My husband’s final week reporting to command marked the true end of 2025 and a gentle hello to 2026. It was a mix of emotions, excitement for the opportunities ahead, the freedom to choose what comes next, and a quiet normalcy that made some moments feel like any other week. I kept my routine: client meetings, workouts, Homefront Hustle mentorships. The steady work anchored me amid the change. Beneath it all ran a thread of apprehension. I held back from showing too much emotion, knowing this transition means leaving something that has been his constant far longer than our nearly 23-year marriage. I wanted to honor his feelings, whatever they were, and give him space for this profound shift.

The weekend blurred into packing: disconnecting appliances, staging “do-not-pack” items with bright “STAY” post-it notes, and saying silent goodbyes to the house.

Monday kept our usual rhythm. I rose early, worked out, ate breakfast, kissed my sailor goodbye, and dove into a full day of meetings to catch up from the holiday-shortened weeks. I’d hoped the movers would start packing us out, but by the afternoon, my sailor texted me: they’d arrive Tuesday instead. His day was fuller. He spent the morning at work, then weighed the vehicle for shipment, followed by a 1½-hour VA physical for his disability claim. He returned home and we finished refrigerator leftovers, washed the last dishes, and turned in at our normal time.

Tuesday brought the whirlwind of moving day. I planned to squeeze in as much work as possible before the crew arrived, with two Homefront Hustle mentorship sessions scheduled. My husband returned home just minutes before the movers. They spent the morning packing bedrooms and my office. Before my first meeting, we ordered and picked up pizzas for the crew and us. I took that mentee call from the car to stay focused. The afternoon was a shuffle, moving from room to room to stay out of the way. My second mentorship session, held at the mentee’s home, gave me a welcome hour away from the chaos. When I returned, more packed boxes had been shifted to the garage, ready for the truck. The vacuum hadn’t been packed yet, so I cleaned a few nearly empty rooms one last time. The movers worked a full 12 hours, not leaving until well after dark. Lying on our large sleeping bag in the now-echoing house felt surreal, a stark reminder that this chapter was truly closing.

Wednesday morning felt uniquely poignant: quite possibly the last time my husband would put on his uniform to report for duty. I snapped photos to capture the moment, simple but meaningful. While he headed out to turn in his badges, I rolled up the sleeping bag, packed the last refrigerator items and dry goods the movers couldn’t take. When he returned and changed, we started to pack the car just as the internet technician arrived to collect the router. Twenty minutes later, housing showed up for the final walk-through and move-out inspection. My sailor signed the paperwork, handed over keys and garage remotes, and we were officially done. We drove straight to the scale to weigh the vehicle full, then hit the road by 9:50 AM. Rain fell steadily as we pulled away. The drive to our overnight stop in La Quinta, California, took 6½ hours, with Los Angeles traffic adding a frustrating 1½-hour delay.

Thursday greeted us with more rain. We lingered over hot coffee, strolled the hotel grounds in daylight, then packed the car for the final leg. The downpour continued until the California/Arizona border, easing to sprinkles near Quartzsite, then only partly cloudy skies welcomed us into this new phase with relief.

We pulled into my parents’ driveway at 2:30 PM. Unpacking and laundry topped the list. We cooked dinner, and as we sat down to eat, my parents arrived home. Conversation flowed late, catching up on holiday travels and sharing laughs. As soon as our heads hit the pillow, we fell asleep.

Friday brought a little more sunshine and a lighter schedule. I spent the morning with my mom and took one afternoon meeting. My husband and I walked the neighborhood, discussing SkillBridge possibilities and backup plans. In true military family style, we always have Plan A, B, C, and sometimes D. Flexibility has been a staple.

This weekend we’ve soaked up the sun, rested, and begun shaping a new routine. The week felt both ordinary and extraordinary.

What emotions surfaced for you during a major life transition?

Originally published on LinkedIn on January 5, 2026. [Read it here]