Enlisting resulted in missing my husband during some of his worst health emergencies. It was during the Gulf War deployment of my unit when he had to undergo emergency heart surgery. Meanwhile, my mother was undergoing her own health problems. Duty versus family was the choice I faced, and duty prevailed. Not because it was a higher concern, but because the military would not compromise.

But the moment that put it all into perspective was when I had to turn over my son to my soon-to-be ex-husband. It wasn't a mere legal document; it felt as though I was giving away part of my soul. "It felt like losing part of myself," I documented in my book Secrets of the Uniform, and it stuck with me even after leaving the military. My son didn't just grow up with his mother missing from the room; my son grew up with a mother traumatized by a system turning my pain into a burden to carry alone.

The apartness hurt him more than I was willing to acknowledge. We would rebuild our relationship, but the emotional and physical space left a scar. There were birthdays I missed, milestones to which I wasn't a witness. These are the things the brochures fail to advertise.

My time in the military not only tore me away from my family, but it also put a strain on my friendships. My story is considered unique; however, other cases may have other types of incidences. When I say I was assaulted, I was sexually assaulted and beaten. I expected camaraderie, but instead I found cruelty. Harassment and a lack of professionalism in my unit left me isolated. After a superior sexually assaulted me, I realized I couldnt trust nearly anybody. These male soldiers treated a female soldier, maybe not all females, like some sex toy. Even a woman should never be treated this way. I withdrew further from my civilian friends, fearing they would be pulled into the turmoil I was experiencing. That feeling of isolation became my new norm, and the military culture exacerbated it.

Even after I left the service, the wounds persisted. PTSD pursued me. Panic attacks, sleepless nights, and an inescapable feeling of failure both as a warrior and a mother remained. I didnt fall into depression but became angrier as well as not trusting and fearful. When I experienced this, there were no support groups, other than seeing a VA doctor and close friends. I stayed numb for years, but had to regain myself back mostly by myself. I felt as though the very same uniform I wore with honor was the cause of the wedge between me and what I loved. "The uniform was a burden," I would later describe it, and it wasn't just the trauma; it was all the things I lost because of it.

But my family welcomed me home.

After leaving the military, I devoted myself to repairing my relationship with my son. As a single mom, I struggled to reclaim the time and relationship we'd lost. Working with the Department of Children and Family Services, though, allowed me to see trauma in a new, deeper way, my clients and my own. And then, when I started to train service dogs, I learned a surprising path to healing. Summer, my retriever, assisted my PTSD better than therapy. "She calms me like nothing else," I'd written. She provided a sort of calm that my life had been missing for years.

I remarried in 2003. Dan provided me with stability, empathy, and the emotional support I wasn't even aware I still required. Having him and my son with me at last made me feel complete again.

My closest relationships were tested and nearly shattered by the military. But the bonds, once broken, are now the cornerstone of my healing. Im living proof that even when war sundered a family, healing can occur.

However, my tale isn't one of personal survival. It's one of the systems that takes all from soldiers while leaving little for their families. The military has to do better to take care of service members, particularly mothers, who must make a choice between family and uniform. No one should ever be made to give up their child in the interest of service. I left my family to serve. Now I fight on their behalf, and on behalf of all the others. Because no one ought to have to choose between loyalty and love."

Contents

The Art of Disappearing. 1

The Language of Hunger 1

The Echo of Silence. 1

Learning to Take Up Space. 2

A Letter to the Unseen. 2

A Final Thought: 2

A Yellow Rose in Thorns Clothing

.2

The Art of Disappearing

Some children learn early how to make themselves small. Lana mastered it. Between her fathers absences and her mothers revolving door of troubled marriages, she became an afterthought in her own childhood.I didnt see him again until I was eighteen,she writes of her father, a man more comfortable in war zones than in parenting.

Her mother, preoccupied with survival and bad relationships, often missed the signslike the time young Lana was left behind at the zoo.One of the kids piped up in the car, Wheres Lana? I was sitting on a bench somewhere inside, just waiting for someone to come get me.Its a moment that sticks with you. And not just the neglect but also the eerie calm of a child who has already learned not to expect much.

The Language of Hunger

Neglect isnt always about empty cupboards. Sometimes, its about the starvation of attention, the malnutrition of the soul. Lana describes a childhood where her achievements, whether academic, musical, or creative, were met with indifference.I never felt like I accomplished anything significant,she admits.The important things were always a struggle.

This is how neglect warps self-worth: when no one notices you, you start to believe theres nothing worth noticing. Lana carried this belief into adulthood, settling for men who mirrored her familys disregard. Howard, her first husband, reduced her to a punchline:Youre not pretty, and you dont have a good personality.David, her second, treated her like an inconvenience. The pattern was familiar. She was still the invisible girl, just in a grown-up body.

The Echo of Silence

The effects of childhood neglect dont fade with time. They echo.

Lana writes about the way silence turned her into who she became, how she learned to swallow her needs, how she mistook longing for love.I had a hard time letting go of people,she confesses, connecting this back to a childhood where any attention, even the wrong kind, felt like a lifeline.

Theres a different kind of loneliness that comes from growing up unseen. Its not just the absence of love but the absence ofwitness, like no one to validate your pain, your joy, the fact that you exist. Lana describes this ache with startling clarity:If it hadnt been for my third husband, I would probably feel like a complete failure.Its a heartbreaking admission. To realize that it took decades for someone to finallyseeher...

Learning to Take Up Space

Healing, when it comes, is often a rebellion. For Lana, it began in small acts of defiance:

Writing poetry even when no one read it

Playing piano with a fierceness that surprised her

Finally walking away from marriages that made her feel small

But the real transformation came when she met Ed, a man who didnt just love her butnoticedher. Who listened when she spoke, remembered what she liked, and showed up in ways shed never experienced.That is the second half of my story,she writes. The part where she learns shes worthy of being seen.

A Letter to the Unseen

If you were the invisible child, this is for you:

Your pain is real. Your hunger for attention wasnt neediness. It was a basic human requirement, like oxygen. The fact that no one noticed you says nothing about your worth and everything about their limitations.

You dont have to keep fading into the background. Take up space. Speak louder. Demand to be seen. Because the tragedy of neglect isnt just what was taken from you. Its what the world misses when you stay silent.

A Final Thought

The most powerful moment in Lanas story isnt when someone finally sees her. Its when she starts believing shes worth seeing. Thats the real victory.

A Yellow Rose in Thorns Clothing

Im not famous. Im not a celebrity. Im a normal person like most of you. This book is a record of my memories and experiences from a young child until I was thirty-seven and met my third husband in between. I faced challenges, made some questionable choices, suffered the consequences, and persevered. Im still here to talk about it. I felt like it was important to share this story as Im sure many people can relate. I hope to provide encouragement, empathy, and support. None of us are perfect. Weve all made our mistakes. We may not be forgiven by the general public, but most importantly, we have to forgive ourselves. It is never too late to change the path that we are on, and it is never time to give up. I hope that you find inspiration from this book.