“Hi, I’m Jocelyn.” I was one of several new military wives being welcomed to the unit with a potluck luncheon. Already unsure of myself in this “new” world, I was completely taken aback when my introduction of myself was countered with, “Oh, don’t bother telling us your name. You’re the XO’s (Executive Officer) wife, and that’s all you’ll ever be to us.” She then suggested that she would buy a T-shirt for me emblazoned with “XO’s wife” so no one would ever need to wonder.
My husband’s title had just branded me for the duration of my time in this tiny town in Alaska. Perhaps I should have expected it, but I was frustrated. I wanted to be identified for who I was, not for what my husband did for a living.