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Suitcase Seamstress

The Life of a Traveling Military Spouse

By Kelly HallbergPublished 3 years ago 7 min read
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Back from Deployment

Blue polyester glistens in the sun as I find myself back at the table, hard at work on another project. A light sea breeze whips my hair as a draw a thin, white line across the bottom of the garment. Carefully, I measure the distance, making sure the line is straight and accurate. I look off into the distance for a minute and soak in the cool, dry breath of sky that surrounds me. But the moment passes and out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimmer of something shiny and metal on the table next to me: a pair of gold shears calling my name. I slip my fingers into the grooves of the handle and open them slightly, positioning them along the line I mapped out only a moment ago. I guide the blade from one end of the line to the other, slicing the fabric as I go. And as I open and close and open and close the long, sharp tip, a familiar sound enters my ears like a metronome, keeping the time: Schick, schick, schick, schick.

I love working outdoors when the weather warrants it. And this is one of those times. I’m new to the area, recently transitioned from a home 3 time zones, 14 states, and 3,000 miles away. It’s not my first cross-country move. In fact, it’s the third one in six years. It gets easier in some ways. You write to-do lists, review the process, and think you are ready to go. You dream about all the new people you’ll meet, the food you’ll eat, and all the adventures that await you on the other side.

But then you arrive. And that’s when things get hard. You’re in a new area where you don’t know where you are going and don’t know anyone that lives there. You want friends; you want experiences, but you have no idea how to make that happen. And you power through it time and time again.

The transient life of a military family can be hard on everyone; from the service member to the people you leave behind. And if you ever spend a week in military housing, the loneliness and depression of a military spouse is one the most blatantly obvious testaments to this life of duty, honor, and sacrifice. I find myself in community after community of military spouses who have traveled far from home and are terrified of feeling unaccepted. So they lock their doors, close their curtains, and stay indoors unless they absolutely need to leave. They interact online, but cancel when it’s time to meet in real life.

And I can’t help but be reminded of a time when I felt this way. When I was young, I was extremely shy. I was intimidated by my peers and terrified that they would not accept me as I was. So, I just never spoke. I was scared that I would say or do something that would make me look dumb, that people would laugh at me. Don’t get me wrong; I had friends. And around those friends I was social and open. But when I was in the classroom or any large gathering, I would shut down.

In my early grade school years, I attended a small Catholic school that only had about 40 students in each grade. My father spent two years with a 90-minute commute to work. Eventually, the three-hour daily drive took a toll on his body, bank account, and car. So my parents made the difficult decision to leave their hometown and head to the city. My new school was a public school with ten times the number of students. And the community was approaching half a million people. I was terrified. I always had a hard time with big groups, and now I was going to be constantly surrounded by a huge number of people!

The first week of school, we had not yet moved into our house, so my brother and I tagged along with my Dad for his commute. I spent the entire ride with butterflies in my stomach every day for a week. When we pulled up to the school, I thought I was going to vomit. But I have to say, what awaited me in the city and in my school was not as I expected. Sure, there were people that teased me for being so quiet. It didn’t take long, however, before a handful of kids came to my defense and befriended me. And it was around this time that I began to realize, people really aren’t as scary as I thought.

My new friend group and I spent our time playing outdoors and crafting inside. We did projects together and created fun and interesting things. We cut out fabric and put together costumes, decorated our bedrooms, and school desks. It was an amazing feeling to have friends and to accomplish things together.

But in spite of my new-found friendships, my shyness did not just vanish in an instant. It took college and a few more moves to really conquer my reserved demeaner. But every time I moved, there was a group of outgoing and friendly individuals there to greet me. And it was at some point in my early 20’s that I put the pieces together and realized that moving and making friends is hard for everyone; it really takes a lot to put yourself out there. But some people muster up the courage and make that first move. And it is because of this that friendships are born.

So, I made it my mission to be that friendly face that I saw after each move in my youth. I found a way to establish a sense of belonging and community in an unobtrusive way. And I found it through sewing. There was something familiar and rewarding about sewing. I knew what I was doing, even when I didn’t. I always felt such pride upon completing a project and I wanted to share my gift with others as well as to help build more of a sense of community amongst my neighbors.

I started out by advertising that I would sew military patches on uniforms. Between last minute deployments and surprise uniform inspections, there was I need for someone local who could work outside of normal business hours and at a moment’s notice. Spouses would drop off uniforms and we would chat about our lives back home, previous duty stations, our favorite things in the area, and establish those connections we so craved.

I built a reputation for myself as a reliable seamstress and began to work on custom orders. I made a number of challenging and interesting things, many of which I had never made before. People would ask, “Can you make ____?” and I would say, “Well, I haven’t, but I can.” I made beach ponchos, headbands, and a cosplay dress for Comic-Con. I pieced together a hot pink suit for a twelve-year-old’s graduation. I sculpted a hypodermic needle costume for a pharmacy employee during flu season. I even dabbled in furniture cushions for patio sets and refinished card table tops. I kept busy!

And, the thing is, I didn’t do it alone. I was able to build a connection with my mother-in-law as we worked together along the way. I encouraged my neighbor to buy her own machine and taught her some basic skills. She turned around and shared her newly-acquired skills with her daughter and her girl scout troop. It felt good. Not only did I feel that connection through collaboration, it felt good to know that the connection would spread beyond me and have an impact on others I knew and others I did not.

So, while I sit here now, listening to coastal birds and hand-stitching a blind hem, I think about the unique, and beautiful things I was able to create and the smiling faces of those who were able to enjoy these gifts. I think about the friendships that I formed and the skills I was able to pass on. And all the while my daughter sits on the other side of the table, constructing costumes out of paper and tape. I can’t help but smile. It won’t be long now before she’s on the other side of the table, marking white lines and listening to the familiar sound of the “schick, schick, schick, schick” as she plugs away at her own projects, basking in the sun.

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