Uprooted- A Commentary On Moving

Building Roots in a Life That Keeps Moving - My experience as a service member turned military spouse.

As I’ve grown into adulthood, I’ve often felt like a tree that keeps getting transplanted just as it’s starting to take root.

Our years connected to the military came with more moves than I can count, and it seems to follow a pattern—right when life starts feeling open and settled, that’s when the orders come. If you’ve lived this life, especially in the Army, you know the pattern well. The excitement of a new place. The optimism of a fresh start. And then the reality of rebuilding everything from scratch.

Every move starts the same way. A few months before you leave, after you get orders, you start the process of soaking up as much as you can while also breaking away, cutting ties, and distancing yourself. Then the movers come, the cars get packed, and you’re off to the new place. 

For the first few months, life is mostly survival mode. The boxes get unpacked, the house becomes functional, and then the real work begins. As a mom, that looks like relearning the basics over and over again—figuring out grocery stores, rebuilding routines, finding schools, doctors, dentists, a church. It means putting yourself out there, again, trying to make connections, hoping to find people and places that feel safe and familiar.

This is the phase where I picture my tree most clearly. It’s been uprooted, its roots trimmed back just enough to allow it to be moved. In the new soil, it isn’t sending roots far or wide. Instead, it grows them close to the base—tight, cautious, protective. It still needs nutrients to survive, but it’s not convinced it’s safe to reach too far yet.

Those early connections matter, even if they aren’t forever. They help you land. They help you breathe. Even if they aren’t quite your people, they serve a purpose in the transition.

Over time, things begin to shift. Somewhere between six months and a year, the fit gets better. The places feel more familiar. The people feel more aligned. Life is still full—you’re balancing travel, schedules, and the constant demands that come with military life—but you don’t feel new anymore. The edge comes off.

This is when the roots start to open outward again. They aren’t deep or strong yet, but they’re beginning to reach into the surrounding soil. You’re gaining stability. You’re standing—even if you aren’t thriving yet.

And then, eventually, you hit your stride.

Your family feels settled. Friendships deepen. Routines stop feeling heavy and start feeling supportive. You find communities you want to be part of. Life feels grounded. The roots grow stronger and stretch farther, creating real stability.

That’s usually when the orders come.

Just as you’ve settled. Just as the roots have reached outward. You’re asked to move again. You spend the next months soaking up what you can, knowing the uprooting is coming, knowing you’ll pull your family out of a place you love and start the process all over again.

Again.