Written by Sean Maloney

Everything is fine.

Until…you know…it f*cking isn’t.

I woke up one day and realized I’ve been operating on autopilot. I’ve checked all the boxes. Career? Check. Accomplishments? Check. Relationship? You bet your ass. But something still feels... off. That was me for the past 8 years. Decorated, driven, and completely disconnected.

See, the military taught me a lot: how to lead, how to sacrifice, how to survive in the harshest conditions. But what it didn’t teach me (what no one really talks about) is how to build a life after the mission. How to be still. How to stay present. How to fucking breathe.

For a while, I mistook pressure for purpose. I ran at a pace I couldn’t sustain, chasing validation through output. Burning myself out in record time. 

Burnout = Unchecked Stress Over Long Periods

You tell yourself you’ve got it handled. The job, the title, the grind. Hell, maybe even the gym. But then, one day, the cracks start to show. For me, it wasn’t a dramatic collapse. It was slower, quieter. A numbness that crept in. A feeling that the old definitions of success no longer made sense. I had the “respectable” trajectory: military service, leadership roles, the startup hustle. But deep down, I was burned out, disconnected, and unsure of what came next.

I didn’t find purpose in paychecks. I found it in stillness. In rebuilding. In service. Here's how I unfucked myself and how you might, too.

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Dealing with Trauma

The First Taste

I woke up in the middle of the night from a loud noise… panic ensued. I was home from deployment. Civilian life felt... fake. I walked into the kitchen, hands shaking, heart pounding. I grabbed my newly purchased handgun from my closet and began to scan for threats. I thought I was having a heart attack.

I didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with me….

It took 60+ minutes to calm down my heart rate and be able to get back to sleep. For a moment, I was there completely out of control. I knew one thing. I needed help. 

BUT I started asking in all of the wrong ways. 

It was talking to individuals that didn’t have the skill set to deal with the unique problems that I was trying to process and understand. 

I opened up to others and that helped BUT only for so long. It relieved the pressure but that pressure built back up in no time.

I started the business to keep my mind busy. It became my fuel to help myself but there were still things lurking underneath what I was dealing with. 

My relationship had become toxic due to my inability to deal with myself. With my inability to be comfortable in my own skin. To be ashamed of the things that I had done. To be searching for external validation when what I really needed was some internal.

Professionals were needed. It took my 8 years to get to the point where I had to surrender myself.

Turning Trauma into Growth

Not letting it define me but rather be the reason I grow. It is at the root here. 

Trauma doesn’t wear a name tag. It doesn’t show up to your door and politely knock. It’s that quiet motherfucker that slips in through the cracks, takes a seat at your dinner table, and makes itself at home; until one day you look around and realize it’s been running the show for years.

For me, trauma came camouflaged. Wrapped in deployment orders, late-night sirens, the suffocating silence of loss, and the impossible weight of leadership when every call you make could end or save a life. But here’s the thing nobody tells you: you don’t have to be in a war zone to be at war with yourself. 

Trauma is personal. It’s what happens inside of you as a result of what happens around you.

I didn’t talk about it for years. I wore it like armor. You’re taught in the military to be squared away, to handle your shit, to not burden others. So I white-knuckled my way through life thinking I was being strong. I wasn’t. I was just bleeding internally and calling it resilience.

Getting this right isn’t wasn’t just important for myself. It’s important for those around you. My reactions post deployment were not those that I wanted for myself or my partner. It was not fair for either party to have to deal with my bullshit. 

It wasn’t until I came home and the noise stopped that I heard everything I’d buried. Panic attacks in the grocery store. Rage triggered by nothing. Nights staring at the ceiling wondering how the hell I got so lost in a life I built.

It took me 8 years and a lost relationship later to finally break. One day, during a routine psych check-in, a therapist hit me with this line:“Are you thinking of killing yourself?.” And for the first time, I told someone. Not the highlight reel. The gritty, ugly, sleepless nights. The survivor’s guilt. The anxiety. The depression. The shame of still being broken in a world that just wanted me to be “normal” again.

That’s when things started to shift. Slowly. Imperfectly.

*Note: I had told a few of my close friends about my time traumas but they are far from trained professionals. Just like you go to a mechanic to get your car fixed you go to a therapist to get your mind right. I plan to write more about my story of finding a therapist that worked for me.

Growth Isn’t Linear: It’s a Dumpster Fire You Learn to Dance In

One of the biggest lies I told myself is that growth (and healing) looks like a straight line, like if you meditate, read the right books, or find the perfect routine, I’ll magically be “better.” The truth? 

Growth is more like getting your ass repeatedly kicked by a drunk hobo called Buster that owes you 20 bucks.

BUT the second half of that growth is choosing to stand the fuck up anyway; again and again.

It started small for me. Saying “no” to things that drained me. Not sacrificing my own peace and time alone that I need to recharge. I had been masquerading around thinking life was all about being happy. Sure I can take the good with the bad but when I can’t face my own bad? 

