Retired Chief explains deployment stress,
I’ve watched the reaction to what’s happening aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln, and some of the comments from veterans bother me more than anything I’ve read about the ship itself.
So let me say this as someone who did six aircraft carrier deployments:
Deployments fucking suck.
They sucked 30 years ago. They suck today.
Even a normal six-month deployment means being separated from your family, working 14–16 hour days, seven days a week, living inside a steel city where your workplace, bedroom, dining room and entire existence are separated by a few ladders and passageways.
There are no weekends.
There is no going home after a bad day.
There is no getting in your car and driving somewhere just to clear your head.
There is work, chow, sleep, repeat.
And nostalgia is a hell of a drug.
Twenty years later, we remember the port calls, the friendships, the funny stories and the pride. Human beings have a remarkable ability to sand the rough edges off our memories.
We forget how fucking tired we were.
I did six carrier deployments ranging from about six months to 9½ months. That 9½-month deployment was during OEF and the Iraq War. It was long. It was hot. We hit four ports.
And I remember what extended time at sea did to people.
Put 5,000–6,000 sailors on an aircraft carrier and you're going to have thousands of people experiencing that deployment differently.
Some are doing fine.
Some are struggling.
Some are hanging on by their fingertips.
You don't know which one you're talking to.
That's what bothers me about the veterans sitting comfortably at home telling today's sailors to “suck it up.”
The Abraham Lincoln has now been deployed for more than 260 days and spent more than 200 consecutive days at sea without a port call. Sailors and families have raised concerns about supplies, living conditions, exhaustion and mental health. Some of the more sensational claims have been disputed by Navy leadership, and the media hasn't always done a great job separating verified facts from allegations. The George Washington is now moving to relieve her.
But here's the thing:
We don't need to exaggerate anything to recognize that this is brutal.
More than 200 straight days at sea is enough.
Nine months of uncertainty is enough.
Months without stepping onto land is enough.
Now add the strain of operating in a combat environment and the uncertainty surrounding when you're coming home.
Then add civilian leadership sending mixed messages about the mission and its duration.
President Trump was asked about concerns that these sailors had been deployed too long.
His response?
“Not nearly long enough.”
That's the part that should bother every veteran.
You don't have to oppose the mission.
You don't have to oppose the President.
You don't have to believe every anonymous report coming off that ship.
You simply have to remember that there are human beings underneath those uniforms.
For years we've talked about the veteran suicide crisis. The old “22 a day” statistic is outdated, but the reality remains horrific: according to the latest VA data, 6,398 veterans died by suicide in 2023. That's 17.5 every single day.
So how the hell did we go from “support the troops” to “suck it up” the moment troops actually started saying they're struggling?
I've seen veterans calling these sailors soft while bragging about the six-month deployment they completed 20 years ago.
That's not toughness.
That's ego.
Your suffering doesn't invalidate someone else's suffering.
Your ability to endure something doesn't establish the minimum amount of suffering everyone after you should be required to endure.
And leadership isn't measured by how much misery you're willing to impose on people beneath you.
Real strength is empathy.
Real strength is noticing the sailor who's starting to withdraw.
It's asking someone if they're okay and actually sticking around long enough to hear the answer.
It's suspending your ego long enough to understand that another person's breaking point doesn't have to look like yours.
It's remembering what those long nights in the middle of the ocean actually felt like instead of rewriting your own deployment into some heroic test that today's sailors supposedly aren't tough enough to pass.
I was a Navy Chief.
If one of my sailors told me he was reaching his breaking point, my first thought wouldn't have been:
"Well, I had it worse."
My first question would have been:
"What do you need?"
Somewhere along the way, a piece of this country confused cruelty with toughness.
It isn't.
And when veterans start participating in that cruelty toward the generation currently standing the watch, something has gone deeply wrong.
Those sailors aren't weak.
They're tired.
They're human.
And right now they're doing exactly what we once asked Americans to recognize when we were deployed:
They're serving their country while carrying burdens most Americans will never see.
Support the fucking troops.
