by Meaghan Parchert
“Leadership in a democratic Army means firmness, not harshness; understanding, not weakness; justice, not license; humaneness, not intolerance; generosity, not selfishness; pride, not egotism.” – GEN Omar Bradley
Objectively, I had a successful career in the Army. However, I let my ego get the best of me, and, ultimately, it was responsible for my greatest failure. Because of my ego, I am medically retiring at 34 years old—permanently disabled after 11 years of service.
I write this reflection as I transition to a career in public education, hoping that my unfortunate experience can motivate some introspection or reflection for those continuing their service. I hope that my failure can be your lesson.
The line between ego and pride is razor thin. When I started, I was twenty-three, a new Second Lieutenant in my first unit of assignment at Fort Hood. As one of three females in the organization, I felt immense pressure to prove I deserved to be there. I was eager to emulate all the behaviors and attitudes of “successful” and “respected” senior Officers and NCOs: show up early, leave late, be ever-present, run fast, be thin, never apologize, never be on profile, have no personal issues, and, when you think you have nothing left to give the Army, give a little more. I thought I had it figured out. At the time, I had perceived these traits as self-respect, but that really wasn’t what I was feeling. This wasn’t professional pride. It wasn’t true selfless service or duty—this was ego.
My ego was rewarded for eight years with excellent evaluations, awards, coins, a below the zone promotion, and admittance into the innermost circles. Eight years went by before I experienced my first tangible consequence: a major injury. To fuel my insatiable ego I ignored my body, skipped meals, slept less, missed family events, and lost leave. My ego had convinced me that, even though I was unwell, my presence at a run one morning was essential to my Soldiers, whom I now suspect were not profoundly impacted by my presence that day at all. Instead of prioritizing my health, I prioritized my ego. That morning, I suffered a heat injury, resulting in a nervous system condition which caused me to lose vision in my right eye and suffer migraines, dizziness, fainting, and shaky hands. Due to this disability, I am now unable to drive a vehicle, stand for long periods of time or fire a rifle, among a long list of other basic things I’ve taken for granted.
Even after the injury, my pride and my ego continued to deceive me. It convinced me that self-treating the heat injury, rather than visiting the doctor, was dutiful and selfless. After all, I could not miss a briefing from my new Battalion Commander. Now, I can tell you that I don’t remember anything he said, and I do not believe that attending a single meeting made much of a difference in my rapport with him.
Yet, my ego convinced me otherwise. My ego made me reject medical profiles, avoid the doctor’s office, and push myself beyond my limits. I believed only “the weak” get hurt or have profiles and that if I could mentally push through or hide my injury long enough my body would recover.
My ego rejected my new reality for two years after my injury. Two years is how long it took to receive a proper diagnosis that deemed me unfit for continued service.
During those two years, I occupied staff positions while not performing to my potential, weighed down by a health condition and the distraction of scattershot medical care. Furthermore, I became anxious about the symptoms of my condition, amplified by a series of trialed medications that adversely impacted me both cognitively and physically.
As my injury deteriorated my health and my 2-mile run time was no longer my best trait, I had to reexamine my Army identity. How could I lead, if not from the front of the A-group? When the medication I was prescribed made me gain weight and I didn’t feel I looked like a model officer, I was devastated. These blows to my ego made me question my entire self-worth as a Soldier, an Officer, and a leader.
I do not blame the mentors who encouraged or rewarded these unhealthy work practices for my injury. This was just how things were done. Many of you flourished in the Army the same way I did. We would brag about how late we stayed in the office. The later the timestamp on an email, the better, because it demonstrated dedication and commitment (not poor time management). If we self-treated a musculoskeletal injury and avoided a profile and physical therapy, that was a point of admiration (not of stupidity).
Yet, looking back on my experience, I realize that if I had never got injured, I would never have found anything wrong with my behavior. In fact, I would be a Major in a Primary Staff position, encouraging those unhealthy practices in my Soldiers, with no regard for how my noxious work ethic and philosophy impacted those around me.
The most dangerous environment for an ego is a Key Development (KD) position, such as Battalion S3/XO for Majors, or Company Command for Captains. We begin our jobs metaphorically sprinting, and we want everyone around us to sprint too. It’s easy to forget that our sprint is just another leg in everyone else’s marathon. An unchecked ego in a KD position assigns importance and urgency to things that are, in reality, neither urgent nor important, allowing an environment of chronic stress and toxicity to fester.
We are eager to prove that our staff, under our leadership, can handle anything. We pat ourselves on the back when we “get to yes” on information requirements and tasks that could have justifiably been an unapologetic “no,” as these information requirements or tasks detract from the actual mission and from soldiering. We sprint to the finish line of our 24-month crucible, seemingly unconcerned by the collateral damage the artificial urgency and self-importance has done to our team or our families—what our egos have done to those around us.
What do the late nights and weekends do for the Soldiers who are saddled with five additional duties? We have come face to face with one of the greatest retention and recruiting crises our Army has ever faced. Throughout my eleven years of service, I have known countless, highly trained NCOs, Soldiers, and Junior Officers in all types of units who walk away from this profession. They didn’t join the Army for the pay, they came to feel like a Soldier, to feel like they were part of something bigger than themselves. But they’re not going to get that feeling doing these never-ending additional duties and tasks that no one is willing to press back on. When these Soldiers leave, my ego merely states, “it’s too bad they just didn’t have what it takes to stay,” never asking, “what could I, as their leader, have done differently to persuade them to stay?”
How can a leader with these unhealthy professional habits begin to grow? I believe the first step is to set the example, to model how to have a healthy work-life balance and how to say no. Save the emails you draft after duty hours, and wait to send them until during the next duty day. Take leave. Unapologetically prioritize family events. Don’t call your employees after duty hours or on the weekends unless it is essential. Allow them to trust they can completely decompress when they’re at home, and allow them to feel comfortable away from their phone.
Leaders need to stop bragging about never being on profile. Go to physical therapy without shame because there is nothing to be ashamed of; even professional athletes need physical therapy. Stop apologizing if you can’t schedule your treatment around the duty day. No one will remember if you miss that meeting or don’t answer emails for an hour, no matter who you are. Your absence develops your team—only your ego tells you you’re too important not to be there.
Stop acting like unhealthy sleep patterns make you more dedicated. It’s time we recognized that consistently showing up as the least healthy and capable version of yourself is NOT dedication. Unless poor sleep patterns are temporarily mission-essential or newborn-related, you owe it to yourself and your team to show up rested.
Stop judging, shaming, and belittling those with injuries, and do some introspection on whether your training plans focus on injury prevention, and whether your leadership example lends to holistic wellness. As an all-volunteer force, we must take care of every person who raises their right hand to be here, train them to meet the standard, prioritize injury prevention, and find a way to motivate without shaming your Soldiers. It isn’t enough to brief the concepts of holistic health and fitness. We must live out those concepts and model holistic health and fitness for our Soldiers.
So please, take care of yourselves, put your ego aside, reflect, and adapt. Instead of leaving a legacy of your own accomplishments, let your contribution to the Army be the strong and resilient Soldiers who continue to serve and find purpose in our profession.
Meaghan Parchert is an Army Officer currently transitioning to a career in early public education.
