Military Man to Polyamorous Bodyworker
The military masculinity I grew up with led to codependent patterns, but also taught me lessons about safety and service that I still use today as a more authentic version of myself.
Military man to poly body worker
By Michael Aye
I wore a military uniform for 18 years of my life. The journey to hang it in the closet, and don the apparel of a festival-going, peace-loving, feelings-oriented, openly polyamorous and queer bodyworker, forced me to confront a lot of the messages I received about what it means to be a real man in the eyes of my fellow servicemen, my military family, and myself.
I was born to parents who were both in the military, with service histories going back at least three generations. I spent most of my formative years either on military installations or in towns and communities based around them. I had not lived in a place for more than four years until my mid-30s. The military was the most consistent aspect of my life all the way up until the onset of COVID, when I ended my service with the Coast Guard. It shaped my identity, values and how I presented myself to the world.
Now, as a veteran, I want to share my reflections—on how the military shaped my masculinity, how being a “military man” ultimately didn’t work for me, how I’ve found a version of masculinity that is more authentic for me, and how I’ve integrated some of the positive lessons I learned from the service, but am still very glad I’m not active duty. I hope the lessons I’ve learned will resonate for both those who have been in the service and not—the ideals of military masculinity shape us all.
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Part I: G.I. Joe Jr.
As far back as I can remember, I wanted to wear a military uniform. I idolized my parents and their adventures abroad, in training and the field, and the collective reactions of those gathered around when stories were told. I remember the kind of camaraderie that existed between my folks and their coworkers.
I also remember the ways in which my extended family would share their pride in the sacrifices my parents made for their country. Though many milestone personal events were forgone, it was to serve a greater good. All with a good dose of nostalgic Americana, like going to an airshow after growing up playing with toy jet fighters. It made service feel both important and tantalizing. Being in the military sounded like it was worth the sacrifices. The collective military family experience made me feel like part of a legacy, one that I wanted to contribute to.
Military masculinity was all around me as a kid. Top Gun came out when I was about five years old. I watched G.I. Joe cartoons, which all had larger-than-life examples of fearless, globe-trotting heroes that were motivated and able. Fighting the evils of the world to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, and to keep ordinary people safe and free.
The first book I ever bought, around the age of 10, was about small arms (pistols and rifles) and armaments. I still to this day have muzzle velocity, maximum effective range, and rate of fire specifications memorized for firearms that I have never set my hands upon. Any and all information I could consume about military vehicles, weapons, history, and strategy were devoured before the internet made info even easier to attain.
While other boys my age had stats of baseball players in their heads, I had these weapons’ details and specifications. I longed to be someone who could protect my community and those close to me. To have the opportunity and the ability to be a hero. But just as G.I. Joe is fictional, real members of the military were not able to live up to the flawless masculine ideal that I had created.
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Part II: The Man of the House
My dad often deployed overseas for months at a time, and as the oldest son I would take great pride and responsibility as the man of the house. To me, this meant taking care of my brother (only a grade behind me) and also staying attuned to my mom. Trying to ensure that she was doing alright and minimizing any potential negative impacts my brother or I might impose on her.
In hindsight and with more context it feels like a self-parentified childhood. I thought service and sacrifice defined a man’s value in his life and community. To put others first was the worthiest of causes. I think this mindset was formative in my tendency towards people-pleasing, self-abandonment and eventually codependence.
In high school, there was a JROTC (Junior Reserve Officer Training Corp) program where you could learn basic leadership tenets, drill and ceremony, and don a uniform weekly. The benefits of this program was preparation for military service, a potential jumpstart in my career, and being a more attractive candidate for the institutions I wanted to attend—namely, the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. I had multiple tours of the Academy as a boy and teenager.
Throughout my adolescence, I continued to mold my values and identity around that of military service. I was going to contribute to the greater good, have purpose, and be able to verily point to the value and worth I was contributing to society. I spent three years in high school dedicating large amounts of time to JROTC. I learned leadership skills, teamwork and became intimately familiar with military traditions and etiquette.
As a young man, it was deeply comforting to have a reliable path towards self-worth, having a place in this confusing world. But, clear and simple answers often hide a messier truth.