That’s when it became a real problem.

Actually resting instead of numbing. Writing sh*t down. Doing breathwork in my truck before meetings. Giving myself permission tonot be okayand eventually to ask for help (more on that later) and how one phone call saved my life.

The One Phone Call

After the shrink appointment, I got on the phone with this place in Florida (a facility built for first responders and veterans who’ve been through the wringer and don’t have the words for it). They weren’t offering a vacation. They were offering work. Deep, uncomfortable, necessary work. Thirty days away from everything I knew, starting immediately. The idea of walking away from my life, my responsibilities, my business (hell, even my excuses) scared the shit out of me.

But the truth? I’d already been spiraling for years. Post-deployment was like a slow leak in a tire you never patch until you're driving on the rim. I was burnt out, tapped out, and stuck in this silent war between what I showed the world and what was eating me alive behind the scenes.

And the worst part? I couldn't fix it myself. I tried. Over and over. But who the hell helps the helpers?

So I said yes.

Forty-five days later, I walked out of there not just patched up; but fundamentally rewired. I got my feet under me. My head clearer. My heart a little more open. I want to share what helped me get there; modalities, practices, and perspectives that helped me stop running and start actually healing. Stuff that shifted how I saw myself, my past, and my purpose moving forward.

Let’s get into it.

EMDR: Turning the dial from 10 to 1 on my trauma

One of the biggest turning points for me was a type of therapy I’d never heard of before I read a book that discussed trauma calledThe Body Keeps the Score.

EMDR—Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. Sounds like something out of a sci-fi flick, right? I thought so too. I almost walked out when I heard the name. But I was desperate. Traditional talk therapy wasn’t cutting it, and I needed something that could get to the root—not just the symptoms.

Here’s the deal: EMDR helped me reprocess traumatic memories in a way that made them feelless raw. I didn’t forget what happened. I wasn’t brainwashed. I was just finally able to let my nervous system catch up with the fact that the deployment was over. I like to think of it as lucid dreaming but you are reliving your past.

The process is simple but weird. A therapist guided me through a traumatic memory while directing my eye movements back and forth; left to right. Sometimes it’s tapping. Sometimes it’s audio tones. It mimics REM sleep, which is when your brain naturally processes emotional junk. But in this case, you’re awake, and instead of getting hijacked by your trauma, you’reguiding it somewhere else. Somewhere less dangerous.

Into the long term storage of your mind and out of the trauma center of your mind. During the session you will have to go through hell to get to the other side.

I walked into my first EMDR session skeptical as hell. But about halfway through, I started to feel it shift. The memory that used to trigger cold sweats and tight lungs? The memory still existed, but it didn’t control me anymore. It was like I’d finally told my nervous system, “You can stand down. We’re safe now.”

It took a full  two weeks of processing for my brain to do all of the work. Because even post session your brain is still moving shit over to long term storage. Oh, and get ready for some weird ass dreams.

So if you’re walking around feeling like you’re stuck in a loop; like the past keeps punching you in the face even though you’ve changed your life; EMDR might be worth looking into. It doesn’t erase what happened. It just helps your body and mind finally stop reliving it like it’s happening all over again.

NOTE: According to the Department of Veterans Affairs, around 77% of combat veterans with PTSD see significant improvement after EMDR therapy. The American Psychological Association backs it. And while I’m not big on stats alone (because nothing replaces lived experience) I can tell you this: EMDR helped me finally process shit I thought I’d carry to the grave.

Journaling: The doorway to my mind

Another one:Journaling. Not that “Dear Diary” bullshit, but brutal, unfiltered honesty. Writing gave me clarity. It forced me to look my trauma in the eye instead of keeping it locked in the basement of my mind. It’s something that NO ONE else has to know about unless you want them to. No fear of judgement and having the ability of holding your ass accountable to all of your bullshit. 

Sorting through that is the first step in learning to appreciate and love yourself. Not condoning your past behavior but recognizing what you do and DO NOT want to do in the future and then moving on.

The tactile response of pen to paper also allowed words to flow out of me that I didn’t know I had in me. I plan to talk more in depth about how I journal in another blog post as this one is already lengthy as hell.

Bubbles & Bullshit

Breathwork. Of all of the modalities this one seems like most like bubbles and bullshit. I promise you it is far from it. 

It allows your body to go into a more vulnerable and responsive state to processing traumatic events in your life and helping you connect your mind to your buried emotions. I like to call this connecting my heart to my head. 

Breathwork is the most badass, low-tech tool you’ve got for rewiring your nervous system and you don’t need a guru, yoga mat, or incense to tap into it. When you consciously change your breathing (slower, deeper, more intentional) you send a signal to your body that it’s safe to stand down. That means shifting out of fight-or-flight and into rest-and-repair mode.

