I remember it like it was yesterday, on a cold and dreary day in December of 2015 at Mcquire Air Force base, I raised my right hand and swore the oath to the constitution. A decision I made that changed my life, and I sure did not expect to be sitting here writing this as a Monmouth University student. Being a veteran at Monmouth doesn’t come with special treatment, and to be honest, we prefer it that way. We are just students; each trying to earn a degree and have success in our ‘mission.’
When I decided to leave the Air Force, I was unsure what my path was going to be or what even interested me. I had committed 10 years of my life to service to this country, and to the men and women who stood next to me in uniform. I had traveled all over the world, gained experiences and knowledge that I would not get anywhere. Deciding to leave something that was your livelihood, the thing that reshaped you as a person, the brotherhood you gained was something that still lives with me to this day. But it was time to move on.
That’s the biggest challenge for every veteran who decides to hang it up is – what is my next mission? What am I going to do now? It’s the struggle that many veterans face when we decide it’s time. They don’t tell you how much your life is going to flip upside down when you transition to civilian life. There’s no one in a uniform holding you to standards like how you perform in your fitness tests, how clean your boots are, or how pristine your hair cut is. You’re on your own again, and for too many of us it can be scary and also exciting at the same time.
This was not a decision I took lightly nor was it an easy one. I had thought about leaving the Air Force for some time and had gained a new passion for writing when I had been on deployments. It was a way for me to express myself in ways that I was unfamiliar with, something that was never natural. Through my experiences and my time here at Monmouth, my passion for writing, more specifically journalism, has become my newest mission in life. Something I had not imagined until I had left my time in the military.
When I first came to Monmouth, the adjustment didn’t hit me all at once. It was little things. Sitting in a class and realizing I had lived a whole chapter of life before some of my classmates finished high school. Watching students stress about things I used to think of as routine and just another typical day. Driving to school to and from my job on days I was capable of making it to class. Things not your average student may have to deal with. Being an older student and a veteran certainly comes with its jokes and while yes they do hold up, it reminds you that you’re just another student and to enjoy the ride.
That’s what the transition from the military to civilian life was like. It’s not an identity crisis. It’s a change of pace. You go from a world built on structure and routine to a world built on independence and choice. At first, it can seem overwhelming. Over time, you learn to appreciate it. You learn how to build your own structure instead of having one handed to you. You learn how to balance who you were in uniform with who you’re becoming now.
Monmouth has been generous and welcoming of veterans, but like any campus, it’s easy for student veterans to blend into the background. Most people don’t automatically look at a classmate and assume they served. They don’t assume we might be older, supporting families, juggling multiple jobs, all while having to write endless papers for our classes. Being a veteran at Monmouth also means sharing the campus with people whose service journeys look nothing like your own. Some are young, some older. Some served overseas, others stateside. Some are adjusting easily; others are quietly struggling.
Some student veterans are parents juggling childcare, part-time jobs, and full-time course loads. They aren’t just balancing homework; they’re balancing lives. Veterans don’t walk around advertising any of this, so unless someone asks, it stays below the surface. Sometimes as a veteran and those who still serve, we’re considered quiet professionals, the ones who you will never hear complaints but to keep our heads down and keep rucking forward.
Being a veteran on a college campus means adjusting to a new environment while carrying experiences most classmates are unfamiliar with. It means figuring out how to connect with people who grew up in a different world. In class, I sometimes process things in a different way, not because I disagree or don’t fit in, but because my past gives me a broader outlook on life. When topics tap into conflicts, policy, or national service, I sometimes feel the weight of those conversations in a way that isn’t abstract.
Veterans bring strengths to Monmouth that aren’t always visible. Many of us know how to work under pressure, stay organized, and stay focused when things get busy. We value teamwork because we lived it for many years. We’re used to showing up on time, keeping our commitments, and staying calm when stress builds. These traits don’t make us special. They make us experienced, and that experience adds something valuable to our education.
Being a veteran at Monmouth has allowed me to move forward with my new journey while honoring where I came from. It represents my new path in working toward a degree with the same purpose I brought while wearing the uniform. It has allowed me to gain a new perspective on life when I may not know what was coming in the future.
Being a veteran and serving this country is a thankless job. We all signed up to serve those in need with no regrets. So, if you know a veteran on campus, talk to them. Ask questions sincerely. Get to know them. Understand that we may carry our past quietly, but we are here for the same reason as everyone else: to build something better for our future.