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Part III: Ship, Shipmate, Self—Basic Training in Military Masculinity
Every military service has a set of core values upon which it focuses its Esprit de Corps—the common spirit unifying its members. For example, the Coast Guard’s values are Honor, Respect, and Devotion to Duty. Even back then, I was drawn to more humanitarian missions, and so I decided to join the Coast Guard, which had a focus on missions of Search and Rescue, Fisheries Enforcement, and Environmental Protection.
One clear principle from basic training is that strong bonds are created through shared experience. Especially the miserable kind. The phrase “misery loves company” certainly felt true when going through physical hardship to test resolve, build resilience, and strengthen unit cohesion. Adhering to lawful orders was also a core part of the military ethos. Marching drills and ceremonies are still taught to all in the military and date back to traditions centuries-old. In order for decisive action to be made during combat, individuals need to act as a cohesive unit.
Another concept that distinguishes service members from civilians is adherence to hierarchy and prioritization of the unit. The whole is greater than the individual. This is readily evident in the adage: “Ship, shipmate, self.”
Imagine you are onboard an oceangoing vessel hundreds of miles from the closest point of land. You’re more than six hours from the closest assistance if any harm befalls you. If your crew is unable to put out a fire or fix a major leak, your ship could sink and leave you and everyone else aboard trying to survive in water no warmer than 34 degrees. In that environment, you have 10 minutes before losing the ability to move your limbs, and death is likely within 45 minutes due to the drop in core body temperature. This is just one example of when the organization is more important than the individual.
This frame of thought differs from your typical safety briefing onboard a Southwest flight. To put your own mask on before assisting someone else. While this military mindset can undoubtedly be valuable in certain contexts, did I really want to internalize this as core to my whole identity?
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Part IV: Disillusionment, At Home and Across the Country
A veil started to lift in my mind as I began to see the flaws of the organization I was a part of, and how my strategies to be a man of character were misinformed.
Even during basic training, I was coming to find that not everyone lived by their service’s espoused values. People still treated each other poorly. There was still discrimination, racism, and sexual harassment. “Shipmates” crossed personal boundaries and often dehumanized each other for entertainment or personal gain. This is not to say that all of my experience was like this, but enough of it was to make me realize that service members, and especially men, were just a snapshot of society at large. An example of this, in my first year at the academy, was when it came to light that an investigation was taking place about an upperclassman and sexual assault. As much as I wanted to place compatriots in a category above the average person, there was no room there for closed eyes.
Another turning point in my perception of the military was when my parents got divorced. Growing up, I had thought my family special or different because my parents were still together, a rarity amongst extended family and other friends growing up. Their divorce came during my training and it forced me to see them as people trying to do their best, humanizing them and bringing an abrupt end to my hero-worship perspective. They were not infallible, did not have all the right answers, and I didn’t need to be just like them. Maybe their path wasn’t the right path.
Their divorce also prompted me to start reflecting on how my (imperfect) military family had shaped me in some troubling ways. Looking back now, I think this is where I began to realize that my personality was based on getting folks to like me, focused on being highly adaptable to moving around, and well-suited to new situations. I hadn’t developed a lot of strong opinions of my own. My wants, needs and desires were very much influenced by social obligations, familial, and peer groups that I was a part of. The skilled social chameleon that I had become had actually held me back from further self-discovery. Negative aspects of my adaptability included people-pleasing, self-abandonment, and codependent patterns.
Over time, I learned the ways in which I wanted to be a leader and a person who could be respected for my own character and actions. In the military, I think I often learned more from bad leaders, in the ways that I didn’t want to act, than from the ones who were good and exemplifying positive traits. Though being of service was my aim, I saw firsthand how relying on authority, hierarchy, and positional power could result in the abuse of power and hostile work environments.
I began to define my own values. Taking care of the people around me and treating everyone with respect was my aspiration.
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Part V: Ending My Service, My Marriage, and Old Unhelpful Patterns
Parallel to my military service was my romantic relationship. I had been married for almost 10 years. Unfortunately, the same values of protecting others and sacrifice-of-self strongly contributed to an extremely codependent relationship dynamic that was unsustainable.
It’s hard, if not impossible, to have a balanced and healthy partnership when one person tries to take on all the responsibility for a “successful” relationship. This also made it almost impossibly challenging to collaborate or co-create with the person I was trying to build a life with.