It lowers cortisol, calms your heart rate, and gives your brain a chance to get out of panic mode and back into presence. For guys like us; first responders, vets, everyday hard chargers; this isn’t fluff. This is battlefield medicine for the soul. It’s a way to process stuck emotions, release stress stored in the body, and get clear-headed without a bottle or a blow-up. You just have to be brave enough to sit still and breathe through the fire.

Post the first session I had processed shit I didn’t even know was there. It was the most forceful of the healing modalities. Right up there with EMDR as the most intensive.

By the end of the session you are exhausted, enlightened, and relieved all at the same time. It is a profound experience all together. I had done a total of 4 sessions with one of them being individual. 

The individual session allowed me to unlock something that I didn’t know was eating at me for my whole life. Making connections from my childhood to present day and how I truly got here emotionally and mentally. 

Lessons from the Fire

Here’s what I’ve learned from being cracked open by trauma and choosing to rebuild from the inside out:

• You can’t out-hustle your pain. You’ll try. We all do. But eventually it’ll catch you and when it does, that’s your invitation to heal.

• Vulnerability is strength. Not the Instagram kind. The real, messy, “I don’t know what I’m doing but I’m still showing up” kind.

• Your trauma isn’t your identity. It’s something that happened to you; not who you are.

• Growth & healing comes when you stop avoiding the hard stuff and start mining it for meaning.
  

Today, I still have scars. But I wear them differently now. They’re not shameful; they’re sacred. They remind me I’ve survived 100% of my darkest days. They remind me I can still choose purpose over pain. Turning that trauma into growth.

And if you’re reading this thinking, “I’ve been through hell and I don’t know how to get out,” let me say this: 

You’re not broken. You’re becoming.

Recommended Reads:

• The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma

• Struggle Well: Thriving in the Aftermath of Trauma

Note: There are a lot of books here I want to recommend that have helped me heal but ultimately it is going to be up to you to do the work. To look inward and face the reality of the situation. 

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Get Out of Your Damn Head: Grounding Techniques That Actually Worked

Look, I didn’t even know what “grounding” meant for the first 30 years of my life. I thought it was some hippie bullshit or therapy buzzword that didn’t apply to guys like me.

I was wrong. 

Turns out, when your brain is running 90 miles an hour in a hundred directions, grounding is the thing that brings you back to center—back tonow—which is the only place life is actually happening.

I learned this the hard way. After getting back from my deployment, I was chasing the next high; the next mission, the next goal, the next definition of success that would finally make me feel okay. But no matter how hard I worked, how many hours I put in, or how “productive” I pretended to be, I couldn’t shut my brain up. The noise was relentless. And the worst part? I was constantly reliving shit I didn’t even know I was carrying. Like my body knew before I did that something needed to change.

That’s when I discovered grounding. Not all at once, but in pieces.

I’d spent years in the military, wired for high-alert, trained to scan for threats, taught to override emotion with mission. That stuff keeps you alive in a war zone, but it ate me alive back home.

Grounding became my way out.

Not the spiritual, crystals-and-incense kind (no shade if that’s your thing). I mean the dirty, practical, real-world kind; stuff that pulls you out of your head and slams you back into your body.

The First Time I Actually Felt Present

It happened during my deployment. I had been fucking around with meditation and bought an app to help with it after one of my fellow airmen told me about mindfulness meditation. I paid for the premium because why the fuck not? I got nothing else to spend my money on out here. 

Being totally honest I sucked at it for a long time. 

The first month was me attempting the beginner courses and ‘failing’ consistently. But keeping with it was one of the best decisions that I made.

It kept myself from being overwhelmed by all of the external forces. Deployments are stressful enough with the intermittent threat(s) looming over your head everyday it is necessary to become hyper vigilant. While helpful in one environment it's detrimental back home. The same rules don’t apply. 

I got into the habit of doing it right before bed. Being able to shut off my brain and body and solely focus on nothing for a while. Being able to shut off my overactive brain and fucking relax.

I chased that being present ever since. There is a cumulative effect that comes into play with meditation. There became a time where it was two ‘good’ days in a row, and then ‘three’ and so on and so forth. But I eventually came to the realization that every day that I meditated was a good day regardless of the outcome of the session.

The act alone of stopping what I was doing and slowing down my mind was one of the best gifts I could ask for. It got to the point at the end of the deployment where I had a few hour long sessions that transformed my perception of what was possible through mindfulness. If you take anything out of this blog post please pick up this habit. This was the most transformational to my sanity and wellbeing.

It didn’t get rid of any of the stress but it made it more manageable…more palatable. I fell off the habit once I got back home for a while but that sensation of how I felt after some of the more intense sessions never left me. I could pull myself back to how I felt in that moment in just a few short mindful breaths. 

Years later, It happened again during a hike up Mount Washington. I invited a buddy from the unit who had gotten out and was trying to get his head on straight post break-up with his girlfriend. It was a spur of the moment type trip to help him clear his head and to the added benefit of mine as well. We packed a day's worth of hiking supplies and started walking. 

