“I Got Mine, So F*** You”: The Quiet Rot in Our Ranks

“I got mine, so f*** you” isn’t something most people in the military or veteran community say out loud. You won’t see it printed on a t-shirt or shouted at a town hall. But you’ll feel it — in the apathy, the actions, and especially the inaction that too often replace the sense of duty we once lived by.

It’s not a phrase, it’s a translation of every shrug, every “that’s just how it is,” and every “at least you get something.” It’s what happens when empathy gives way to exhaustion and when community turns into competition.

This quiet rot, this unspoken indifference, is spreading, and it’s costing us far more than benefits. It’s costing us the brotherhood and sisterhood that used to define us.

A System Designed to Divide

Let’s be honest- the system counts on us to stay divided.

Every line of legislation, every eligibility clause, every bureaucratic obstacle seems designed to pit us against each other. Combat vs. non-combat. Active duty vs. Guard and Reserve. 100% P&T vs. 90%. Spouse vs. parent. Surviving Spouse/Next of Kin vs. Gold Star Spouse.

By the time we finish arguing over who “deserves more,” the policymakers who built the maze are free to make it even harder to navigate.

It’s not a coincidence that benefits are inconsistent, or that surviving spouses can be denied support based on one checkbox or date. These aren’t accidents, they’re strategies. And as long as we’re busy fighting each other for crumbs, no one at the top ever has to explain why the pie keeps shrinking.

The Culture of “Sucks to Be You”

We’ve all heard it:

“At least you get DIC.”
“You knew what you were signing up for.”
“My husband was 100% disabled before he died — so I earned mine.”
“You should have remarried.”

Each of those sentences carries the same message: your pain doesn’t count as much as mine.

Over time, those small dismissals turn into something corrosive. The more we normalize this “sucks to be you” attitude, the more disconnected we become from the values we once held sacred.

The military taught us “leave no one behind.” But after the paperwork replaces the mission, that creed seems to fade into “sorry, that’s just policy.”

This isn’t who we were meant to be.

We Rise or Fall Together

When one of us is struggling, all of us are weaker, and when we stop caring about the struggles of others because our own needs are finally met, we give away the very strength that made this community resilient.

If a surviving spouse is denied a homestead tax exemption because her veteran died from toxic exposure instead of combat- and we shrug- then we’re silently agreeing that some sacrifices matter more than others.

If a veteran’s child can’t access education benefits, or a widow is told her DIC isn’t eligible for cost-of-living increases, and we say “that’s not my problem,” we’re helping the system justify its next round of cuts.

This isn’t about generosity- it’s about survival.
We rise or fall together. Always have. Always will.

A Personal Note

When my husband, Sgt. Jeremy “Jay” Seals died on active duty from a service-connected illness, and I learned firsthand how deep those cracks go.

Because his death wasn’t in combat, and because of how Texas law was written at the time, I was denied the same property tax exemption that another widow- whose husband died differently- automatically received.

Same loss. Same service. Same sacrifice.
Different checkbox. Different outcome.

But what hurt most wasn’t just the denial, it was the silence. The indifference from others in the community who said, “Well, that’s just how it is.”

That’s the quiet echo of “I got mine.”
And that echo lingers far longer than the paperwork.

Rebuilding the Brotherhood (and Sisterhood)

The “I got mine” mentality is easy- it’s the path of least resistance. But it’s also the path that leads to disconnection and decay.

We can do better.
We have to do better.

We need to remember why we served, or why our loved ones did not, for individual gain, but for the person beside us, behind us, and after us.

When one of us is denied, all of us should feel the sting. When one of us is forgotten, the rest should show up not with pity, but with purpose.

Solidarity isn’t sentimental. It’s strategic. It’s how we protect each other when the system won’t.

Final Thought

If one veteran, one spouse, or one child is left behind, then none of us have “got ours.”

It’s time to retire that unspoken motto, that quiet, cruel translation of apathy, and return to the one that actually built this community:

“No one left behind.”

Because if we don’t fight for each other, no one else will.