Dear “Kaitlyn,”
It’s been 16 years since we last spoke but I hope that you and your family are doing well. The last time that we spoke face to face was on December 3rd and 4th, 2005, though I did appreciate your reaching out to my mother, sister, and Lindsey over the weeks and months that followed. At the time, I didn’t understand how I could be going through what I had while such care and concern was communicated to and through them. Whenever I begin to work through the trauma of that time, I re-read some of those messages. Back then, I didn’t understand how little control you had over everything that happened.
December 3rd is a day that changed my life forever. You walked into my room, tapped me on my shoulder and acknowledged, to me, that you had been pregnant that previous summer. You told me matter of factly that you did what you must to remain a cadet in good standing, and accept your role as the second woman ever to be a Regimental Commander in the U.S. Coast Guard Academy. Back then, I didn’t understand the stakes nor the sacrifices that you had to make to exist in a place with such antiquated rules and regulations.
You need to know that, back then, I didn’t know that cadet parenthood meant expulsion for the both of us. Nor did I know how punitively the military and our Academy, in particular, treated matters of women’s health and choice. It wasn’t what you told me that changed my life, it was a mistake of sharing it.
Your health, your medical history, and your life was your business. It was your subject matter to share and not mine. When my mentor (and de facto counselor) asked me why my demeanor was different that day, what you deserved was my absolute silence. I should have never shared your pain, physical and emotional, with him. Over the years, I repeated his questions in my mind, over and over and over again. The right answer was: “I am fine, sir.”
I apologize for sharing your personal experiences with him in a moment of my own weakness. Though the officer was a familiar face and a trusted counselor to minority cadets, it wasn’t my place to say a single word even if it provided momentary solace.
I never had the opportunity to say this, I was not allowed to communicate with anyone. But I hope that the final semester of our first class (senior) year was everything that you wished for. I hope that the shameful debacle that I was at the center of didn’t bring you too much pain. I hope that your parents and siblings were proud; I hope that our institution was equally so.
When you walked back to my room the following day, I couldn’t have known what would happen to me later that evening. If I would have, I would have wished you well.
Over the past sixteen years, I have never said a negative word about you. I have never spoken publicly or accepted an interview request. I never once cooperated with a single thing written about 2006 at the U.S. Coast Guard Academy. And anyone that tried to diminish you, I went lengths to have it removed or deleted. Even if something was written with the intent to defend me, I didn’t approve of it. I always viewed December 2005 through December 2007 as my story to tell and no one else’s.
Even on the worst days, I always believed that there would be resolution some day. And I just don’t see how you can earn resolution after disparaging someone’s name. I finally began to write about that ordeal, something that I have long hesitated to do as it was excruciatingly painful to recount. But this, to you, isn’t about remembering or re-litigating. This is about acknowledging that I should have said nothing on that December day.
Lesson: sometimes it’s best to say nothing, especially if you don’t know the cost.
My best,
Web