A few miles in, something weird happened. 

I noticed my feet. Not in a metaphorical “follow your path” way; I mean Ireally noticed them. How they hit the dirt. How the ground felt under my boots. I could hear the wind moving through the trees. I wasn’t thinking about work, or money, or what I should’ve said in some argument from years ago. I was just…there.

The Japanese call itShinrin Yoku, and they’ve got decades of research showing it can lower stress, blood pressure, anxiety—the whole mental overload package. But you don’t need science to tell you it works. I just needed to step into the woods, shut up, and pay attention. 

Sometimes, the most healing thing I could do was walk slowly and remember you’re part of something bigger than your to-do list.

That was my first taste of real grounding in the ‘real’ world. And I’ve been chasing that clarity ever since; in healthier and more intentional ways.

Here’s What Actually Works for Me (No Bullshit)

1. The 5-4-3-2-1 Method
    This one’s dead simple. You name:
   

• 5 things you can see

• 4 things you can feel

• 3 things you can hear

• 2 things you can smell

• 1 thing you can taste

Sounds like kindergarten stuff, right? But when my mind is spiraling, this pulls me back to reality. Every time. It’s tactical, like a checklist for your nervous system.

2. Box Breathing
   I used this in the military under a different name (Tactical Breathing). Inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 4, exhale for 4, hold for 4. It’s used by SEALs and special operators because itworks. It calms your sympathetic nervous system (fight-or-flight) and gives your body a chance to reset. I’ve used it before big meetings or pitch competitions for the business, when I’ve felt panic creeping in, or just sitting in my truck trying not to fall apart.
   

3. Cold Water
   Whether it’s a cold shower or a freezing river dunk, that shock to the system is a jolt back to reality. It’s not comfortable. That’s the point. It reminds you that you're alive and in a body—now—not trapped in your head rehashing the past bulshit.

I usually just grab a bowl and throw some ice cubes and water in and then my face shortly after. 

Shit sucks. But that is the point.

4. Touching the Earth
   Call it what you want; grounding, earthing, recon-by-fire. There’s something primal about getting your bare feet on the ground or your hands in the dirt. I started gardening. Not because I wanted tomatoes but because it forced me to slow down and connect to something bigger. It worked better than most therapy sessions I’ve had.

On my flight back from my deployment I still remember to this day getting off at one of the stops. It was in Italy and I saw green grass for the first time in 6-months. 

My exhausted ass could not have been happier.

Just being able to touch the grass (insert joke here) brought me so much joy. The appreciation for the small things was exemplified by my trials and tribulations during my deployment. Helped shift my perspective.

Repeating a Personal Mantra
Mine’s simple:That was then; This is now. I say it out loud if I have to. It reminds me that whatever memory or feeling I’m stuck in isn’t happening now. I survived it. This is now. I’ve got control here.

I usually have to say it multiple times for the effect to work.

Why This Matters

When you live in a constant state of survival (whether it’s from deployment, trauma, or just trying to live up to impossible standards) you lose touch with your own body. You live in your head. 

You react instead of respond. 

You forget how to justbe. Grounding is how you start to reclaim that.

It’s not a cure-all. It won’t magically fix your life. But it’s a start. It’s a tool. And if you’re like me, you’ve spent enough time in your own mental war zone. You don’t need to stay there. 

“If you are depressed you are living in the past. If you are anxious you are living in the future. If you are at peace you are living in the present”

These same words make all of the difference. BUT easier said than done. The work to ‘get right’ is probably one of the most important things I could do not just for myself but for the people around me.

There were a lot of hard truths that I had to admit to myself over the years. Getting in to the deep dark dungeon of my mind to figure out how the fuck I ended up here in the first place. It took me 8 years to make it to rock bottom. But my god am I glad I did. It forced me to change.

One of the hardest things I had to admit to myself was that I was "leading" people while empty. 

I thought being selfless meant giving until there was nothing left. But leadership without self-respect isn’t leadership—it’s martyrdom. And martyrdom is a shitty business model. 

I had to learn that being “selfish” enough to take care of myself was actually the most selfless thing I could do for the people around me. If I wanted to show up for my team, my family, my mission—I had to start with me.

Book Recommendations:

• The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment

• Breath: The New Science of a Lost Art

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Asking for Help (Without Feeling Weak)

For most of my life, “asking for help” ranked somewhere between “getting a root canal with no anesthesia” and “quitting.” And I wasn’t alone. The military trains us to be tough. To push through. To compartmentalize. You suck it up, push it down, and march on. That’s how you earn your stripes. That’s how you survive… or so we’re told.

But here's the twist no one tells you: that mentality may get you through war but it can wreck you in peace. Especially when you get back home. 

