Editor’s note: This article first appeared on The War Horse, an award-winning nonprofit news organization educating the public on military service, under the headline “I don’t want to be stuck.’ Meet the military families who love to move.” Subscribe to their newsletter.
Soldier Josh Meltz and his wife, Rubi, were exhausted as they pulled into the Texas RV park, their motor home stuffed to the gills with five children and the detritus of a quick military move. The Army family was still reeling from their sooner-than-anticipated leave from Fort Huachuca in Arizona.
Their PCS (permanent change of station) orders — Josh’s fifth since joining the service 18 years ago — were for Fort Hood. The timeline? Report in three days. The Meltzes made the more than 900-mile trip to central Texas in a Milestone Fifth Wheel, their full-time home on wheels.
“It was dark, and it was kind of on the edge of town,” Rubi said about the family’s inauspicious arrival in their latest hometown. “They had cattle fencing, and I just watched the RV pull the cattle fence right along with it.”
Even with that kind of PCS mishap, Rubi, a 15-year Army wife, prefers the transient military life to sinking roots into just one location: “I’m very much so a free spirit,” she said.
But those moves that the military calls permanent changes of station could be decreasing soon, and the Meltzes and other military families are vocalizing their displeasure.
Ever since the Pentagon in May directed the secretaries of military services to come up with a plan by this month to cut in half their PCS budgets by 2030, there’s been a surprising revolt brewing among some military-connected social groups. The reasons for their dismay may be varied — love of travel, toxic military leadership, stagnated careers — but their message is the same:
Don’t you dare touch our precious PCSs.
Moving every 2.5 years?
At first blush, opposing an effort to reduce mandatory moves seems baffling. How on earth could someone love a lifestyle connected to higher spouse unemployment and loss of income, greater risk of eating disorders in children, and increased psychological stress in romantic partners, among other disadvantages?
The Pentagon doesn’t appear to have any statistics that break down pro- vs. anti-PCS military families, but it’s hard to assume any military spouse or child would crave the headache of moving — potentially across the world — every 2.5 years, on average.
Throw in the double dose of aggravation when moves don’t go smoothly. This summer, the Pentagon abruptly canceled a new contract with a company in charge of PCS moves after families complained of scheduling snafus, missed pickups, and other delays. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth promised changes and raised reimbursement rates for families who managed their own moves to 130% of the costs the government would have paid under its contract.
The DOD said it’s pushing its broader initiative to “lower PCS costs while enhancing geographic stability for Service members and their families.”
About 400,000 service members participate in a permanent change of station moves every year, with even more family members along for the ride. Popular culture often depicts military kids and spouses as sad to be hitting the road every few years (think of the Lifetime series Army Wives or the recent Pixar film Elio). At a bare minimum, departure scenes are rarely positive.
And yet exhilaration is usually what Rubi Meltz, now the mother of seven, feels when her husband gets orders. Sometimes, it’s an emotion that stems from negative experiences at specific locations, like when her family dealt with mold in base housing at NCBC Gulfport in 2018, before they moved to full-time RV life.
But even when it’s not, she just enjoys the get-up-and-go: “I like going new places,” she said, rattling off visits to SeaWorld, the Perot Museum of Nature and Science, rodeos, and the mountain-climbing in Arizona, “doing new things.”
Advent of the modern PCS
Geographical darts and dashes have been a part of military life for millennia, but the modern American PCS system didn’t gain its wings until the World War II era. In 1942, Congress passed the Dependents Allowance Act, assuming official responsibility for military families.
Four years later, with the advent of DODEA schools, spouses and children could officially PCS overseas for the first time with their sponsor (though only to specific countries). Next came their own “Dependents Medical Care Act” in 1956. Unless it was for combat or other unusual circumstances, it seemed, the military family moved as a cohesive mobile unit, even in the eyes of the government.
But why are PCSs even necessary in the first place? The answers are plentiful: high personnel needs for operations in about 80 countries, opportunities for troops to develop new skills, promotion and career progression requirements, even physical or mental health needs of a service or family member.
The government, for its part, acknowledges the difficulties in PCSing — at least for its budget. The DOD memorandum places the yearly cost of PCSing its service members at $5 billion. And though there is no publicly available annual chart detailing the specific year-by-year PCS costs, a 2015 Government Accountability Office report found that the average per-PCS, adjusted-for-inflation cost had jumped by 28% in the previous 13 years. The Military Family Advisory Network, meanwhile, calculated in 2020 that PCSing families faced, on average, around $5,000 in out-of-pocket costs — even after reimbursements. Yes, sometimes movers pack hands-off items like library books and ship them to England, leading to beaucoup late fees.
But if it means escaping a bad boss, some military families are willing to eat it.
Troublingly toxic
First Lt. Jonathan Shour, a Navy chaplain, has been both an airman and a sailor. One of the 42 plaintiffs in Alvarado v. Austin after refusing the mandated Covid-19 shot, Shour was restricted from moving his family to his next installation, according to the lawsuit.
