Day 7 “learning to move through it”

Standing in the Rubble — Part 7: “Learning to Move Through It”

Part 7.

We’re still here in the rubble—but something’s changing.
Not the landscape, not yet.
But the way I’m moving through it.

I used to think rebuilding meant stacking things neatly, corner by corner, step by step.
But after a while, the “brick-by-brick” philosophy started feeling too clean, too organized for what this really is.
Because let’s be real:
rebuilding your life doesn’t come with clean lines and tidy metaphors.
It’s messy.
Chaotic.
Unpredictable.

Some days the rubble feels lighter.
Some days it feels like it’s swallowing you.
And some days—like lately—you start noticing paths forming where before it was just broken pieces.

Part 7 is about movement.
Not construction.
Not the dramatic “rise from the ashes” moment everyone loves to romanticize.
Just… movement.
Choosing a direction, even when you can’t see the outcome.
Learning to walk through the mess without expecting it to clear instantly.

After taking that day away in Part 6, something shifted.
I came back to the same ruins, the same problems, the same responsibilities—
but I wasn’t dragging myself across the debris anymore.
I had a little more breath.
A little more clarity.
A little more willingness to keep going.

And here’s the truth:
rebuilding isn’t always about lifting something new.
Sometimes it’s about loosening your grip on what’s been crushing you.

The old stress, the old habits, the constant survival-mode thinking—
they don’t evaporate,
but they stop dictating every move.

Part 7 is the moment you realize you’re not just trying to escape the rubble—
you’re actually learning to navigate it.
You’re noticing the parts that no longer scare you.
You’re understanding which pieces are still sharp, and which ones you can step over without bleeding.

And the craziest part?
You start to see the horizon again.
Not clearly.
Not in full color.
But enough to know you’re not stuck.
Enough to know you’re moving.

This isn’t the glory chapter.
This is the stamina chapter.
The chapter where you keep showing up even when everything still looks wrecked.
The chapter where you discover that rebuilding isn’t one dramatic act—
it’s a series of small decisions not to give up on yourself.

Part 8?
We’ll talk about something different—
about spotting the first signs of life growing out of all this dust.
Because it happens.
Quietly.
Slowly.
But it happens.

Day 6 The third brick.

Day 6.
The third brick.
And this one… it surprised me.

Because before I could lay it down, I had to do something that felt wrong, almost rebellious:
I stepped away.
Took a day.
Just… stopped.

Not a “pretend break” where your body rests but your mind keeps running laps.
Not the kind where you’re still checking messages or mentally drafting the next move.
A real pause.
A day where I let the dust settle without trying to shape it.

And for the first time in what feels like forever—
my thoughts weren’t chained to work.
They weren’t circling problems like vultures.
They weren’t replaying every setback on repeat.

It was strange.
Unfamiliar.
Almost uncomfortable…
and then unexpectedly peaceful.

I realized how long I’d been holding my breath,
how long I’d been carrying the weight like it was welded to my bones,
how long “how bad things have been” had been the background soundtrack to my life.

And stepping away didn’t fix everything—
but it made something possible:

Perspective.

Space.
Just enough space to remember I exist outside the grind.
Outside the chaos.
Outside the role of problem-solver, worker, caretaker, provider.

And when I came back?
I was still standing in the rubble—
but I wasn’t collapsing into it anymore.
I was clearer.
More steady.
More here.

That’s the third brick:
returning.
Not because you’re obligated…
but because you chose to come back with a calmer mind, a softer grip, and a bit more oxygen in your lungs.

This brick isn’t about hustle.
It’s about endurance.
The quiet, steady kind.
The kind you only find when you step back long enough to feel yourself again.

And now, even after taking that day away, I’m still here.
Still rebuilding.
Still committed to this journey, to this foundation, to this version of myself that isn’t running on panic or fumes.

The rubble hasn’t vanished,
but the storm in my head has finally slowed—
and that alone feels like progress.

Part 7?
We’ll talk about the fourth brick—
the one where rest and return start turning into rhythm…
and rhythm becomes strength.

Get Out and Move!