After I got out, I kept wearing that armor like a second skin. I was the guy who had all the answers. The one who wouldn’t crack. But inside? I was unraveling. Panic attacks. Sleepless nights. That creeping sense of dread that shows up when you’re finally still long enough to hear your own thoughts. And no amount of bourbon or bravado could fix it.

What eventually saved me wasn’t white-knuckling my way through. It was the day I finally picked up the phone and said, “Hey man… I think I need some help.”

That First Ask

For me, it wasn’t one big moment. It was a slow downward spiral. I was running 13 Stars, putting on a brave face. But behind the curtain, I was exhausted. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t focus. And the worst part? I didn’t feel anything. Not pride. Not joy. Just numb.

I’ll never forget the first time I called a buddy (another vet) and told him I was struggling. I was expecting judgment. Maybe even silence. But what I got instead was: “Yeah, me too.” That conversation cracked something open in me. Because at that moment, I realized I wasn’t broken. I was just human.

And that changed everything.

One of the best things the military taught me was the power of a team. It’s you and your battle buddy. So why the hell do we think we’re supposed to fight our internal battles solo?

When I started to open up, I found that people around me wanted to support me. Hell, some of them were dealing with the same stuff. That vulnerability became a bridge; not a weakness. And it let me show up more authentically in all areas of my life.

Even 13 Stars changed. I started talking more about the mission behind the sauce, why we give back, and what I went through. People connected with that more than any product pitch ever could.

Why We’re Wired to Avoid Help

Come to find out there’s actually a biological reason why many of us resist asking for help; it goes back to the evolutionary fear of being seen as weak or unworthy of the tribe. 

There’s a ton of research around this. Brené Brown, in her work on vulnerability, points out that shame is often the root cause of our resistance to asking for help. We’re afraid of being seen as needy, incapable, or burdensome. Especially in high-performing, high-pressure cultures like the military or entrepreneurship I was taught that self-reliance is king.

Yeah. The thing we’re terrified of doing is often what brings us closer to others.

Therapy, But Make It Not Suck

I know therapy still carries a stigma, especially for guys like me who were taught to carry the weight ourselves. 

But let me be blunt:therapy saved my life. 

Not in a Hollywood, “cry-on-a-couch” kind of way but in a practical, sit-down-with-someone-who-knows-what-the-hell-they’re-doing kind of way. I’ve worked with trauma-informed therapists who helped me unpack 30+ years of buried stress, guilt, shame, and unresolved crap I didn’t even know was still messing with me.

I came in initially for my PTSD but it turned into so much more and allowed my subconscious to become conscious. It was a PAINFUL journey as I started this on my own with a few books and tried to white knuckle my way through it. In the process, I had lost things that I deeply valued like my relationship and with it my identity and in came rushing the questions.

It took that pain to realize the need for professional help because my bullshit was no longer cutting it. I raised my hand for help.

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), for example, helped me recognize when my own thought patterns were driving me into dark corners. Not everything needs to be solved in a silo. Sometimes (if not always) it needs to be said out loud, in a safe room, to someone who knows how to help you get your shit together.

Building Your Ask Muscle

It’s not some dramatic plea. Sometimes it looks like this:

• Calling a friend and saying, “Can I vent?”

• Telling your partner, “I’m struggling right now, and I need some support.”

• “I’m not okay right now, but I don’t know what I need.”

• “Can I talk to you about something heavy?”

• “I’m struggling and could use some support; even if it’s just you listening.”

• Booking that damn appointment with a counselor/therapist you’ve been avoiding

I didn’t have to announce it to the world (the irony isn’t lost on this blog post being an ‘announcement to all’). I just had to stop white-knuckling everything.

Asking for help doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’re smart enough to know you’re not meant to do life solo.

Imagine you’re holding back floodwaters behind a dam. You patch the cracks. You reinforce the walls. You pretend everything’s fine. But the pressure keeps building. And one day maybe in the middle of dinner with your kids or a meeting at work the dam bursts. That’s what unaddressed pain does. Asking for help is how you let the pressure outbefore the walls come down.

You don’t have to wait until everything’s on fire to reach out. Don’t make the mistake I did. You don’t get a medal for struggling in silence. The real bravery is in vulnerability. That’s where healing starts.That’s where growth lives.

So yeah, the strongest thing I ever did wasn’t survive the shitstorm. It was finally saying, “I need someone to walk through this with me.”

And if you’re a vet reading this, check out resources likeHeadstrong, Vet Centers, orThe Warrior's Ascent. You’re not alone. You never were.

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Building My Foxhole (aka Community)

Isolation will eat you alive. I had to relearn how to connect; not just as a leader or business owner, but as a human.

During college, socialization came naturally. Running the business you cultivate a lot of friends. But it is a mile wide, inch deep type relationship most of the time. 

You know what’s underrated as hell? Having people in your life who don’t flinch when you’re not at your best.