When I was finally able to reframe how I wanted to live, I found that we both wanted fundamentally different things in life, and were severely codependent. When we couldn’t reconcile or change what we wanted with each other, I did one of the hardest things I’ve done in my life: I asked for a divorce. I wanted to think that I was able to overcome any challenge, that I was different or even better than those who decided to separate. Ultimately, doing so helped set me free, to live more authentically and to continue to redefine masculinity for myself.
I exited the service during COVID and found myself in a type of existential tailspin. Timing was purely coincidental as my plan to get out was well underway the year before getting out of the Coast Guard, but it made the shift even harder.
The values that I had built my life, love, and identity on seemed inconsequential and potentially unhealthy. I examined my motivations for my career and the deepest relationships I had been a part of. I had an abundance of time during the COVID shutdown and unemployment to dive into my own self-work and truly pick apart the ways that I wanted to be, both for myself and the world at large.
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Part VI: Integrating My Experiences, Defining My Own Values
I began reading books about codependency. I went to a therapist who was a queer, polyamorous, military veteran—and even just knowing someone with a similar background was helpful. That experience even contributed to me writing this piece to share with others that there are many ways in which men can live more authentically, and in alignment with their values. I met a community of expansive weirdos. These were all vital parts of learning about myself and how I actually wanted to exist in the world, as free, loving, expressive, and a weirdo in my own right.
Finding places and spaces where I feel safe to express myself was transformative for me. So I really leaned into building and being a part of community. Crafting relationships, both platonic and romantic, has allowed me to further lean into being a more authentic version of myself. That’s been reflected in where I live, how I dress, the work I do (as a bodyworker), and most importantly, in my relationships.
What’s perhaps a positive take on my time in the service is how I’ve integrated the concept of “ship first.” I am very strongly protective of my community. I want to make sure everyone feels safe to be themselves. In fact, a value I now try to embody is that of Safety—my personal “Esprit de corps”—that I pursue with the same diligence and respect that I learned in military service.
I’m glad to say that I often receive feedback that I am perceived as safe, both strong and gentle, and worthy of trust. I think I try to do this by showing up within my capacity, working through my own challenges with the support of the collective, and helping the people around me. Holding myself accountable for my impact on others and encouraging other men to do the same. This is a driving force in my life now, so that we can all be safer for each other. It’s where I aim to focus going forward—in my work with people, as a romantic partner, and community member.
While a lot of the conditioning I got from military masculinity ended up being harmful to me, sowing seeds of codependency and people-pleasing, I hold some gratitude for my time in the service because it allowed me to have the stability to slowly pursue my authentic self and broaden my perspective through travel and experience. It encouraged my care for community and kept me focused on missions that were fulfilling and meaningful in the world.
It’s truly been a process to work through the beliefs and values that I had formed growing up in a military family. Now, I think more critically about my place in the world. I know that I have a voice and opinion that I can use to lift people up instead of standing on the sideline. By speaking up, leading by example, and helping others to do the same, I hope to continue to shape masculinity in and out of the military in ways that are positive in society and the world.
I hope you can define your own values, and find your own path to being a more authentic, safe and genuine man for your friends, family, loves and world at large.
Discussion Questions for Readers:
Our whole purpose is fostering conversation on vulnerable topics, and growing a culture of healthy integrated masculinity. We encourage you to reflect on these questions, or ask them to other men in your life. You can use our Story Discussion Guide to walk you through how to facilitate a ~90 minute group discussion.
What was your model of being a “real man” as a boy? Was there some man in particular that embodied that for you? How did that shape you?
Have you been a part of any big institutions with specific rules, traditions, and hierarchies (military, family, religion, fraternity, corporations)? How did you respond to the clear set of values? Did they discourage critical thinking? Was it hard to disagree?
Did you go through a period of disillusionment around your values or sense of what you thought it meant to be a man of character?
Do you relate to “Ship, Shipmate, Self” at all? Do you have any people-pleasing, social chameleon, or codependent tendencies? Where did you learn those and how have they impacted you and those around you?
How do you think about what is “authentic” for you? Do you have a sense of your own values? What are they and where do they come from? What shifts have you made along your journey to be more in alignment with those values and your authentic self?
Have reactions, questions, or similar stories that you want to share with the author? You can email us at editors.realmenshare@gmail.com and we’ll forward your message to them. Thanks for engaging on these vulnerable topics!