When Melissa Washington graduated from high school in California’s East Bay, outside of San Francisco, her future seemed set. She was on track to become a preschool teacher, studying early childhood education at a community college.
But a restlessness led her to a different kind of service.
In 1991, Washington walked into a mall recruiting center and gravitated toward the only branch that felt like a fit. She laughingly remembers seeing the pull-up bar in the Marine Corps office. She knew the bar and the Corps weren’t for her, but the Navy enticed her.
Her recruiter, a senior chief, was as nervous as he was determined.
“He said he never put a girl in… he was like, OK, we’re putting a girl ‘in there,’” Washington recalled.
The advice he gave about cutting her hair wasn’t necessary, and the gear he encouraged her to pack for boot camp had to be returned. Despite the hiccups, she was all in on a new life that would shape everything for her future.
From the shock of intense humidity of Orlando’s now‑closed recruit training center to the cultural shock of Meridian, Mississippi, the Navy introduced Washington to a broader, more complicated America.
“I come from California, from diversity, and to go to a city that is racist on all sides… it was very eye-opening for me to experience that,” she explained.
In Mississippi, Washington attended school to become a storekeeper, a role that would build an important foundation. Following graduation from A School, she was assigned to a rescue-salvage vessel out of Little Creek, Virginia. It was one of the few types of ships women were allowed to serve aboard at the time.
She was very soon deployed to the Mediterranean for six months as a 19-year-old, seeing the world for the first time. When she returned, Washington yearned to make it back to the West Coast. Not only did she want to get back home, but a Marine she met during A School was stationed in California.
The Navy told her if she wanted to get to San Diego, she’d have to figure it out herself, and she did.
Washington traded orders with another sailor and headed west, reporting to the USS Acadia, a destroyer tender in San Diego known in fleet lore as the “Love Boat.”
We Are The Mighty will let readers guess how it earned that moniker.
“We did a WestPac deployment for six months, and part of that time was spent in Somalia during Operation Restore Hope. I spent Christmas ’93 there,” Washington recalled.
In 1994, President Bill Clinton announced the decision to downsize America’s military. Her Marine boyfriend was about to become her husband, and recognizing how hard dual-military life was, she left the Navy.
“I got out of the Navy, we got married the next month, and the next month, he deployed for six months. That was my transition,” Washington said.
She was suddenly a Marine Corps wife, searching the classifieds and faxing her resume in a pre‑LinkedIn world. What finally opened a door was one of the least glamorous tasks from her Navy days: deck swabbing.
“I worked at a floor cleaning company as an office manager, and the only reason they hired me was because I know how to operate a floor buffer,” Washington laughed.
Despite the less-than-ideal role, she rose through the ranks quickly and became the area sales manager before transitioning into human resources and recruiting. Despite her career success, she and her husband were quietly battling infertility. With his frequent deployments and training, it was a difficult season to navigate.
When the Marine Corps moved them to Los Angeles, she continued fertility treatments through UCLA, but the couple ultimately pursued adoption through the county’s foster care system. Washington didn’t sugarcoat the process.
“It’s a very invasive process… medical examination, background checks… everything,” she explained.
They filled out “match sheets,” sat through the classes, and waited.
In August 2005, the phone rang. A 2-month-old baby girl needed a home. On September 1, 2005, as Hurricane Katrina battered the Gulf Coast, they brought her home.
“She just celebrated her 21st birthday,” Washington smiled.
Just three years later, her husband was approaching retirement from the Marine Corps. A promotion took the family to the Sacramento area, complete with full corporate relocation. Then came the financial crash just a year later.
Though Washington lost her job, she saw it as an opportunity to build something she saw as missing. She launched a job seekers group for professionals in Sacramento and began hosting LinkedIn workshops at her dining room table, teaching people how to build profiles and get seen by recruiters.
When a company asked her to run an ad for one of her workshops, a LinkedIn sales executive saw it. He reached out.
A conversation over coffee led to a four-year career at LinkedIn. During this time, she also wrote her first book, “Get Back to Work,” a no-nonsense guide to pursuing your next career move in a modern world. Her newfound career showed her the power of networking and the importance of connection.
Knowing there had to be other female veterans wanting to build community, she organized her first meetup.
“We could have shut down the restaurant,” Washington laughed.
The need was undeniable, and she began to organize monthly meetups.
“It just kept growing, and suddenly we needed a name, a website, and it became a business,” she explained.
What emerged was the Women Veterans Alliance, now a global organization serving women worldwide. Its mission is deceptively simple: connection, visibility, and opportunity.
She also added the Women Veterans Giving nonprofit, awarding thousands in grants to women veteran entrepreneurs to start or expand their businesses.
“I refinanced my house. I’ve done all these things to do what I love to do,” she admitted. “We talk about a passion; I’m very passionate about it for sure, but this is my purpose.”
Under her leadership, it has become the go-to hub for women veterans. There’s a directory of women-veteran-owned businesses and even speakers. Recently, she added an event series, Women Veterans Engage, which takes place at strategic locations across the country.
Washington described herself as someone who sees the dots and connects them, rather than seeing things in silos.
“You miss 100% of the shots you never take,” she added.
Washington has built something she once needed herself: a place to belong. Every conference, directory, brunch, or call is about more than networking. It’s about women veterans being seen, counted and cared for by each other and by the systems that promised to be there when the uniform came off.
Don’t Miss the Best of We Are The Mighty
• No one showed up for rural military towns like hers. Michelle Lang did.
• Richard Brookshire sued the VA for its own data. It proved Black veterans right.
• Kenneth Fisher’s relentless commitment to America’s military families
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