By Marina Muenster
A few months ago, I wore my Navy uniform for the last time. In total, I spent nearly 10 years in the service, first as a midshipman at the Naval Academy and then as a Nuclear Surface Warfare Officer. I am often asked why I left the military. It wasn’t because I hated or even disliked the job—in fact, I loved my work.
I left because it felt like my job was all there was to my life.
My interaction with the military began at 18 when I entered the Naval Academy. Like most college students, the next four years were filled with exciting self-discovery and newness—new people, cultures, ways of thinking, and more. When I graduated and commissioned, I felt prepared for my new role as a Division Officer and Ensign in the Navy. I had also developed a rich personal life outside of my academic and military “job,” one where I felt fulfilled mentally, physically, socially, and spiritually. I was excited to finally start my career.
I reported to my first ship and threw myself into learning the requisite skills and knowledge to be successful. I regularly stayed late, volunteered to come in on weekends, and gave up sleep if it meant being present for an interesting evolution. Due to my unit’s operational commitments, my schedule was challenging and erratic. Almost 14 of the first 21 months of my career were spent at sea. Even while in port, I had 24-hour ship-confined duty every sixth day.
With such a challenging schedule, I decided it didn’t feel worth it to try and pursue activities outside of work. I really enjoyed those early days of work and found them fulfilling. Because of those choices, I was successful professionally and received consistent praise from senior leadership. As weeks turned into months and months into years though, I began to realize there was an insidious side to all of those sacrifices.
Gradually, the thrill of learning that had accompanied my rapid knowledge increase went away. I’d developed a level of competence and relative expertise at my job, but those early habits I’d found while trying to “get up to speed” did not change. I was still arriving at the ship early and leaving late, now justifying the extra cost of my time as “being available to my Sailors.” I found those long hours spent at work less and less satisfying—the diminishing returns palpable.
Without my notice, my hobbies collected dust: electronics projects were left unfinished, cookbooks unopened, and mountain bike tires fell flat. The little time off I did have was spent surviving—wasting many hours in front of screens, drinking to relax in the evenings, and feeling disconnected from my community. I felt numb as I went through the motions. My sleep schedule worsened, not because of my enthusiasm to learn but from constant professional disruption. My patience for my Sailors and peers diminished. I felt constantly exhausted, lying in bed for longer and longer each morning after my alarm, and was frequently sick. My life felt suspended in limbo—not moving forward, not moving backwards. What I didn’t realize until much later was that I was experiencing all of the common symptoms of burnout, and many of the mental health challenges that accompany them.
One day, I woke up and could not avoid the question forming in my subconscious. Was this job, with all of its tedium, glory, and difficulty, actually worth it? Could I live the next twenty or more years of my life like this?
It was time to reevaluate my work for the sake of my life. Eight months later, I submitted the paperwork to separate from the U.S. Navy. I’m now taking time to travel and visit loved ones before I transition to a career in business this fall.
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I knew when I raised my right hand and swore an oath that the sacrifices of military service would be the reality of my life. What I didn’t expect, though, was that I would so fully internalize the priorities of the Navy, “Ship, shipmate, self,” that I would lose “self” entirely.
I recognize that others’ experiences differ from my story. Some have found better balance or a more sure sense-of-self while in the military. For me, I look back and wonder: if I were to complete those junior officer years again, knowing what I know now, would I have made decisions that enabled me to stay in my military career? Could I have built the type of life that would have made continued service a more sustainable option? And maybe most importantly, as I begin a new profession, can I prevent myself from experiencing the same burnout?
If I may, here is a bit of advice from a former Sailor:
If you’re a leader at any level, love and value your own time off work. Our Sailors, particularly those who are younger, look to us as models even in our personal lives. One of my favorite officers to work for was an incredibly intense and passionate man when it came to maintaining the highest professional standards. However, everyone knew that his passion extended to his time off of work as well. Whenever extra hours on the ship were required, we knew they were mission-critical, and we trusted him to not waste our time because we knew so clearly what he valued.
If you’re still serving, I encourage you to care for yourself like you want your people to care for themselves. Ask for help when you feel totally overwhelmed. When you can prioritize your sleep, do so. Try to avoid the nights where you come home, stare at a screen, sleep, and repeat. Try cooking a new recipe, drive the extra hour to that hike, or eat your takeout dinner with a friend. Go listen to the live music at your local bar, drop into a workout class, or join a book club if your schedule permits. Talk to people when you’re out in your community, even if you’ll be gone for the next few weeks for an exercise or underway.
The Navy needs good leaders—leaders who care about their people, who maintain high standards, who give a damn about the work that they do. But the only way to maintain that is to doggedly cultivate a life outside of work, to have sources of joy and inspiration and encouragement separate from your job. For the sake of the Navy and yourself, try to find that balance. Every day, get a little closer.
In a word, don’t passively let your years of military service happen to you. If you’re not vigilant, you will be consumed. Do what is required to ensure you can bring the best of yourself to your service. Take the same tenacity and determination with which you attack challenges on the ship or the battlefield to build a personal life worth living.
Marina Muenster is a U.S. Navy veteran who served as a Nuclear Surface Warfare Officer until January 2024. Her last assignment was onboard USS Nimitz, a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier. She is currently backpacking through Europe and looks forward to starting a career in business this fall.