The turmoil kept them in a perpetual “in-between” state, with the family (including his pregnant wife, Rebecca, their three young children, and the dog) stuck in a hotel for more than half the year. Besides being hard on herself and their children, Rebecca watched her husband struggle mentally alongside his career.
“Our family has suffered, especially at the most recent two” commands, said Rebecca Shour. “We have all had to be in counseling, and our only hope for better is to PCS.”
Who wouldn’t want an escape hatch from a difficult job or boss? But Rebecca, an admitted extrovert, likes to pack up her life even during the good times. The reason she and the kids stayed behind in Jacksonville, North Carolina, near Camp Lejeune when Jonathan was recently assigned to Norfolk, Virginia, is because he’s been away from home for months at a time on deployment.
“Generally speaking, I enjoy the PCS process,” she said, something she’s done six times before to Idaho, Italy, Montana, Texas, North Carolina, and Virginia. “I enjoy that it allows me to go through my stuff and downsize and clean and organize, because I love to clean and organize. It’s a built-in bonus for me.”
Sixteen-year-old Elijah Meltz, Rubi and Josh Meltz’ son, feels similarly. Living with several siblings and two parents in an RV forces him to pare down regularly, but he doesn’t mind. He’s happy with three pairs of shoes (flip-flops, tennis shoes, and boots) and a small amount of clothes. “I don’t like having a whole lot of stuff,” he told The War Horse.
The Meltzes are more than itching to move on from Fort Hood, where the family has been since 2021 entangled in military bureaucracy, bungled paperwork partly related to Josh’s switch from the Marine Corps to the Army, and a battle with what Rubi calls a “toxic command.”
A PCS could help with that.
“I don’t want to be stuck here another two years,” Elijah said. “I’m hoping we can go somewhere else, even in Texas.”
Made to meander
Unlike Rubi and Elijah Meltz, Army wife Sarah Speckhart didn’t grow up moving a lot. Her childhood stayed geographically stable in Quincy, Illinois. But as soon as she moved out in young adulthood, she felt the call of the open road — at least, within 90 minutes of her hometown.
Marrying into the military eight years ago gave her a chance to expand those borders.
“I like to be having a new challenge, both professionally and personally,” said Speckhart, a public health educator currently living in Mississippi, where her husband, Ben, is deputy commander of the Vicksburg district Army Corps of Engineers. “I really like experiencing different parts of the country, you know, going from the dry desert and cool mountain hikes that are in west Texas to now being in Mississippi and it’s raining every single day and everything is green.”
Maybe that’s why the idea of fewer PCSs — something she’s done five times already, with Fort Bliss clocking in at three years, her longest stay — doesn’t sit right with Sarah. Plus, more moves keep military readiness at a higher level, in her opinion.
“The best way to be ready at all times is for everyone to be on their toes at all times,” she said. “It brings in fresh ideas.”
And contrary to the notion that military children, with their constant uprootedness, suffer, Sarah believes that moving every few years is actually a positive for her three sons.
“My oldest is five, and this is his first PCS where he has a lot of tangible change in his life,” Sarah said, noting the way he marched into a new church and kindergarten with zero hesitation. “I do think some people see it the other way and they want their kids to have some stability, but … I think it’s a good thing they are a little bit unstable. They’re just challenged more.”
Navy wife and developmental psychologist Julia Priftis says that that can be a very good thing.
“Military kids are provided a life of travel, excitement, and new environments, which is something that is worth so much,” said Priftis, a mother of two. “Our job as parents is to create future adults—creating kids to thrive in any environment.”
Multiple moves in childhood can accomplish that — so if the DOD takes them away, or at least drastically culls their number, then what? In the middle of a PCS from Germany to Rhode Island, Priftis knows: fewer opportunities to develop resilience.
“If you grow up in the same area not meeting new people,” she said, “your world can be so small.”
But in wandering through a great big world, replete with an ever-changing rotation of faces, maybe the equation flips. Priftis pointed out that when the expectation of what life will be like mismatches with reality, that’s when problems arise — say, when a military family expects only a few years in a location but gets far more when orders are extended.
She brought up her own father, who, though a civilian, was often gone for his job. “I don’t know any different,” she said. “If [my father] came home for a month at a time, it would be like, ‘Ugh, this is too much for me.’” So when a military spouse or child gets into the flow of “here today, gone tomorrow,” it can be jarring to suddenly face the idea of spending several years in the same spot.
In that way, she said, maybe moving around all the time actually serves as rootedness. Perhaps their accompanying emotions — sadness, irritation, anxiety, even anger — mirror those of a hometown kid being forced to pack up and leave stability behind for the first time: They simply don’t want to abandon what they know.
And what so many military families know is PCSing. But eight-year-old Aurora Meltz thinks she has the perfect solution to the plight of both sides.
“I think,” she said, “the families should get to choose.”
This War Horse story was edited by Mike Frankel, fact-checked by Jess Rohan, and copy-edited by Mitchell Hansen-Dewar. Hrisanthi Pickett wrote the headlines.
