I stepped onto the USS Abraham Lincoln on July 7 at the Duqm port in Oman, just as the war with Iran was escalating again. I hadn’t even finished my first walk-through on the aircraft carrier when I learned that Iran hit a third tanker in the Strait of Hormuz and that US Central Command, which is carrying out the Pentagon’s war strategy, was gearing up to respond. I did my first live shot from the flight deck within an hour of boarding. “Your timing is impeccable,” one official messaged me.
What struck me was how little the crisis — which has led to the deaths of 18 US service members since it began in February — registered onboard. The next day was a “no fly day,” giving the crew downtime to reset after their short port visit. In the news while they did: US strikes on Iran from other naval assets, rising rhetoric on both sides as a tentative peace agreement between the US and Iran crumbled. At breakfast at 6 a.m. in the cafeteria (known as the mess deck), top enlisted crew members were remarkably calm. Most hadn’t been following the news, even with Wi-Fi onboard. They’d seen this cycle — escalation, then de-escalation — enough times that this felt routine, not alarming.
I’m writing this because a lot of the recent coverage of the Lincoln has centered on poor conditions and mental health struggles — and those stories are real and they matter. I didn’t get to see every nook and cranny of the ship, or talk to all of the roughly 5,000 crew members, though the Navy allowed us to roam freely for the most part with an escort and talk to whomever we wanted. We also pushed to see as much as we could in the short amount of time that we had.
Three days onboard the Lincoln, and dozens of conversations with sailors — both officers and enlisted — showed me something messier than a single narrative: genuine hardship alongside genuine resilience, sometimes in the same person, sometimes in the same sentence.
CNN recently reported that the Lincoln may break a record for a US carrier’s longest trip away from its home port, a nearly nine-month deployment that has prompted concerns from family members amid reports of instances of suicide ideation and crew members being rescued from the water.
Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth has said the conditions aboard have been “completely misrepresented,” while President Donald Trump said last week the deployment has been “not nearly long enough.” That sentiment did not go over well with many of the sailors I’m in touch with, and it’s important to understand the reality is far more complicated than a soundbite.
The food
At breakfast, our table had fresh fruit and vegetables — a recent development from the port visit. Iranian strikes had disrupted the supply chain through Bahrain early in the war, forcing a rationing period that sailors still talked about vividly and, then, a dearth of fresh food for many months. For a stretch, sailors told me, their meals were reduced to tuna mixed with noodles, or corn dogs. Several described losing significant weight.
By the time I arrived, that had eased. Food was plentiful, if not gourmet: 17,000 to 18,000 meals a day, largely from frozen stock, on a 14-day rotation sailors know by heart (“pizza day,” “burger day”), with morale-boosting events like ice cream socials. Young enlisted sailors still wait up to an hour in line for each meal — a grind that wears on people fast. Many told me they were dreaming of their first meal back home: Chinese food, Chipotle, a mother’s homemade bolognese.
One sailor, who messaged me after I left the ship, put it plainly: “Food has slightly increased in edibility, if I was asked a few months ago I would say a lot of people were losing weight due to the food.”
That’s not a five-star review. It’s also not the crisis some coverage has implied — it’s a supply chain that broke, then partially recovered, described honestly by the people living in a ship that has been out to sea in rough conditions.
“Lincoln is operating in a highly contested environment where traditional supply hubs in the Middle East were disrupted by combat actions,” the Navy said in a statement. “In response, leadership prioritized mission-critical supplies: first food, then hygiene items, then mail.”
Conditions onboard
I shared quarters with my photographer and producer in the guest section, below near-constant jet launches. The communal officers’ bathroom I used had hot water but needed a good scrub. Reports from elsewhere on board featured stories about backed-up toilets that, in some cases, were unusable.
The same sailor from above messaged me: “We’ve had black mold around the ship for awhile. It’s crazy to think that you can be just standing in line waiting for chow or even walking out of the shower and the ceiling drips mold onto your face, shoulders, arms, or head.”
I didn’t notice widespread black mold, though I felt drops falling from the ceiling more than once in different parts of the ship. I can’t speak to conditions in enlisted berthing and their bathrooms, which matters. There’s a a real class divide on aircraft carriers, where facilities in the wardroom and officer spaces are different from what’s in the communal enlisted berthing and “racks” below. The same applies to food accommodations.
Navy officials said in a statement that mold on the ship is addressed: “Lincoln does not have chronic problems with mold in showers,” the statement said. “Sailors routinely clean their own bathrooms and showers and replace shower curtains when needed. If mold or grime is noticed, it is addressed very quickly.”