For a long time, I was convinced I didn’t need anyone. That whole lone wolf, “I’ll figure it out myself” mentality? Yeah, it’s seductive. Especially after the military, where the world feels way too loud and no one seems to speak your language anymore. But here’s what no one tells you: lone wolves don’t thrive — they just survive. And eventually, they break.

I started 13 Stars because I missed being part of something. I missed having a team. And when I say “team,” I don’t mean a bunch of yes-men. I mean people who show up, who hold you accountable, who remind you of who you are when you forget.

That’s what community is. It’s not just friends. It’s not just networking events or social media likes. It’s finding (or building) a tribe where you can be real — not performative, not perfect — just you. The kind of people who’ll call you on your crap and sit with you when it all goes sideways.

I tried plugging into different spaces. Some felt forced; handshakes, name tags, corporate buzzwords. 

But others?Others felt like oxygen. 

I found veteran peer support groups. I started showing up at local events. Volunteering. Donating hot sauce for causes that mattered. One by one, I started to feel less like a ghost in civilian life and more like a part of something again.

Why It Matters:

Here’s the truth: purpose thrives in community. We are biologically wired to connect. Close relationships — more than money, fame, or career — are what keep people happy and healthy over the long haul.

So no, community isn’t optional. It’s essential.

How I Built Mine:

Look, I get it — walking into a room full of strangers and trying to “make friends” as an adult feels like trying to start a campfire with wet socks and a Bic lighter. But building real community starts with doing the uncomfortable thingon purpose.

Let me give you an example.

A while back, I signed up for a week-long Jiu Jitsu camp. I didn’t know a single damn person there. And I’ll be honest — part of me hoped I’d sprain an ankle on the way in just to have an excuse to leave.

But I stayed. And here’s why it mattered.

There’s something powerful about throwing yourself into a shared hardship. You roll on the mats with someone — sweat, bruises, tapped out ten times in a row — and you learn a lot. Not just about technique, but about trust. Vulnerability. Respect. When someone’s trying to choke you out and still helps you up afterward, that’s not just training — that’s connection.

By day three, we were swapping life stories between rounds. Veterans, single moms, college kids, blue-collar workers — all bonded by the grind. I made more meaningful connections in that one week than I had in years of half-assed networking events and surface-level small talk.

So, how do you build community?

You do what I did:

• Step into discomfort. Go where people are doing hard things together — gyms, workshops, volunteer crews, mentorship groups. Shared struggle builds real trust.
  

• Stay long enough to be seen. The first day always sucks. Show up again. And again. Consistency is the glue of connection.
  

• Lead with service. Help clean the mats. Ask how someone’s day was. Introducing the new guy. Be useful before trying to be interesting.
  

• Be honest. You don’t need to trauma-dump your life story, but speak like a human, not a resume. People can smell fake from a mile away.
  

• Follow up. That person you clicked with at the event? Text them. Grab coffee. Invite them to train or hike or grill out. Community is built in the follow-through.
  

The truth is, no one builds a meaningful life alone — and no oneheals alone, either. That Jiu Jitsu camp reminded me that being part of a team again isn’t about having matching uniforms. It’s about standing shoulder to shoulder with people who are in the foxholes with you.

Caption: “Burnout alone. Burn bright together.”

Community doesn’t happen overnight. But itdoes happen when you decide to stop hiding and start participating. Whether it’s five people or fifty, build your crew. 

Build your people. 

Because nothing truly meaningful happens in isolation.

And if you don’t know where to start? Start by being the kind of personyou’d want to have in your corner.

Whether it's fellow vets, business owners, or hot sauce lovers (yes, they’re a tribe too), finding a community thatgets you is everything. I built 13 Stars Hot Sauce not just as a brand, but as a bridge. A way to bring people together over something simple, bold, and American.

Surround yourself with people who hold you accountable, lift you up, and call you on your bullshit.

Recommended Reads:

• Can’t Hurt Me by David Goggins

• Never Finished: Unshackle Your Mind and Win the War Within by David Goggins

 

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Teaching as Healing: The Sh*t I Didn’t Know I Needed

One of the best ways I’ve found to heal is to teach others what I’ve learned. Whether it's mentoring other veterans, teaching my team how to lead with integrity, or just sharing my story—it’s all part of the process.

There’s a concept in trauma recovery that says healing happens in the community, and that "wounded healers" are some of the most powerful agents of change.

Every time I help someone else unfuck their life, I unfuck mine a little more, too. Now this is a slippery slope and does NOT replace trained professionals in the space. As they are better equipped to handle the intricacies and (you know) are fucking educated for 6+ years on this shit. So don’t be afraid to share but also want to point out this is not an end all be all. 

It's more so being able to shine a light on a problem for someone. Your darkness becomes the light for someone else.

There’s something funny that happens when you start to put your life back together: people notice. They start asking questions. “What changed?” “How’d you get through that?” “What’s different now?”