Day 5: “The Second Brick”

Day 5.
The second brick.
The one you lay down after you’ve finally given yourself permission to matter.
This brick is heavier than I expected—not because it’s complicated, but because it asks something honest:

How do you move when you don’t feel like moving?
And even harder—
How do you spark motivation in people who look at you like they’re made of wet wood, refusing to catch fire at all?

Running a business taught me something I didn’t want to learn:
you can drag tasks, you can drag deadlines, but you cannot drag people.
You can’t make them care.
You can’t light a fire in someone who’s determined to stay cold.

Stephen Covey said,
“Motivation is a fire from within. If someone else tries to light that fire under you, chances are it will burn very briefly.”
And man… that one hit harder after the fiftieth time I tried to hype someone up who wasn’t even listening.

So this part of the rebuild—
this second brick—
is all about redefining what motivation even means.

Because motivation isn’t some lightning bolt that strikes you like a divine blessing.
It’s not the perfect playlist or the inspirational quote or that one productive Monday you keep trying to recreate.
Motivation is friction—
the spark that comes from rubbing discomfort against desire until something ignites.

But what about days where even that feels impossible?
Days when you’ve been pushing for so long you feel hollow?
When you’re tired of pep talks, tired of carrying the team, tired of trying to be the sun for people who give you shade?

Here’s the truth I wish I’d learned sooner:

You don’t need to feel motivated to move.
You just need to move enough to create momentum.
Motivation is a byproduct, not a prerequisite.

And inspiring others?
It starts where your fire actually is—not where you wish it would be.
People don’t follow hype.
They follow heat.
Your consistency.
Your integrity.
Your example.

You don’t motivate others by lighting fires under them.
You motivate them by tending the one inside you—
even when it’s dim, even when it’s flickering, even when it feels like the smallest, saddest flame.

The second brick is this:
Show up anyway.
Show up small, show up tired, show up imperfect.
You don’t need a blaze to keep going—just a spark.
And that spark grows every time you honor it.

This brick is the discipline brick.
The “I’ll do it even though I don’t feel like it” brick.
The “I can’t control who cares, but I can control how I carry myself” brick.
The “my fire matters” brick.

Lay it down next to the first one.
Feel how they connect—
your permission to matter,
and your decision to move anyway.

Day 6?
We’ll talk about the third brick—
the one where momentum turns into direction,
and direction starts feeling like purpose again.

Day 4 Standing in the Rubble —

Alright—Part 4.
This is where we talk about the first brick.
Not the whole rebuild.
Not the blueprint.
Just that one small, heavy, necessary thing you place down when you decide you’re done living in collapse.

But let me be real with you first.

Running a business while standing in the rubble?
It hits different.
It’s like trying to rebuild your life and keep everyone else’s structure from falling at the same time.
You’re the firefighter, the architect, the janitor, and the emotional support animal for every client who “just needs a minute.”
It’s hard to admit, but I’ll say it:
I’ve been running on fumes—
the kind of fumes that taste like burnt coffee and skipped meals.

Some days I’m surviving on crackers and caffeine, telling myself it’s “temporary,”
telling myself I’ll eat later,
rest later,
breathe later.

Because the grind doesn’t stop, right?
Because people need things.
Deadlines need things.
Expectations need things.
And somewhere along the way I convinced myself that if I just pushed a little harder, just stretched a little thinner, everything would magically sort itself out.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

People-pleasing is a quiet kind of self-destruction.
It’s giving away your last match to keep someone else warm while you freeze.
It’s telling yourself you’re strong enough to carry the whole load—even when your knees are shaking.
And the worst part is how normal it starts to feel.
How invisible the sacrifice becomes.

That’s why this “first brick” matters so much.

Because the first brick isn’t courage or strategy or some motivational quote.
It’s permission.
Permission to not be everything to everyone.
Permission to eat an actual meal.
Permission to rest without guilt.
Permission to say “not today” even when people expect a yes.
Permission to finally matter to yourself.

The first brick is the moment you say:
“I can’t save my business by sacrificing the person running it.”
“I can’t rebuild a life while starving my own needs.”
“I can’t keep giving what I don’t have.”

It’s small, but it’s solid.
It’s yours.
And once you lay it down, everything else—every boundary, every habit, every change—builds on top of it.

