There are some people in this life who never fully understand the impact they leave on another human being. Their fingerprints stay behind anyway. Quiet. Permanent. Like boot prints hardened into Missouri clay after the rain finally dries.
This letter is for those people.
To Recruiters Lafler and Dehnke,
Thank you. Truly.
Unfortunately, the reindeer games had already started long before I ever raised my right hand to enlist. The confusion, the pressure, the noise, the searching for identity and belonging, all of it was already circling my life before military training ever began. At nineteen years old, I was carrying far more weight internally than I ever admitted aloud. Looking back now, I realize enlistment was not just a career decision. In many ways, it became protection. Structure. Discipline. A lifeline disguised in camouflage and paperwork.
You took a risk believing in me. You saw something worth investing in when I was still trying to understand myself. You helped redirect a young person who could have easily drifted into self-destruction, ego, or chaos. The world glamorizes the fast lane and the rock star mentality, especially when someone grows up craving acceptance, attention, or escape from their own pain. It is easy to romanticize burning yourself alive for applause. Harder to choose stability, accountability, and purpose.
Without realizing it at the time, you both helped place me on a different road entirely. You showed me discipline before I understood why I needed it. You showed me structure when my life internally often felt unsteady. Most importantly, you showed me that someone could still believe in me while I was struggling to believe in myself.
And to Drill Sergeants Belle, Sims, and Brisben,
Echo 3/10 Infantry – Wolfpack!
Thank you for never giving up on the nineteen-year-old lost in the mud, so to speak.
Basic training at Fort Leonard Wood was not gentle. It was not supposed to be. The mud, the exhaustion, the yelling, the uncertainty, the pressure to break old habits and build something stronger from the ground up, it all felt overwhelming at times. Yet somewhere inside all of that chaos was guidance. Tough love. Standards. Accountability.
You taught lessons that reached far beyond drill and ceremony or how to wear a uniform correctly. You showed me discipline when my emotions wanted disorder. You showed me resilience when my mind wanted to escape. Most importantly, you showed me that I did not have to become another cautionary tale consumed by unhealthy cycles, addictions, ego, or self-sabotage.
There is a strange poetry to military leadership. Sometimes, the people yelling at you the hardest are also the ones quietly trying to save your life before you even realize it needs saving.
You showed me a brotherhood that very select few could ever truly understand. Beneath the uniforms, smoke, exhaustion, and pressure was something deeper than I had words for as a young, troubled teen just trying to find her way in the world.
At a time when I was still fighting internally, still trying to understand who I was and what I stood for, you helped redirect that fire toward purpose instead of destruction. You reminded me that strength was not about pretending to be fearless. It was about continuing forward despite the fear, despite the confusion, despite the noise surrounding me long before military life ever began.
In many ways, the military gave me back my fight. Not the reckless kind fueled by anger or ego, but the kind rooted in conviction, discipline, loyalty, and belief in something bigger than myself. A belief that I still carry today. Quietly. Proudly.
Years later, I still carry those lessons with me. Not perfectly. Not flawlessly. But honestly.
This letter is not for the audience that came with fame, attention, social media, music, or public perception. This is not performative gratitude. This is something quieter than that. More sacred than that.
This is me acknowledging that I am not self-made.
I am the product of people who stepped in at critical moments and chose not to walk away from me. I am the product of recruiters who believed discipline could redirect my future. I am the product of drill sergeants who demanded accountability while still seeing humanity underneath the struggle.
You helped me find direction when I was drifting.
You helped me believe I was still worth saving.
And you helped me understand that I did not have to walk the same destructive roads that consumed others before me.
Thank you for every correction.
Thank you for every hard conversation.
Thank you for every moment of guidance when I needed it most.
Somewhere beneath the cadence calls, muddy boots, and tough love was a deeper message:
You are capable of becoming more than the environment trying to consume you.
I hear that message clearer now than I ever did at nineteen.
Thank you for helping me find my way through life. đź’ś