“Your resume is kind of all over the place.”
That’s what a recruiter told me recently after I applied for a job I was perfect for. This stranger only knew me from two pages on a computer screen in front of him -- a cover letter and a résumé.
What looked “all over the place” on paper was actually a life of service, adaptability and leadership across wildly different, but deeply connected spaces. I laughed nervously and stumbled over my words as I tried to explain that my résumé looked the way it did because I’m a military spouse. Supporting my husband’s career meant moving every three years -- and that kind of instability leaves a mark.
As a veteran myself, I served for 10 years in the Marine Corps working on fighter jets and helicopters, with a three-year stretch as a recruiter (or, as a résumé workshop suggested, “a talent acquisition specialist”). After leaving the military, I used my GI Bill benefits to earn a bachelor’s degree in agriculture and leadership, then landed a civilian job in health-care consulting. I taught myself Salesforce and pivot tables via “YouTube University.”
Then comes the dreaded employment gap. A big one. During my “sabbatical” (as I like to call it), I focused on volunteer work because our family was stationed in Yuma, Arizona -- an employment desert in every sense of the word. Those years of volunteering for military service organizations gave me many networking opportunities. A friend I met through volunteer work referred me to my current job at a small communications consulting firm founded by a military spouse. It is a dream job. As a communications strategist on a federal subcontract, I work on behalf of the Department of Veterans Affairs on its largest mental-health awareness project.
This position allows me to give back to the veteran community while leveraging the skills I’ve gained through lived experience. As a veteran who has personally navigated mental-health challenges, this work is deeply personal. It is also fully remote, giving me the flexibility to work from anywhere -- a rare and invaluable benefit for military families. My job moved with us as we PCS’ed from the West Coast to the East Coast, allowing me to maintain continuity in my career for the first time. For the past three years, I have been thriving and finally making a meaningful contribution to my family’s finances.
On Feb. 25, just after finishing my own mental-health appointment at the VA, I got a call from my boss. Due to federal budget cuts, our company was likely not going to be awarded the contract for the upcoming year. My stomach dropped. Part of me had been bracing for this. After seeing the wave of federal layoffs under this administration, I knew my federally adjacent job could be next.
I immediately called my husband.
“I think I just lost my job,” I told him, and then I broke down.
I walked out of therapy feeling stable, only to be hit with instability and uncertainty.
These past few weeks have been some of the most isolating I’ve ever experienced. One reason is that I’m not considered a federal worker. I worked in the private sector, supporting a federal contract. When I see protests and advocacy efforts for federal employees on the news or social media, I don’t feel represented. I feel forgotten.
As a military spouse, that feeling isn’t unfamiliar. We’re often in the background, quietly holding things together while our spouses serve. But this time, I’m not only overlooked. I’m left behind.
There’s been important momentum around reinstating military spouses and veterans into federal jobs, and I celebrate that progress. But people like me -- those who work adjacent to the system without formally being part of it -- fall through the cracks. We’re not part of those advocacy efforts. And right now, our exclusion -- intentional or not -- feels loud.
Perhaps that’s because it seems like the general public doesn’t understand the difference between a federal employee and a federal contractor. We’re often grouped in with federal employees, even though we don’t receive the same protections or resources.
Well-intentioned friends and acquaintances have encouraged me to join social media groups for federal employees or invited me to military spouse circles rallying to navigate the complexities of what the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) and the Office of Personnel Management (OPM) are doing. Those spaces aren’t built for people like me. I’m not a government employee. I don’t have the protections or pathways that come with that status. I’m in the in-between, but I -- and people like me -- shouldn’t be.
Behind nearly every federal agency is a network of contractors working in the background to keep things running. When federal budgets are slashed and contracts aren’t renewed, it’s not just federal employees who are impacted; entire teams of private sector workers lose their livelihoods with little to no warning and virtually no safety net.
For military spouses and veterans working as contractors, these layoffs are especially devastating. Many military spouses face chronic unemployment and underemployment due to frequent moves. According to a report by the D’Aniello Institute for Veterans and Military Families at Syracuse University, 33% of military spouses are underemployed despite high education levels. According to a study published by the nonprofit Rand Corporation, 25.8% of service members are considered food insecure, and the loss of a secondary source of income could significantly worsen these already critical financial challenges.
A month after being told I was likely losing my job, I found myself in another therapy appointment, still trying to process weeks of anxiety and uncertainty, when my phone buzzed. I glanced down and saw a message from my boss: Check your email. I opened it: Our contract had been renewed.
The irony hit me hard. A month earlier, I had walked out of a mental-health appointment and found out I was likely losing my job. Now, in the middle of another session meant to help me cope with that blow, I was suddenly told that I still had one. I exhaled, but the relief is complicated. It doesn’t erase the fear, the spiral or the emotional weight of preparing for loss.
And while my story may have taken a turn for the better, that’s not the case for everyone. Many of my colleagues aren’t so lucky. Contractors, veterans, military spouses -- people doing mission-driven work with heart and hustle -- were overlooked entirely in conversations and advocacy efforts for federal workers.
I don’t know exactly what the future holds, but I do know this: The sudden layoffs and catastrophic federal budget cuts we’ve seen don’t just affect government employees. They ripple out quietly, hitting those who work beside the system -- contractors, spouses, veterans -- often without the safety nets others take for granted. We may not have the titles or protections, but we’ve done the work. By excluding federal contractors from the conversation, we’re leaving a critical part of the workforce exposed to sudden job loss, with no safety net and no recognition.
Hana Romer is a Marine Corps veteran, military spouse and communications strategist currently supporting the Department of Veterans Affairs as a federal subcontractor. She is a passionate advocate for military families and veterans. Hana lives in North Carolina with her active-duty Marine husband, their two children and their dog.
