But during phone calls home, I noticed a pattern. My parents would spend ten minutes telling me about Marcus’s new promotion at the bank or Diane’s latest solo performance, then ask about my “little Navy job” like it was a hobby I’d eventually outgrow. When I mentioned my own promotion to lieutenant, my mother said, “That’s nice, dear. Did I tell you Marcus bought a new car?”

The imbalance became more obvious during my rare visits home. At church, my parents would beam while telling the congregation about Marcus’s mortgage approval or Diane’s engagement, but my military service warranted only a brief mention, usually framed as “still finding herself.” Their friends would nod politely and change the subject. I began to understand that my accomplishments didn’t fit their narrative. Marcus represented traditional success—marriage, house, corporate job. Diane represented feminine achievement—engagement, teaching position, community involvement. I represented something they couldn’t categorize or control: a daughter in uniform, unmarried, and independent, earning respect in a world they didn’t understand.