So yeah, Part 4 is about the first brick.
But it’s also about admitting that you’ve been building with empty hands for too long.
It’s about acknowledging the exhaustion you’ve been treating like a personality trait.
It’s about finally choosing foundations over fumes.

Part 5?
We’ll talk about the second brick—
the one where you start protecting your energy like it’s a limited resource…
because it is.

But for now, lay this first one down with me.

Not perfect.
Not pretty.
Just honest.

The rebuild starts here.

Day 3 part 2 “So… what’s up with all these ‘Standing in the Rubble’ videos/posts?”

So… what’s up with all these ‘Standing in the Rubble’ videos/posts?”

Alright, so a bunch of you have been asking, “Why all these ‘standing in the rubble’ posts? What’s with the theme? Are you good?”
And yeah—fair question.

Here’s the deal.

These vlogs (blog)… they’re kinda three things mashed together:
self-help, giving back, and me just trying to figure out my own mess in real time.

Because honestly?
Life has been throwing hands lately.
Mine, yours, everyone’s.
And instead of pretending everything’s polished or perfectly lit or influencer-ready, I wanted to actually talk about what it feels like to be in the middle of the collapse—not after the glow-up, not once the dust has settled—right now, while the ground still feels unstable.

That “rubble” thing?
It’s a metaphor, but also… not.
It’s what it feels like when stuff you thought was solid suddenly cracks.
Your plans, your relationships, your money, your sense of direction—whatever.
And standing in it doesn’t mean you gave up.
It means you’re taking inventory.
It means you’re not running from the truth.

So yeah, these videos are partly self-help, but not the cheesy, fortune-cookie style.
More like: here’s what I’m learning the hard way—take whatever helps, leave the rest.
They’re also a way of giving back, because I know for a fact I’m not the only one trying to rebuild. And if someone else hears this and feels a little less alone? Worth it.
And to be real, they’re also me just working through my own challenges out loud.
Some people journal.
Some people meditate.
I talk to a camera.

And maybe the point is this:
You don’t have to have your life together to help somebody else.
You don’t need a perfect comeback story to start rebuilding.
You can be knee-deep in dust and still offer someone else a hand.

So yeah… that’s what’s up with all the “rubble” vlogs.
It’s not a brand.
It’s not a gimmick.
It’s just me… trying to make something honest out of the wreckage.

More to come.
We’re rebuilding in public now.

Day 3 “The Moment You Stop Pretending”

So here we are—Day 3.
If you’ve made it this far, you already know the theme.
The rubble.
The aftermath.
The uncomfortable honesty of being in-between who you were and who you’re trying to become.

But this one… this one’s about the moment you stop pretending.

Because at some point—after the shock wears off, after the adrenaline runs out—your gonna look around and realize you can’t sweep this mess under the rug anymore.
These cracks aren’t cosmetic.
These walls really did fall.
And there’s no fast-forward button that skips you to the rebuild.

This is where most people either break down…
or break open.

And lately I’ve been learning that there’s a difference.

Breaking down?
That’s collapse. Its hiding and not coming out. Its you avoiding in an attempt to save yourself
Breaking open?
That is possibility—painful, raw, inconvenient possibility—but still possibility.

I used to think healing was some kind of heroic montage—
like once you decide to “fix your life,” the universe lines up behind you.
But nah.
It’s more like your old habits and your new intentions get into a fistfight every morning.
And every day you choose who wins.

Day 3 is where I admit this:
I don’t have all the answers.
I barely have half the questions.
But I’ve stopped pretending everything is fine.
I’ve stopped trying to rebuild the exact structure that collapsed.
And I’ve started sifting through that rubble with intention instead of panic.

I’m finding pieces worth keeping—
stuff I forgot I had.
Patience.
Self-respect.
The ability to stand still without crumbling.
And yeah, some sharp edges too—things I need to let go of, even if they cut a little on the way out.

And maybe that’s the whole point of this stage.
Not the comeback.
Not the victory lap.
Just the honesty.
The sorting.
The inner rerouting.
The quiet decision to stop living on autopilot and start rebuilding on purpose.

