something that’s no longer aligned with your soul. If you know in your heart that it’s no longer your calling, you have permission to step away. To grow. To serve in new ways. There is no weakness in honoring your limits.