Especially when they're struggling.
I’ve watched the reaction to what’s happening aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln, and some of the comments from veterans bother me more than anything I’ve read about the ship itself.
So let me say this as someone who did six aircraft carrier deployments:
Deployments fucking suck.
They sucked 30 years ago. They suck today.
Even a normal six-month deployment means being separated from your family, working 14–16 hour days, seven days a week, living inside a steel city where your workplace, bedroom, dining room and entire existence are separated by a few ladders and passageways.
There are no weekends.
There is no going home after a bad day.
There is no getting in your car and driving somewhere just to clear your head.
There is work, chow, sleep, repeat.
And nostalgia is a hell of a drug.
Twenty years later, we remember the port calls, the friendships, the funny stories and the pride. Human beings have a remarkable ability to sand the rough edges off our memories.
We forget how fucking tired we were.
I did six carrier deployments ranging from about six months to 9½ months. That 9½-month deployment was during OEF and the Iraq War. It was long. It was hot. We hit four ports.
And I remember what extended time at sea did to people.
Put 5,000–6,000 sailors on an aircraft carrier and you're going to have thousands of people experiencing that deployment differently.
Some are doing fine.
Some are struggling.
Some are hanging on by their fingertips.
You don't know which one you're talking to.
That's what bothers me about the veterans sitting comfortably at home telling today's sailors to “suck it up.”
The Abraham Lincoln has now been deployed for more than 260 days and spent more than 200 consecutive days at sea without a port call. Sailors and families have raised concerns about supplies, living conditions, exhaustion and mental health. Some of the more sensational claims have been disputed by Navy leadership, and the media hasn't always done a great job separating verified facts from allegations. The George Washington is now moving to relieve her.
But here's the thing:
We don't need to exaggerate anything to recognize that this is brutal.
More than 200 straight days at sea is enough.
Nine months of uncertainty is enough.
Months without stepping onto land is enough.
Now add the strain of operating in a combat environment and the uncertainty surrounding when you're coming home.
Then add civilian leadership sending mixed messages about the mission and its duration.
President Trump was asked about concerns that these sailors had been deployed too long.
His response?
“Not nearly long enough.”
That's the part that should bother every veteran.
You don't have to oppose the mission.
You don't have to oppose the President.
You don't have to believe every anonymous report coming off that ship.
You simply have to remember that there are human beings underneath those uniforms.
For years we've talked about the veteran suicide crisis. The old “22 a day” statistic is outdated, but the reality remains horrific: according to the latest VA data, 6,398 veterans died by suicide in 2023. That's 17.5 every single day.
So how the hell did we go from “support the troops” to “suck it up” the moment troops actually started saying they're struggling?
I've seen veterans calling these sailors soft while bragging about the six-month deployment they completed 20 years ago.
That's not toughness.
That's ego.
Your suffering doesn't invalidate someone else's suffering.
Your ability to endure something doesn't establish the minimum amount of suffering everyone after you should be required to endure.
And leadership isn't measured by how much misery you're willing to impose on people beneath you.
Real strength is empathy.
Real strength is noticing the sailor who's starting to withdraw.
It's asking someone if they're okay and actually sticking around long enough to hear the answer.
It's suspending your ego long enough to understand that another person's breaking point doesn't have to look like yours.
It's remembering what those long nights in the middle of the ocean actually felt like instead of rewriting your own deployment into some heroic test that today's sailors supposedly aren't tough enough to pass.
I was a Navy Chief.
If one of my sailors told me he was reaching his breaking point, my first thought wouldn't have been:
"Well, I had it worse."
My first question would have been:
"What do you need?"
Somewhere along the way, a piece of this country confused cruelty with toughness.
It isn't.
And when veterans start participating in that cruelty toward the generation currently standing the watch, something has gone deeply wrong.
Those sailors aren't weak.
They're tired.
They're human.
And right now they're doing exactly what we once asked Americans to recognize when we were deployed:
They're serving their country while carrying burdens most Americans will never see.
Support the fucking troops.
Especially when they're struggling.
