Always Improve Your Fighting Position: A Life Strategy for Anyone Who’s Ever Been Knocked Down

There’s a phrase I carried with me in and out of uniform and into the rest of my life:

“Always improve your fighting position.”

In the military, that saying is literal. You don’t sit still in a foxhole and wait to be overrun. You reinforce it. Make it stronger. You prepare for what’s coming, whether it’s the next assault or just the long, bitter wait. That mindset becomes second nature: wherever you are, make it better than it was when you got there.

But eventually, life gives you battles that don’t come with orders or a clear enemy.

No one trains you for the trauma of foster care. For being a child who had to grow up fast, learning early what abandonment and pain feel like.

No one prepares you for the grief that hits like a bomb—when a friend doesn’t make it, when a mentor you leaned on is suddenly gone, when someone you love dies and nothing feels the same again.

No one teaches you how to keep showing up after rejection. When you gave your best, and it wasn’t enough. When you were almost chosen. When silence answers your efforts.

No one hands you a playbook for racism or identity confusion. When your skin speaks before you do. When you question whether you belong—not just in a room, but in a world that seems designed to exclude you.

And no one explains imposter syndrome. Especially when you’ve worked twice as hard to be half as seen. When you’ve got the degrees, the skills, the credentials—but deep down, you’re still waiting for someone to tap you on the shoulder and say, “You shouldn’t be here.”

I’ve lived through all of it.

But I’ve also lived past it.

And if you’re reading this, you probably have too. Or you’re trying to.

So let me share what helped me keep going, especially when I didn’t know how:

I remembered that even in the hardest seasons, I could still improve my fighting position.

Even if I couldn’t change the trauma, I could change my response to it.

Even if I couldn’t undo the rejection, I could stand up, rework my plan, and try again.

Even if I couldn’t silence the imposter in my head, I could take action anyway—with trembling hands, with fear in my gut—but still forward.

What Does It Mean to “Improve Your Fighting Position” in Life?

It’s not about being the strongest.

It’s about being deliberate.

• It’s going to therapy, even when your pride says you don’t need it.

• It’s journaling through the grief instead of letting it harden you.

• It’s sending out one more resume, one more email, even after 20 doors slammed shut.

• It’s saying, “I don’t know who I am right now,” and being brave enough to figure it out.

• It’s loving your child, your partner, your people—fiercely—even when you weren’t shown how.

• It’s building a habit, a structure, a routine that steadies you when the world spins too fast.

And most of all, it’s choosing not to give up, even when quitting feels like the easier option.

Who This Is For

I’m black.

Whoopty-do.

But this isn’t just for Black men or undervalued folks in academia.

It’s for anyone who’s been underestimated, overlooked, or pushed to the margins.

It’s for the kid who grew up in chaos.

For the adult who’s tired of pretending they’ve got it all together.

For the survivor who’s still trying to define themselves beyond what they survived.

For the dreamer who keeps getting told to be “realistic.”

For the one rebuilding after a breakdown, a breakup, a burnout.

You don’t have to be heroic to deserve healing.

You just have to be willing to work your way toward the next version of yourself—inch by inch, breath by breath.

You Don’t Need to Win. You Just Need to Build.

Improving your fighting position doesn’t mean conquering the world.

It means making today a little more stable than yesterday.

That might look like:

• Creating a budget when you’ve always felt financially lost.

• Reaching out to a friend when isolation feels easier.

• Taking a class, applying for the job, or stepping into a new space with no guarantees—only growth.

• Writing your story so that shame no longer gets to hold the pen.

Progress isn’t always visible. Healing isn’t always loud. But the act of building yourself back up? That’s sacred work.

Final Word: You’re Allowed to Take Up Space

If no one has told you this:

You belong here.

Not because you’ve proven yourself. Not because you’ve suffered enough.

But because you’re human.

And your story matters.

Your scars do not disqualify you.

They mark where you’ve fortified your fighting position. Where you didn’t give up.

So wherever life has placed you—gravel under your feet or soft soil—

Look around. Look within.

And ask yourself: What’s one way I can strengthen my position today?

Then do it.

Quietly or boldly. Clumsily or confidently.

But do it.

Because you’re not just surviving.

You’re rebuilding.

And someone else—watching from the sidelines of their own pain—is finding hope in the way you rise.