Right on command six-hundred and seventy new Airman slightly lifted their left foot, placing it down perfectly in line with the combat boot in front of them, shoulder width apart, snapping their arms behind their back, palms facing out, right over left. It was finally graduation day. I was near the back of the formation in the fourth column of the twelfth row. Right on cue, “God Bless the USA” played its first note. As the song of my childhood choir concerts played, our Military Training Instructor methodically, row by row, congratulated each of her Trainees. As she approached me, I discreetly wiped the sweat beading in my palms on the back of the camouflage uniform. She stood in front of me and I snapped to attention, straight as a rod. Her face stone cold, she shook my hand and handed me the coin that represented my completion of seven and a half weeks of rigorous training. Just before she stepped to the next row, her eyes sparkled with pride.

“Congratulations, Airman.”

Tears sprang to my eyes as I heard a voice filled with compassion instead of anger. Quickly I shook them away. As I focused on the words of the song I’d sung since grade school and the cheers of our loved ones, goose bumps covered my body. And I won’t forget the men that died, who gave that right to me. And I gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today. I stood a little taller, bearing the weight of the commitment I had made just eight weeks before. The fear still rested just below my heart, swirling in my chest, waiting for the day I would have to be the brave Airman the world expected me to be. The fear of training had slowly turned into the fear of commitment. That day the fear was not the commitment itself but the fear of failing to be the hero I swore to all Americans I would be, when moments before I was just a girl.

A few weeks hadn’t changed that. In the end, I still loved painting my nails and using “better than sex” mascara. I still wore dresses and blushed at the brown eyed boy who told me I was pretty. I was trained to defend myself and others at all costs, but I still cried when I saw an animal hit on the side of the road or a homeless man with no shoes. Standing there surrounded by people I swore I would protect, I still felt like just a girl. A girl in a uniform with her hair pulled back and no mascara lining her lashes. A girl who kept up the cute brown eyed boys in the obstacle course she dreaded for weeks. I was the girl who hit 22 out of 25 shots with her dusty M16 on the first try. I was an honor grad, strong and confident in my abilities, but still afraid beyond belief that when push came to shove, I would still just be a girl and not a hero.