Every year, January rolls in like that overconfident friend who insists, “This year I’m finally getting my life together,”  while standing in your kitchen wearing pajama pants from 2004, eating cold leftovers straight from the container, and debating whether they should text their ex. (Spoiler: they should not!) Meanwhile, the rest of us are surveying a wrecked living room, a fridge full of leftovers that may or may not qualify as science projects, and a list of resolutions w

There’s a picture of my mom I keep coming back to-she’s smiling broadly at the camera while my little niece runs past her. My mom smiled with her whole face- it was big, warm, and always genuine. It’s not a Christmas photo, but somehow it feels like one. Every December, when the lights go up and the world leans into warmth and togetherness, that picture finds its way back to me. She passed away eleven days before Christmas, and ever since, the season has held both a soft glow

I grew up knowing the sound of boots on tile floors before dawn. The smell of starch and the weight of expectation hung in the air long before I understood what either meant. My childhood was painted in shades of olive drab and desert tan—structured, disciplined, and proud. The Army wasn’t just my family’s job; it was our way of life. You learn early on in a military household that time is a suggestion only if you enjoy push-ups. You also learn that “yes, sir” and “no, ma’am”

In the military and in law enforcement, we carry more than gear, radios, or rank, we carry the weight of what we’ve seen, what we’ve lost, and who we’ve tried to save. The statistic “22 a day” is often mentioned when talking about veteran suicides, but those of us who’ve lived it know it’s not just a number. It represents sons and daughters, moms and dads, husbands and wives, people who once stood tall in uniform and now struggle silently in the shadows. For those of us in l