A Letter on Fall Bringing Change
My Dearest Friend,
Fall has always felt like a season of warmth to me. Growing up in the Midwest, I knew the crisp bite of air that carried the smell of leaves and woodsmoke, the comfort of blankets and warm drinks, the way families drew closer together as the days shortened. It is a season that whispers of gathering, of neighbors returning outdoors after the heavy heat of summer, of driveways filled with laughter and firelight. Over the years as a military spouse, fall has become less about a single defining memory and more about a pattern of moments that remind me of settling in and finding steadiness again.
Summer in our world is chaos—PCS trucks rolling, friends leaving, faces constantly shifting. The hurried goodbyes leave us raw, and the unpacking of boxes leaves us exhausted. But fall? Fall is when new faces start to feel familiar, when routines begin to take shape, when we discover what our “new normal” will be for the year ahead. For those who moved, it may finally feel like home. For those who stayed, it’s when you become the “pro”, helping others find their footing. And for all of us, it is the season where the absence of friends who have moved begins to settle in. Fall is change, but quieter than summer’s upheaval—change that invites us to breathe, to pause, and to carry forward what has taken shape.
One of the falls I return to often in memory was the year after my first child was born. It was a season marked by both joy and challenge, because a deployment began that November. While other families were carving pumpkins and preparing for Thanksgiving, I was rocking an infant in the quiet, piecing together new routines while my husband was gone. That fall didn’t erase the coziness I had always loved about the season, but it layered it with the truth that comfort and hardship often walk hand in hand in this life.
The Lesson
Nature teaches us that change is not just inevitable—it’s necessary. Autumn shows us this truth in vivid color. The trees release what they can no longer hold, their leaves drifting down to make way for what is to come. The air grows crisp, the days shorten, and the whole world seems to prepare itself for endurance. In the same way, we are asked to let go of what has passed so that we can carry ourselves through the next season.
When we resist, we risk snapping like a branch under ice. But when we bend with the winds of change, we discover we are more flexible than we imagined. Even someone like me, who often thrives on moving and new beginnings, has faced moments where the strain felt too much. And yet, fall reminds me: change does not strip us bare without purpose. It reveals our strength—like roots hidden deep beneath the soil, steadying the tree even after every leaf has fallen. It calls us to lean on one another like trees in a grove, each strengthened by the presence of the others. And it shows us the resilience within ourselves, waiting to be uncovered when everything familiar has shifted.
To the Spouse Who is Weary of Change
This season may feel heavier than most, not because of one big transition, but because of the steady accumulation of small ones. If you are weary of change, you are not alone. Fall carries its own reminder: letting go is not weakness, it is part of how we endure. The trees do not fight the turning of their leaves; they release them so they can weather what comes next.
So if you find yourself tired of adjusting, give yourself permission to rest. You are not required to hold everything together all at once. Like the trees, you are allowed to change with the season—to loosen your grip on what has passed and trust that your roots are strong enough to hold. Your strength is not found in never feeling weary, but in continuing to stand, season after season, even when change feels unrelenting.