At first, I didn’t know how to answer. Mostly because I wasn’t sure Ihad gotten through anything—I was just figuring it out as I went, duct-taping my life back together one therapy session and one cold plunge at a time. But eventually, I started talking. About the military. About trauma. About the mess I was (and still am) crawling out of. 

And what I didn’t expect was this: telling my story helped me heal more than anything else ever had.

Teaching, sharing, giving back; it rewired something in me.

From Deployment Debriefs to Hot Sauce Demos

I spent years in the military learning how to deliver information under pressure. Debriefs. Technical briefs. Mission plans. You learn how to break down complex shit fast and communicate it clearly, because lives might depend on it.

I didn’t think that skill would follow me into civilian life. But guess what? It did. Only now I’m demoing how to make white bean chili at a pop-up with my hot sauce company, 13 Stars, and talking about trauma recovery with other veterans afterward. I went from briefing airmen to breaking bread with people who needed to hear they weren’t alone.

I can’t tell you the amount of tears that have been shed in my booth when another vet comes in and is allowed to be themselves.

It's powerful knowing you are not alone.

The Science of Teaching to Heal

There’s actual research to back this up. When we teach others (especially when it’s based on our lived experience) it helps us make sense of what we’ve been through. It organized my story in a way that turnedchaos into clarity.

A 2016 study inFrontiers in Psychology found that teaching others activates the brain’s “default mode network”—the part that helps us make meaning out of our experiences. When you teach, you're forced to reflect, to articulate, and in doing so, you get a clearer picture of your own healing journey.

It’s like putting my life into a slide deck. Suddenly all the blurry, painful pieces start to make some kind of sense.

Teaching Isn’t About Being an Expert

Here’s what I had to unlearn: you don’t need to be a guru, therapist, or have a PhD in human suffering to teach something valuable. All you need is honesty, some lived experience, and the balls to show up and say, “Hey, here’s what worked for me.”

I’ve taught workshops for other veterans, led team-building sessions through Jiu Jitsu camps, and even talked about mental health at hot sauce events. Yeah,hot sauce events. Because pain is a hell of a metaphor, and if I’m going to talk about it, I might as well serve snacks.

Why It Works

When I taught:

• I reinforced my own growth.
  

• I created connection and community.
  

• I stepped into purpose.
  

• I helped peoplesee themselves in my story.
  

• And I started to realizing that maybe—just maybe—we’re not so f*cked after all.

There’s a healing that happens when someone says, “Damn, I thought I was the only one.” And when you get to be the person who gives them that relief—who helps someone else feel less alone—it’s like pulling a thorn out of your own soul.

So teach. Share. Give what you’ve got, even if it’s messy. 

Especially if it’s messy. 

That’s where the real shit lives.

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Choosing Vulnerability Over the Mask

The armor I wore; stoicism, sarcasm, the “I’m fine” mask only got heavier with time.

Vulnerability was never my strong suit, but I’ve come to see it as strength. Real strength. The kind that doesn’t flinch in the face of truth. The kind that says “I don’t have it all figured out” and still shows up anyway.

The more I shared my story, the less power it had over me. The more honest I got, the more people leaned in. Not away.

This gave them permission to share their truth. To take off their mask and open up.

Here’s something I never heard during my time in uniform:
“Hey man, how’s your heart?”

Nope. It was more like:
“Gear up. Move out. Shut up and don’t be a liability.”

For years, vulnerability felt like the opposite of survival. In the military, and honestly in most of society, showing weakness is like bleeding in the water. You’re told to suck it up, compartmentalize, stay sharp, and stay stoic. And to a degree that is 100% necessary at times. Otherwise we would be unable to function in the job.

It's after you are removed from those situations that matter.

But here’s what I eventually had to learn the hard way: vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s a damn weapon when you know how to wield it.

Real Connection Starts Where the Bullsh*t Ends

Have you ever tried to connect with someone while wearing a mask? It doesn’t work. You might talk, you might laugh but it’s surface-level. And if you’re not being real, the connection doesn’t stick. It’s like duct tape on wet concrete.

But when you say something real:

“I’ve been there,”

“I struggle with that too,”

 “I don’t have it all figured out either”

That’s when shit changes. That’s when walls come down.

Brené Brown (yeah, I know, sounds soft, but stay with me) said it best:“Vulnerability is the birthplace of connection and the path to the feeling of worthiness.”

Turns out, she’s right. Vulnerability is the bridge between suffering in silence and actually being seen. And for me, it was the first step toward healing.

The Talk That Changed Me

There was a moment at a small veteran retreat, standing around the table, where I finally opened up.

I said the thing I was most afraid to say out loud.

Silence. Then nods. Then stories. Other guys said the same thing in different words. One had lost a marriage. One was in a deep depression. One had survived a suicide attempt.

And yet, we were laughing five minutes later. Crying a little, too. It was real. It was messy. And it was the most connected I’d felt in years.

Vulnerability in Business? Yep.

I’ve started bringing that same energy into 13 Stars Hot Sauce.

