Slowly, over the past few months, I have begun to pull away from my military life.

I’ve volunteered less, stopped being one of the first to step up and offer help, and my usual quick responses to spouse-related emails have gotten fewer and farther between.

Now, with less than three months left before we leave Germany and go on terminal leave until retirement, I find myself latching on to those last few military events I will get to attend.

Tomorrow night is a farewell. Wednesday is a change of command, likely the last I will ever witness as a military spouse.  Next week are more hail and farewells and, at some point soon, I will see my husband in uniform for the last time.

I’ve always made it a point to never define myself as a “military spouse.” I always figured that I was so much more than that, that my life somehow had more meaning than the fact that I just happened to be the wife of an Army officer.

But after 26 years I am realizing that a “military spouse” is not just what I am, it’s who I am. My days, months and years are built around the Army. Every decision I make is influenced by my husband’s career. My schedule, my life, is completely dependent upon his.

Being married to the military is a full-time job in its own right. Many of us spend countless hours helping other families, besides managing our own home, our own finances, our own kids and everything in between. We volunteer in our communities. At each different duty station, we try to find something that has meaning to expend our energies on.

We support each other in a way that perhaps no other group of people, especially women, does. I don’t mean to imply that I am anything special just because I happened to choose a life partner with a unique and demanding job. I haven’t done anything in my military life that thousands of other spouses haven’t done before me, and done better. What I’m saying - what I’m realizing -  is that I’m all in, and I have been for more than two decades.

Of that, I am proud.

I’m watching now as my husband distances himself from his job, his co-workers and his own Army life. I am watching as he goes through what I am sure will be a long period of mourning and adjustment, of loneliness and reflection and anticipation, a period that will hopefully launch him into something new and equally as satisfying as his military career. The Army calls it “transitioning.” There is a series of workshops, checklists, services and notebooks for soldiers to study in preparation for leaving the military, under a program called “Soldier for Life.”

I wish there was a similar program for spouses. We obviously haven’t had the same experiences as the active-duty people we are married to and, presumably, our transition will be easier. But we could use some guidance on how to navigate the real world.

How do we, as spouses, walk away from all this, from everything we know and everything we are, and gain a new identity? I look forward to what the future holds - hopefully fulfilling jobs for both my husband and me, some stability for our kids and a chance to breathe.

Breathe. Something many of us have not done in a very long time. Along the way, I’m sure I will find my place in our new world and adjust accordingly. But this, this identity that I’ve had for 26 years, will aIways be a part of me.

I am a spouse for life.