So if you’re here with me in your own rubble—
if life pulled the rug out, or you burned it all down, or something you trusted finally showed its fault line—
just know this:

You’re not behind.
You’re not lost.
You’re not broken beyond repair.

You’re breaking open.

And that’s the first real sign that a new foundation is coming.

Day 4?
We’ll talk about the first brick.
But for now…
stand with me in this moment.
We’re learning how to see clearly again.

Day 2 When You Start to Rise From the Rubble

Hey again.
If you’re back here, it means you survived the night you thought would finish you.
It means you’re still standing—maybe bruised, maybe exhausted, maybe confused—but standing all the same.

So this time, I want to talk about what comes after the collapse.
After the shock.
After the silence.
After that moment when you finally stop asking, “Why did this happen?”
and start whispering, “Okay… what now?”

See, no one prepares you for the awkwardness of beginning again.
Nobody talks about how rebuilding isn’t some cinematic montage with inspirational music and perfect lighting.

No.
It’s clumsy.
It’s slow.
It’s lonely sometimes.
It’s waking up with a small spark of hope… and losing it again by noon.
It’s taking two steps and falling on the third.
It’s doubting yourself every thirty minutes.

But here’s what you need to hear:

Rising isn’t about doing it right.
It’s about doing it at all.

Some days you’ll make progress.
Some days you’ll just make it through.
Both count.

Because after everything you’ve lost, your strength won’t look like power—it’ll look like persistence.
Like showing up when nothing feels stable.
Like refusing to shut down even when shutting down would be easier.

And slowly—almost quietly—you begin to notice things shift.

You find one tiny thing you can control.
Then another.
You fix one thought.
You try one new habit.
You reach out to one person.
You take one risk.

This is what rising actually is.
Not some explosive comeback—
but a collection of small, stubborn choices that say:

“I’m still here.
I’m still trying.
I’m not done yet.”

And listen…
you don’t have to build the life you had before.
You’re allowed to build something completely different.
Something lighter.
Something truer.
Something that actually fits the person you became in the breaking.

So if you’re standing in the rubble today—
but you’re ready to lift your head,
wipe the dust from your face,
and take that first step out of the ruins—

then hear this:

You are not rebuilding the old you.
You are meeting the new you.
And that version?
They were worth every tear it took to reach them.

You’re not just surviving anymore.
You’re starting.

And starting is everything.

Day 1 When You’re Standing in the Rubble

When You’re Standing in the Rubble

Hey everyone…
Hey there! So you feels like life is collapsing right underneath them.
Or Maybe it already has.
Maybe you’re watching pieces of your world slip out of your hands, one after another, and you’re thinking, “How much more can I lose before I lose myself?”

If that’s you…
Sit with me for a minute.

I’m not here to throw clichés at your pain.
I’m here to tell you something real:
You are not done.
Even if it looks like everything around you is.

Life has this brutal way of stripping us down—plans fall apart, people walk away, finances crash, health scares happen, opportunities vanish. And when those storms hit, it feels like you’re being asked to rebuild without any tools left to rebuild with.

But here’s the truth no one tells you:
Rock bottom is not the end of your story—it’s the clearing where your real story can finally begin.

When everything familiar is gone, so is the weight you didn’t realize you were carrying.
So is the pressure to be who you used to be.
So is the illusion that you had to keep holding everything together to be worthy.

Right now—even in the fear, even in the uncertainty—you are becoming someone new.
Not because you wanted this pain, but because you’re still here in the middle of it.

You’re breathing.
You’re listening.
You’re fighting to understand what comes next.
And that alone means you haven’t lost.

There is a version of you on the other side of this moment who is stronger, wiser, clearer, and more unshakable than you can imagine. Someone who will look back and say, “That chapter didn’t break me—it rebuilt me.”

You don’t need to know the entire path forward today.
You just need the courage to take one step.
One honest step.
One stubborn step.
One small, defiant step that says, “I’m not finished.”

So if you’re standing in the rubble of what used to be your life…
Don’t bow your head in defeat.
Rise—slowly, shakily, imperfectly—but rise.

Because losing everything isn’t the ending you fear.
Sometimes, it’s the beginning you never saw coming.

Hold on.
The world hasn’t seen the best of you yet.