Starting Over Again (When You’re Tired of Starting Over)

This isn’t my normal.

I’m not usually the one who feels this way.

But lately… I’ve been tired.

Not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep fixes.
Just… tired of starting over.

I love where we’re at right now. It’s quiet. People are kind. It’s the kind of place I always thought I’d enjoy.

And I do.

But that doesn’t make this part any easier.

Because every time we move, you start from scratch.

New routines.
New stores.
New roads you don’t quite know yet.

And new people.

And that’s the part no one really talks about.

It’s exhausting trying to build relationships from the ground up… again.

Learning who you can trust.
Figuring out where you fit.
Deciding how much of yourself you have the energy to give.

And doing it all while still holding everything else together at home.

I’m not sure who’s having a harder time with this PCS—me or the kids.

They keep asking to go back “home.”
Not just any home… the house we lived in for the last five years. The only home they’ve ever really known.

And my gosh… that one hits.

I grew up in the same house for almost twenty years—minus college—and even then, I always knew where “home” was.

So when they say it, I can’t help but wonder…

did I break something for them by moving?

And before anyone rolls their eyes and thinks, oh, here comes another resiliency post—it’s not.

It’s just one military parent to another, saying out loud what we don’t always say:

It’s hard to hear.

It’s been seven months now. We’re finally settled into our new house at our new duty station.

And it’s good. It really is.

But it’s not the same.

We don’t have the playground in the backyard.
No big yard.
No beach in the backyard to explore.

No neighbors with horses and excavators.
No neighbors who slowly became family when our real family was over 2,000 miles away.

Because you don’t just leave a house behind.

You leave the life you built inside of it.

And honestly… just like the kids, I feel a little lost myself.

Retirement from this life is getting closer, and I still don’t really know where “home” is.

Is it back near my family?

I love them. I do. But I’m not sure there’s a whole life waiting for us there anymore. Not in the way there used to be.

We’ve changed.

I’ve changed.

I’ve had a taste of quieter living now. Slower days. Smaller places. And I think… I think that’s the kind of life I want.

I don’t need big.

I don’t need impressive.

I’d be just fine in a 600-square-foot house, figuring it out as we go. Working somewhere simple, building something steady, while he steps into whatever comes next for him.

That sounds like enough to me.

But the truth is… I don’t know.

And for someone who writes everything down, who likes a plan, who likes to know—that part is a little scary.

Because the countdown is on.

And I’ve got two little people counting on me.

So I find myself sitting with the question more than I’d like to admit—

Where do we go from here?

Are we going to figure it out?

Yes.

You know it.
I know it.

I guess I just want to say… if you feel like this some days, you’re not alone.

There were times my neighbor would look at me—right in the middle of everything piling up—and call me a warrior.

She’d say, “I don’t know how you do it. I never could.”

And I always kind of laughed it off.

Because it never felt like that.

It just felt like… life.

Showing up.
Figuring it out.
Holding things together the best you can.

Some days that looks strong.

Some days it looks like sitting in the unknown a little longer than you’d like.

But either way… you’re still here.

And maybe that’s the part we don’t give ourselves enough credit for.

We’re still showing up.

And somehow, we always find a way forward.