I’m not pretending everything’s perfect behind the scenes. I talk openly about how we built the company from scratch, how I navigated burnout, and how giving back to veterans and first responders isn’t just a marketing move; it’s personal.

People resonate with that. 

They don’t want polished. They wanthonest. 

We’re not here to be fancy. We’re here to serve something real.

The second one won’t stop bullets, but itwill help you stop bleeding internally.

If you’ve been wearing the armor for too long, this is your permission to take it off. Or at least loosen the straps. Say the thing. Let someone in. Show the messy, imperfect, still-in-progress version of yourself.

Because if you’re brave enough to be real, you just might find your people.

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Living with Purpose (Even When You’re Still Figuring It Out)

Let’s be honest: most of us don’t wake up one day and magically “find our purpose.” It’s not like a fortune cookie you crack open or a download from the universe. For me, it felt more like digging through wreckage peeling back layers of what I thought Ishould be, to uncover what actually mattered.

Purpose isn’t something you’re handed. It’s something you build.

Turning Trauma Into Fuel

I used to view trauma as a dead weight. Something to carry. But I’ve come to see it as raw material; something I could forge into strength. Not by ignoring it, but by facing it. Post-traumatic growth (PTG) is a real phenomenon: the idea that people can emerge from trauma with a stronger sense of self, purpose, and connection.

My trauma didn’t go away, but I stopped letting it define me. Instead, I let it inform me. I learned what not to do. I learned how to show up for others. I learned how to rebuild from the inside out. I am not reinventing the wheel here. I am just writing this for the hope that it clicks with someone else that is struggling with the same shit that I have. 

When the Mission Ends, What’s Left?

In the military, purpose is baked in. You’ve got a uniform, a title, a team, and a reason to get up at 0500 every damn day. You know your place. You know what’s expected. And whether you like it or not, you’re part of something bigger than yourself.

Then one day, you’re out.

And it’s quiet.

And for the first time, nobody’s barking orders. Nobody’s depending on you. No mission brief. No battle rhythm. Just you and the question:Now what?

I’ll be honest, after I got back home, I felt like a ghost. I kept busy, sure. But it felt hollow. And that’s when I realized something:

I didn’t miss the job.

I missed the meaning. The purpose. My why.

Building Purpose Brick by Brick

I didn’t find purpose overnight. But I started paying attention to what lit me up even a little.

For me, it started with service. Giving back. Taking everything I’d been through deployments, trauma, leadership, failure and turning it into fuel for something bigger. That became 13 Stars Hot Sauce.

It wasn’t just about hot sauce. It was aboutbuilding something that honored the values I believe in: resilience, service, integrity, and mission.

It was about making somethingwith purpose so that others could taste a little bit of it.

Every bottle we sell helps support veteran and first responder causes. That’s not fluff; it’s real. It’s baked into our DNA. Because for me, living with purpose means aligning what I do withwho I am. Not just the resume version but the real one.

How I Started (Even When I was Lost)

I didn’t need a perfect plan. I just needed to move with intention. I asked myself:

• What would I still care about if no one was watching?
  

• What pain have I been through that I can help someone else with?
  

• What kind of example do I want to be for my future self?
  

If you can’t answer those yet, that’s okay. Purpose doesn’t always come in a lightning strike. Sometimes it comes in whispers, in side hustles, in late-night journaling, in uncomfortable conversations.

You build it the same way you’d build a bunker: one brick at a time.

🧱 Brick = One small, consistent action that aligns with your values
🧱 Brick = Saying yes to something that matters (even if it scares you)
🧱 Brick = Saying no to something that drains you

Eventually, you stand back and realize: holy sh*t, I built something solid.

Living with purpose doesn’t mean having all the answers. It just means being brave enough to ask the right questions and showing up every day to build something worth living for.

And if you’re feeling lost, don’t wait for the map.

Start walking.Build the damn road.

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Final Thoughts: Your Path Is Your Own

I’m not here to sell you some five-step fix to life. I’m just telling you mine.

Here’s the thing: there’s no finish line for healing. No gold medal for “Most Emotionally Well-Adjusted Human.” No trophy for finally figuring your shit out. This whole process—finding balance, building purpose, healing from trauma, learning to ask for help (it’s a long-ass hike). No shortcuts. No Uber.

But I promise you this: it’s worth it.

You don’t have to hit rock bottom to make a change. You just have to be honest about where you are and bold enough to take the first step forward.

Because a meaningful life isn’t built all at once. It’s rebuilt, one brave choice at a time.

Gutting my house. Taking it down to the studs and rebuilding from the foundation up.

So no, I don’t have the “secret” to a perfect life. But I do know this: if you’re feeling off, it might be time to stop chasing and start building.

And maybe (just maybe) that next step starts with unf*cking yourself.

—Sean
Founder, 13 Stars Hot Sauce
 Veteran | Builder | Burner of Bulls**t