I asked our CNN photojournalist, John Torigoe, what he thought about the conditions during our short stay. He said: “I showered with hot water on demand — it was great with no restrictions on time usage. Yes, I saw mold and old pipes. Was it expected? Absolutely, with the amount of time at sea. I was amazed at how professional these sailors were.”
“Both things are true,” Torigoe said. “The ship shows real wear after months at sea. The sailors running it impressed nearly everyone who spent time with them.” He added he took quick showers, knowing it took nuclear energy to produce hot water.
Our producer, Mick Krever, said there were some plumbing issues that were quickly resolved, and we both agreed it felt claustrophobic at times even on a large ship. The passageways are narrow and I was surprised to learn the younger enlisted sailors typically don’t go out on the flight deck unless it is part of their duties.
One sailor told me in a text message: “it’s hard to explain the loneliness you have on a deployment that’s 9 plus months. Of course you can create new friendships and grow a closer bond with people you work with or get use to being around, but you still somehow feel alone. The best example I can think of to relate to the feeling would be, imagining you are locked in a small room with a bunch of space to walk around in somehow but at the same time, you have zero privacy.”
Morale and uncertainty
Nearly half the crew is in their mid-20s or younger, many on their first or second deployment. Some described low morale, repetitive work and 12-to-16-hour days with almost no time off — “Groundhog Day,” several called it. Others said this deployment felt better than their last simply because they had Wi-Fi. Others talked about the camaraderie, describing the crew as a second family.
What came up again and again wasn’t food, low supplies, mold or slow mail — it was the open-ended extension. Another sailor explained it this way in a message to me:
Leadership told me they’d deliberately avoided setting a firm return date after giving sailors false hope before. That caution is understandable — and it’s also, by their own account, the biggest source of anxiety on the ship.
One sailor reflected the grin-and-bear-it attitude that is common during long military conflicts.
Retired Adm. James Stavridis, who oversaw military operations in Afghanistan, Libya and the Balkans before leaving the Navy in 2013, said certainty of mission helps with morale.
“During the forever wars in Iraq and Afghanistan … our Army soldiers deployed into combat, ground combat for 12 months, but they had an end game and they knew that was coming,” he told CNN. “There wasn’t this sense of it just goes on and on like Sisyphus rolling the boulder up the mountain.”
Other military experts said the access to Wi-Fi makes it easier for sailors to send their complaints home, in real time, which heightens accountability.
Sailors are indeed using social media in real time to register their complaints directly to Hegseth and reporters like me.
What happened after I left
After I left, a sailor jumped overboard wearing a life jacket, then removed it, and his boots, in the water, according to eyewitnesses. He was rescued by helicopter. The Military Times has reported other attempted jumps, based on accounts from family members. Man-overboard incidents aren’t unique to the Lincoln, and mental health struggles have many causes — but this one reads as what it almost certainly was: a sailor in serious distress.
The Navy says there’s no widespread mental health crisis onboard. That may be technically true and still miss the point. In a floating city of 5,000 people, experiences vary enormously by job, age and rank — but some sailors are clearly struggling.
A Navy official told me suicidal ideations typically go up shortly after boarding the ship and then go down as sailors adjust. The official said that trend has been the case on the Lincoln as well. However, I do wonder how many don’t seek help because they may fear repercussions or feel ashamed.
For instance, I reviewed messages from one sailor to another about having to seek suicide counseling after he was found in a room crying, saying he wanted to kill himself.
The Navy does have a variety of mental health resources onboard I saw firsthand, including counselors, a therapy dog named Captain Fathom and chaplains who give a nightly prayer.
The narrative problem
We live in a moment in which stories flatten fast — either the ship is a disaster or the coverage is overblown. Neither is accurate. Conditions were bad, then better. Morale is low for some, fine for others, and driven less by mold than by not knowing for so long when they’re coming home.
Now with the USS George Washington on the way to provide relief, I’m told there’s a sense of cautious hope and optimism.
A father I spoke with said his child had positive feedback aboard the ship, but he also had pointed questions about why relief wasn’t faster and how military assets are being used. Is this generation of sailors being adequately prepared for deployments like this one? Why wasn’t there better planning for supply chain disruptions? Why has relief taken this long?
What isn’t in dispute is what these sailors have sacrificed. They deserve answers to those questions. They also deserve better than being reduced to a single storyline.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Help is available if you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts or mental health matters. In the US: Call or text 988, the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. Globally: The International Association for Suicide Prevention and Befrienders Worldwide have contact information for crisis centers around the world.
