She spent years in the military, then she had to figure out who she was.
Before she pursued technical writing, before she entered the world of program administration, before she even had the choice to decide what her future looked like, Rachel Pamela Wimbley belonged to the military.
Wimbley’s decision to enlist was a continuation of family legacy. With multiple family members having served, joining the military felt less like a decision and more like a natural next step. She enlisted before she was old enough to vote.
The rules, the expectations, the relentless structure shaped her before she had the chance to define herself.
“I was placed into a system that dictated my identity before I ever had the chance to form it for myself,” she says now. “I didn’t have someone telling me where to be, what to wear, what to pursue, what options I had. I had to figure out what my options even were.”
For years, she thrived within that structure, operating drones, analyzing intelligence, and working as a contractor in high-pressure aviation environments. She was precise. Disciplined. Necessary.
And then, one day, she wasn’t.
When she transitioned out of the military in 2021, there were no schedules, no orders—just the unfamiliar weight of personal choice.
“I only had myself to invest in,” she admits. “What did that even mean?”
Wimbley assumed she’d find her next mission. Instead, she found silence.
Every year, nearly 200,000 service members transition to civilian life, and between 27% and 44% report difficulties adjusting. The VA estimates that over half of post-9/11 veterans struggle with reintegration, whether due to employment barriers, mental health struggles, or the sheer unfamiliarity of unstructured civilian life.
Rachel was one of them.
“The first time I tried school (Central Texas College), it just… didn’t work,” she said. “I was overwhelmed, and once I started failing, I couldn’t stop.”
She considered her options. Many veterans struggling with civilian life return to the military. But for Wimbley, going back wasn’t an option.
“I had already spent so much time shaping myself into something other people expected me to be,” she said. “I wanted to see who I could be outside of all that.”
This time had to be different.
It started with one decision: show up.
Wimbley enrolled at Texas A&M University-Central Texas, but unlike before, she didn’t isolate herself.
“I was tired of being lonely,” she says. “So, I just kept showing up.”
At first, that meant going to the gym. Then, it meant joining pickup basketball and intramural volleyball, striking up conversations between games, pushing herself to be social even when it felt uncomfortable. Eventually, she began working with Campus Recreation itself—mentoring new students, helping organize events, and creating the same sense of belonging she had once searched for herself.
“It gave me a place to be, people to talk to. And when I started working there, it felt like I was paying it forward,” she says.
She also turned to the Student Wellness & Counseling Center, seeking structure in a new form: therapy.
“I’ve been seeing Dr. Amuna since I started here,” she says.
Dr. Carmelia Amuna is the Director of the Student Wellness & Counseling Center at Texas A&M University-Central Texas, the department at the university that provides therapy, mental health support, and wellness initiatives for students navigating academic and personal challenges.
Therapy aided Wimbley in managing anxiety, regulating emotions, and creating internal stability.
Between structured social support and self-discipline, Wimbley found stability, but her career path was still in flux.
Wimbley had enrolled in Computer Information Systems with a concentration in software and database design. It was a strong career choice.
The problem?
She didn’t see herself in it.
“I love writing and communicating,” she says. “I’m comfortable presenting in front of people, explaining things, instructing people—helping them understand.”
This gradual realization solidified when she landed an internship at Trideum Corporation. Trideum Corporation specializes in modeling, simulation, and operational evaluation for military defense systems—work that ensures new defense technologies function safely and effectively before they’re deployed. A single miscommunication in testing procedures could lead to failed equipment trials, costly setbacks, or safety risks.
“Engineers are brilliant, but they struggle with communicating,” she says, grinning. “That’s where I come in.”
Assigned to a technical editor role, she found herself translating highly technical material into something digestible—ensuring engineers, defense contractors, and military officials could all be on the same page.
She had never pictured herself in technical writing and program administration, but once she was in the role, it made sense.
“I discovered I was born to be the boss,” she jokes.
At one point, Wimbley had imagined herself as a software engineer at Amazon, locked into a predictable career.
Now, that idea felt foreign.
“I realized—no. I actually don’t like coding,” she says. “But I love organizing, structuring, leading projects. And that’s just as valuable.”
More than that, she had found something unexpected: respect.
“I feel well-supported. I feel trusted. I feel like I’m treated like a professional, despite being a student.”
And for the first time, she wasn’t in a rush to leave.“I used to think leaving Killeen was my goal. Now I’m realizing that staying and investing in the community might be just as valuable.”
Her career had spanned aviation, drones, military contracting, and now technical administration. But Wimbley only saw opportunities ahead.
“It’s the airplanes. It’s the drones. It’s the motorcycles,” she says, grinning. “What am I not riding? Soon, I’m going to be in, like, semi-trucks.”
With graduation approaching in December 2025, the path ahead feels clearer than ever. Technical writing was just the first step. Now, she’s shifting into program administration, learning how to run operations at scale.
For most of her career, she had been tracking movement—drones in flight, lines of code, paths laid out in perfect formation. But now, for the first time, she isn’t following the trajectory.
She’s writing it herself.