When you join the military, you do so with an oath in your heart: an oath to serve and a prayer that those who have authority over you will stand by you, no matter what. We are promised the military is family—a brotherhood and sisterhood of sacrifice and loyalty. But what do you do when the family turns its back on you? When your command, the same officials you're supposed to be able to count on to protect you, choose silence and complicity over justice?
I know what that betrayal feels like because I have experienced it firsthand.
I enlisted in the Army with pride, ready to protect my country and its morals. But all that changed on the day when I became a victim of sexual harassment and, at a later date, sexual assault by an officer in charge. The experience itself was devastating, but what followed was worse.
I did what I thought was the right thing in my heart. I reported the rape through channels, hoping in the system that had taught me to hope in honor and accountability. I hoped that my command would take my accusations seriously, would investigate, and would stand behind me as I worked to heal and move on. That is not what happened.
Rather, silence, doubt, and dismissal met me. My hurt was minimized, my integrity questioned, and my allegiance doubted. My command did not seem interested in defending me; their primary focus appeared to be upholding their own integrity and maintaining respect and influence within their own ranks, regardless of the consequences to me.
I felt a glimmer of hope that this might turn around and justice would prevail. A few weeks rolled into a couple of months, and I began to see the same pattern; that my case was also being granted a rest, too. Evidence disappeared, and offers of help vanished, leaving the message straightforward: I was left to fend for myself.
That kind of betrayal hurts more than I can possibly describe. It's not the physical abuse that haunts you but the betrayal of trust, the realization that the institution you dedicated your life to would sooner look out for itself than for you. You are made to feel invisible, disposable, and utterly alone.
I began questioning everything: Was my service worth it? Was my sacrifice worthy? Could I ever be part of an organization that so readily turned a blind eye to my suffering?
The shame of that abandonment is overwhelming. Nights of sleeplessness with memories and maybes. Days were heavy with me carrying both the trauma of the attack and the betrayal of people who were supposed to assist me in healing. The army trains you to be tough so you can push through pain, but nothing could prepare you for the pain you experience when your own command betrays you. However, I've discovered that betrayal can shatter your heart, but it doesn't have to shatter your spirit.
Writing Secrets of the Uniform helped me to reclaim my voice once more. I've found that despite my command having betrayed me, my story and the story of so many others could still be a force for change. I contacted and located other survivors, all of us with our own wounds of betrayal and silence, and we joined forces to take back what was stolen from us: our worth, our authority, and our right to be heard.
If you're reading this and you've experienced that same betrayal, then know that you're not alone. Your pain is real. Your anger is real. And your fight for justice matters. No institution, no matter how powerful, can steal your truth.
I still believe in the ideals that brought me to serve in the army. However, now I fight not only for my country, but for every soldier that has been silenced, deprived, or lied to. We will continue to fight for a system that stays true to its promise, not just in words, but in action.
And to the people who let me down: you may have ignored my request for change, but you will not ignore my voice today.
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