B. M. Lee - Author

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Dade City, FL
B. M. Lee - Author

Marine Corps veteran and author exploring the quiet battles we carry long after the noise fades. Marine Corps veteran. Speaker. Coach. If it echoes, it matters.

I write stories shaped by trauma, loyalty, and the echoes that follow us home; fiction and nonfiction that blur the line between shadow and silence. Author of Between the Echoes: The Reality of PTSD – an honest reflection of life after service, the weight we carry, and the moments that shape us in silence. Advocate for trauma-informed leadership and real conversations around mental health. I write from experience—messy, unpolished, and real.

09/13/2026

When I wrote Not My Flag to Raise in Between the Echoes: The Reality of PTSD, it wasn’t just about the flag. It was about the moment.

On the surface, it probably looked simple: a group of tourists on the Sea of Galilee, soaking it all in, when someone suggested I should be the one to raise the flag. But what no one could see and what I tried to capture in the echo was the weight I carried into that silence.

I wasn’t on that boat to collect photos or souvenirs. I wasn’t there to check off a pilgrimage. I was there because of a promise I had made to God in one of the most desperate seasons of my life. That trip wasn’t about sightseeing. It was about obedience. It was about following through.

So when that flag came out, it pulled me in two directions at once. For the others, it was an honor. A symbol. Something to celebrate. For me, it brought memories I didn’t talk about, shadows that travel with me whether I want them to or not.

And in that moment, the flag didn’t belong. Not there. Not on those waters.

What mattered to me was the silence. The stillness of the sea. The reminder of faith that doesn’t shout, but waits. The echo of a promise kept not by me, but by God.

That’s what I wanted to remember. That’s why I said no.

The echo in the book is the story. This what I’ve shared here is the weight behind it. And maybe that’s the lesson I’m still learning: not everything needs to be explained in the moment.

Sometimes the deeper meaning only comes when you sit with it long enough.

What about you? What moments in your life weren’t really about the symbol, but about the silence? The ones where what mattered most wasn’t what people saw, but what you carried with you when no one else was looking.

09/12/2026

In some of my echoes, I’ve referenced things like “shifting my grip” or “the mat.” Those words didn’t just come out of thin air. They’re drawn from my journey in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.

I’ll be honest: it wasn’t easy at the start. I remember sitting in the parking lot before class, giving myself a pep talk just to walk through the door. Part of me wondered if I belonged there at all, if I could handle the pressure of being pushed physically and mentally in a room full of people who seemed more capable, more confident.

But something happened over time.

The mat became more than just a place to train. It became a mirror. Every roll revealed the tension I carried, the fears I avoided, and the small victories I didn’t give myself credit for. I learned that sometimes progress isn’t about winning , it’s about surviving one more round, shifting your grip, finding your breath, and trying again.

Now, I find myself looking forward to the next session. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s honest. Jiu-Jitsu strips away the noise and leaves you face to face with yourself. And for me, that’s been one of the most healing parts of the journey.

I can’t say enough good things about it. BJJ has given me a new language to describe the battles I still fight internally, and in turn, it’s given me new ways to write about them.

The echoes I carry haven’t disappeared, but the mat has taught me something vital: you don’t always have to silence them. Sometimes, you just have to shift your grip and keep moving.

What about you? Where’s the “mat” in your life, the place that strips away the noise and leaves you face to face with yourself?

09/11/2026

September 11, 2001.

I was in tenth grade, sitting in English class when the news started coming in.

Like most people who were old enough to remember that day, I can still picture where I was. What I remember most, though, is how strangely normal it felt to me at the time.

I watched what was happening, but I don't remember being scared. I don't remember some sudden realization that the world had changed. It was significant, obviously, but it was also happening hundreds of miles away to people I didn't know.

I was already planning to join the Marine Corps. I'd already imagined going off to war someday. Even as a teenager, I understood that every generation seemed to have its war.

I just didn't know what ours would look like yet.

That's probably the part that stands out to me 25 years later.

September 11th didn't make me join the Marine Corps. There wasn't some movie moment where I watched the towers fall and decided I was going to enlist. That decision was already being made.

And yet, sitting in that classroom, I was watching something that would become part of the backdrop of the next decade of my life without having any idea what that meant.

Afghanistan wasn't real to me yet.

Iraq wasn't real to me yet.

Neither were the people I'd meet, the people we'd lose, the experiences I'd carry home, or the person I'd eventually become.

At the time, I was just the kid in the back of this picture.

(Dan, apparently, had already seen the future.) 😂

I've written a lot in Between the Echoes about the strange way experiences stay with us. Sometimes the significance of a moment isn't found in the moment itself. Sometimes you have to live another five, ten, or twenty-five years before you can look backward and understand where it fits.

