The Gentle Art of Starting Over: Self-Care Rituals for Every New Duty Station
Another Set of Orders, Another Beginning
There’s a peculiar silence that fills a home the night before a move. It’s the hush of anticipation, the echo of memories bouncing off empty walls, and the quiet hum of possibility. As a military spouse, I’ve lived this moment so many times. Each set of orders is both a door closing and another one swinging wide open.
I used to think starting over was about being strong, efficient, and unbreakable. Now, I know it’s about being gentle—with myself, with my family, and with the process. It’s about rituals, both big and small, that help me plant roots and find home—again and again.
Sometimes the first step to feeling at home is simply making the bed, even when you’re surrounded by boxes and new beginnings. Here’s to soft landings, cozy corners, and the gentle art of starting over—one stitch, one box, one morning at a time.
The Night Before—Saying Goodbye to a Chapter
The night before a move, I walk through each room, letting the memories rise. There’s the kitchen where I baked cookies for the first neighborhood potluck, the living room where we watched deployment countdowns, and the corner where my latest yarn project always sat.
I light a candle—my “goodbye ritual”—and sit cross-legged on the floor, journal in hand. Sometimes I write a letter to the house, sometimes just a list:
What I’ll miss (the way the morning light hit the front porch)
What I’m ready to leave behind (the leaky faucet that never got fixed)
What I hope for next (a neighbor who crochets, a library with cozy chairs)
It’s a small act, but it gives me closure. I whisper a quiet thank you to the space that held our lives, then blow out the candle, signaling it’s time to move forward.
The Chaos of Moving—Finding Calm in the Mess
Moving day is always a blur of cardboard, packing tape, and last-minute chaos. No matter how organized I try to be, something always goes sideways: the movers arrive early, we are still cleaning up from breakfast, or a favorite mug shatters in the rush.
But I’ve learned to look for small moments of calm. I keep a playlist ready—old sailor songs, a cappella harmonies, and anything with a beat that keeps my spirits up. The music becomes my anchor, a familiar rhythm in the storm.
Dialogue:
“Hey, do you know which box the toaster ended up in?”
Matthew grins, balancing a stack of plates. “No clue, but I did find the speaker. Want to turn this unpacking marathon into a dance party?”
We both laugh, plug in the music, and start moving boxes to the beat. Suddenly, the chaos feels lighter—like we’re not just unpacking, but making new memories already.
Day One in a New Place—Library Cards and Yarn Shops
The first morning in a new town, I wake up early—usually on an air mattress, surrounded by boxes and the scent of fresh paint or old carpet. My ritual is always the same:
Find the local library.
Find the nearest yarn shop.
Scene: The Library
I walk into the library, nerves buzzing. There’s a comforting hush, the scent of old paper, and the soft click of keyboards. I head straight for the front desk.
“Hi, I’m new in town—just moved in yesterday. Do you have a community board or any events for newcomers?”
The librarian’s face lights up. “Absolutely! Here’s our events calendar, and if you’re crafty, we have a knitting group that meets Thursdays.”
I smile, relief washing over me. Libraries are more than just books—they’re hubs of connection, especially for military families like mine.
Scene: The Yarn Shop
Next, I wander into the local yarn store. The colors hit me first—skeins of every shade, textures begging to be touched.
A woman behind the counter looks up. “You look like you know your way around a yarn store.”
I laugh. “Guilty. I’m Latosha—just moved here. Do you all have any crochet circles or meetups?”
She grins. “We do! And we’re always looking for new faces. Come by on Saturday—we’ll save you a seat.”
In that moment, I feel the first threads of belonging begin to form.
Contributing to Community—From Visitor to Member
I don’t just visit these places—I try to leave a mark.
At the library, I offer to help with a craft event or suggest a book club for military spouses. At the yarn shop, I share patterns or bring in one of my finished dolls to spark conversation.
It’s not about being perfect or outgoing—it’s about showing up as myself and letting the connections grow naturally.
Practical Tip:
If you’re nervous about joining new groups, start by volunteering. Libraries and craft shops always need an extra hand, and it’s a low-pressure way to meet people.
