Reflections on resilience, inner peace, and learning to breathe again.
Today is Veteran’s Day — a day of honor, service, and sacrifice. And it also happens to be 11/11. I’ve always held a personal connection to this date — I actually have 11/11 tattooed on my ring finger. It’s been a quiet reminder to trust divine timing, to stay open, and to believe in alignment even when the path ahead doesn’t make complete sense.
My time in the military shaped me in ways I’m still learning to articulate — it taught me discipline, adaptability, and how to keep going even when the way forward isn’t clear. And this year, I found myself returning to those lessons in a completely different context, outside the uniform, in a season of personal transition and rebuilding.
This year didn’t unfold according to the plan I once imagined. And I think it’s important to say — I wasn’t just swept into change. I chose it. I walked away from a secure, stable, and lucrative career because something inside me knew I was meant for a different chapter. I stepped out in faith, trusting that alignment would carry me further than familiarity ever could. But choosing faith doesn’t exempt you from difficulty. If anything, it stretches you into exactly the areas you were avoiding.
When everything shifted — when I had to leave my home sooner than expected, navigate a slow job market, and simultaneously build a business from scratch. It wasn’t just stressful… it was disorienting. There were days where I felt myself slipping into old patterns of high-alert and self-protection. Patterns I thought I had already healed. But this time, I realized it wasn’t a setback — it was a recalibration. A necessary shedding of who I once was, so I could make room for who I am becoming.
I had to release timelines, expectations, and the illusion that I could control the outcome just because I was “doing the right thing.” I had to trust God — not in theory, but in practice. Trusting that even when the path felt uncertain, I wasn’t lost — I was being guided. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, I noticed something subtle but profound: I was healing in real time. I was living inside prayers I had forgotten I prayed for. I was returning to myself.
My yoga practice, meditation, breath work, and journaling didn’t just support me — they steadied me. They helped me understand my own nervous system more deeply. They taught me how to sit with emotion instead of outrun it. They reminded me that resilience isn’t just endurance — it’s presence. It’s choosing to stay with yourself through the unknown.
Now, resilience looks different to me. It’s less about pushing and more about listening. Less about holding everything together and more about letting myself soften where I used to tense. It’s learning how to move with life, not against it. It’s allowing myself to be human.
If you find yourself in your own season of transition, I hope you know you’re not alone. These seasons may feel uncomfortable, but they are often where the most meaningful realignment happens.
Before I close, I want to offer a few reflection prompts that supported me during this time. You can journal them, voice memo them, or simply carry them with you throughout your day:
Reflection Prompts
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Where have I surprised myself with strength this year?
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What part of me is learning to soften instead of force?
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What does ease look like for me in this season?
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What small practice helps me return to my body when life feels overwhelming?
Throughout this journey, I leaned heavily on journaling as a way to witness myself and stay grounded. The Reset Journal grew out of that practice — a space for clarity, compassion, and self-trust. If you’re also in a chapter of recalibration, I’ll leave it linked below. No pressure — just an invitation.
What are some ways you are building resilience your future self will thank you for?
