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.