Portable Comforts—Music, Rituals, and Small Joys
When everything else is in boxes, I keep a small bag of essentials close:
My favorite mug (if it survived the move)
A portable speaker
A skein of yarn and a hook
A journal and pen
A tiny bottle of lavender oil
Music is my soul. Those old sailor songs remind me of my husband, of resilience, of families who’ve built lives on the move for generations. I make a new playlist for each duty station—a soundtrack for fresh starts.
Pro Tip:
Create a “first night” box for every move. Include bedding, toiletries, snacks, and anything that brings comfort. It turns the first night in a strange place into a soft landing.
The Real Milestone—Making the Bed
We’ve slept on air mattresses and cots more times than I care to remember. But the moment we assemble the bed—real sheets, real pillows, a blanket crocheted by my grandmother—I feel the shift.
It’s not about having every box unpacked. It’s about reclaiming comfort and routine, one small act at a time.
Dialogue:
“Do you want help with the boxes, or should we make the bed first?”
“Bed first. Always bed first.”
Breaking the Ice—Just Be You
I used to stress about making the perfect first impression. Now, I know that authenticity is the best introduction.
I strike up conversations at the library, yarn shop, or even in line at the commissary. I ask about local events, favorite restaurants, or the best place for a quiet walk.
Not everyone will become a friend, but by being myself, I find the people who truly resonate.
Icebreaker Ideas:
“I’m new here—what’s one thing I shouldn’t miss?”
“Do you know of any local craft groups or meetups?”
“What’s your favorite thing about living here?”
A Story of Serendipity—The Wine Night That Changed Everything
One of my favorite memories isn’t from a planned event, but from a simple wine night hosted by our apartment complex. I almost skipped it—too tired, too overwhelmed. But something nudged me to go.
I walked in, grabbed a plastic cup of merlot, and found myself chatting with a neighbor who turns out also loves crafting and creating.
We swapped stories about broken furniture, favorite places we have lived, and the weird quirks of each town.
That night, I met my best friend—the kind of friend who understands the chaos, the beauty, and the bittersweet nature of this life. We still keep in touch, and soon, I’ll be visiting her again.
It’s a reminder that sometimes, the best connections come when you least expect them.
Advice for the Journey—Embrace the Chaos, Find Your Quiet Corner
If you’re in the midst of a move, feeling lost or overwhelmed, here’s what I wish I’d known from the start:
You don’t have to do it all at once. The boxes can wait. Make the bed, play your music, and take it one day at a time.
Find your quiet corner. Whether it’s a library nook, a patch of grass in a new park, or a cozy spot by the window, claim a space for yourself.
Be open to connection. Say yes to invitations, even when you’re tired. The next friend, mentor, or adventure might be waiting.
Celebrate small wins. First sunset, first cup of coffee in your new kitchen, first local adventure—these are milestones worth honoring.
Be gentle with yourself. Starting over is hard, but you’re stronger and more adaptable than you realize.
Mantra:
Embrace the chaos, but find your quiet corner, and know that everything works out just fine.
Practical Tips—Your PCS Self-Care Checklist
Pack a “first night” comfort box (music, snacks, favorite mug, bedding)
Visit the local library within the first week
Scout out a yarn or craft store and introduce yourself
Make the bed as soon as possible—claim your comfort
Start a “new town” playlist for the drive or first days
Say yes to at least one community event or gathering
Keep a journal to track memories, wins, and new connections
Give yourself grace—unpacking takes time, and so does belonging
You Belong Here
Starting over is an art—one that military spouses perfect, not out of choice, but out of necessity and love. Each move is a new canvas, and every ritual, connection, and small joy is a brushstroke that helps create a sense of home.
If you’re reading this and feeling overwhelmed, know that you’re not alone. Your story is a vital thread in our community, and your presence matters—wherever you land.
What’s your first ritual when you start over? How do you find comfort in the chaos? Share your stories in the comments—I’d love to cheer you on and welcome you home.