I should’ve known it the moment I yelled, “Babe! I’m finally recording an episode for my podcast!”—because when you have to declare something like that, chances are, it’s been way too long.
This month, I’m talking about returning to self. And I can’t lie—this journey didn’t come wrapped in affirmations or self-care candles. It came through exhaustion, whiplash, guilt, and a 10-page PCS move plan that didn’t leave room for emotions. And when I say “whiplash,” I mean it spiritually, logistically, emotionally—all of it.
Goodbye is a Grief We Don’t Talk About
I’ve PCS’d before. Many times, actually. But this one from Kentucky to Texas hit differently. We weren’t just packing boxes—we were packing up people, pets, routines, and energy. My German shepherd, Lady, is now older and needs a little more TLC. The kids, who aren’t technically babies, still needed us to move like a team. And me? I was moving like a soldier with a mission: briefings in the morning, updates at night, logistics in between.
What I didn’t factor in was grief.
Saying goodbye to a community you’ve come to love—people who became family—is its own kind of mourning. Nothing permanent happened, and yet, something ended. There’s no funeral for friendships that fade with distance, but that ache? It’s real.
Settling Doesn’t Always Feel Like Arrival
We finally landed in Texas, and I told myself I’d get right back into rhythm. Except… I didn’t. The housing market knocked me on my behind. I was convinced we’d get a rental easily, but it took 9 long days, tons of phone calls, and a string of rejections—including from the house I just knew was ours (spoiler: it wasn’t). Eventually, we found a house—but not without hidden fees, emotional fatigue, and a $100 pet rent for my couch-loving, thunder-fearing animals.
And then? The moment I unpacked… I repacked.
Because I was sent TDY. For almost 60 days. Just like that, I was gone—leaving my family to settle into a new city, a new routine, a new reality without me.
Cue the guilt. Cue the internal split between mission and motherhood. Between duty and self. Between all the roles I carry and the person I was slowly losing under the weight of them.
The Habits That Keep Me Sane (and What Happens When They Don’t)
Once I finally paused, it hit me: I had stopped doing the little things that tether me to me. The habits that nourish me—like journaling, gratitude, card pulls, morning cafecito, writing—had crumbled under the chaos. They became inconsistent. And like not finishing a course of jarabe when you’re sick, the symptoms came back stronger.
I was snappy. Disoriented. Numb.
And then I remembered: healing isn’t one-and-done. Returning to yourself isn’t a single act—it’s a habit. And habits can be rebuilt.
One Habit at a Time
So I started small.
One cup of coffee in silence.
One journal entry that didn’t have to be profound.
One slow breath before opening my laptop.
One reminder that I am allowed to feel all of this.
And like the slow return of taste after a cold, the feeling of myself came back. Not all at once, but in flickers. And those flickers were enough to start again.
The Mission Is You
If you’re a military spouse, a parent, a caretaker, or a high-functioning perfectionist who forgets to take care of themselves until the wheels come off—this one’s for you. Returning to yourself doesn’t mean going back to who you were before everything shifted. It means giving yourself permission to reconnect with the version of you that’s still here.
Your peace isn’t in the perfect plan. It’s in the pause.
And your wholeness isn’t in getting everything right—it’s in remembering that you are the mission, too.
If this reflection hit home, share it with someone who needs a reminder to come back to themselves. And if you haven’t yet, visit haveacupofjohanny.com for more stories, blog posts, and the books that started it all.
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