September 11th is one of those days for me.

Not the day that decided my future.

Just a day that became much more connected to that future than the kid sitting in English class could have known.

Where were you on September 11th?

Did you understand the significance of it then, or did that come later?

And did it change the trajectory of your life?

09/10/2026

There are moments when nothing obvious is wrong, and yet your body reacts like something is. You’re sitting at the table, driving home, or lying in bed, and suddenly your mind starts replaying something you said or did. Maybe it was a conversation that felt awkward. Maybe it was a decision you’re second-guessing.

Then the thoughts start stacking.

Maybe I messed that up.
Maybe I’m not as capable as they think.
Maybe they’re going to figure out I don’t belong here.

For some people, that’s imposter syndrome. For others, especially those with trauma in their background, it goes deeper. Anxiety isn’t just about performance. It’s tied to guilt, shame, and old experiences that trained your nervous system to stay alert.

Here’s something I’ve had to learn the hard way: your nervous system doesn’t always know the difference between a real threat and a remembered one.

When anxiety spikes, your body reacts as if something is happening right now. Heart rate increases. Muscles tighten. Thoughts accelerate. But most of the time, there is no immediate danger. The reaction is internal, not external.

So here’s something simple to try.

Pause for a moment and take one slow breath in through your nose. Hold it for four seconds. Then exhale slowly. Do that once or twice.

Then ask yourself a direct question:
What is actually happening right now?

Not five minutes ago. Not five years ago. Right now.

Usually the answer is surprisingly ordinary. You’re sitting in your house. You’re at your desk. You’re alone in your car. No one is attacking you. No one is confronting you. There is no immediate threat.

Anxiety tends to live in imagined futures. Shame tends to live in replayed pasts. Grounding pulls you back to the present.

And in the present, more often than not, you’re safe.

This doesn’t erase trauma. It doesn’t solve deeper wounds. But it can interrupt the spiral long enough to calm your body and regain clarity. You don’t have to win an argument with your anxiety. You just have to slow your nervous system down enough to stop feeding it.

The next time anxiety starts telling you a story about who you are or what you did wrong, don’t try to outthink it.

Pause.
Breathe.
Ask what is actually happening right now.

Start there.
_________________________________________________________

If this resonates, I explore these patterns more deeply in Between the Echoes: The Reality of PTSD and its companion workbook. Both were written for people learning how to separate memory from present reality and regain steady ground when the mind starts running ahead.

You’re not broken. Your nervous system learned to survive. Now it’s learning how to rest.

09/09/2026

Here I am, pretending to be good at paintball.

The pictures are convincing, anyway. 😂

I played competitively for a while. Traveled. Practiced. Played tournaments. Spent entirely too much money on equipment for the privilege of getting shot by people firing balls of paint at me.

And I loved it.

Looking back, though, I think part of what I loved had very little to do with paintball.

It was the team.

Having a role. Knowing where the people around you were going to be. Depending on them to do their job while they depended on you to do yours.

A formation.

I didn't have that language for it then, but I've spent a lot of my life looking for formations.

The Marine Corps was one.

Paintball became another for a while.

I've found them in unexpected places since.

And maybe that's something I've learned as I've gotten older: not every shield wall is going to look like the one you came from.

Sometimes we're so busy trying to recreate an old formation that we miss the people standing beside us now.

Your shield wall might be a team. A gym. A church. A group of veterans. A few close friends. Your family.

Hell, apparently mine once involved inflatable bunkers and several thousand rounds of paint. 😂

The formation changes.

The need for one doesn't.

So where's your shield wall today?

And maybe the harder question:

Are you still searching for the one you lost, or have you noticed the one forming around you?

09/08/2026

How many times have you had to reinvent yourself?

I've been thinking about that question while looking through old photos.

Marine.

Armored truck driver.

Retail employee.

Gun store salesman.

Trainer.

Veteran advocate.

Business owner.

Author.

And there are plenty of stops between those pictures that aren't represented here.

At different points in my life, each one of these was just... what I did.

Some were part of a plan. Some were stepping stones. Some were opportunities that showed up at the right time. And some came after life decided my previous plan wasn't going to work anymore.

Looking back, though, I'm not sure reinvention is the right word.

Because the clothes changed. The titles changed. The responsibilities changed. The people around me changed.

But the things I valued didn't change nearly as much as I thought they did.

Service. Leadership. Learning. Teaching. Helping people. Trying to leave something a little better than I found it.

I didn't always know where I was going.

That's the funny thing about “beginning with the end in mind.” At 20, I couldn't have shown you the picture at the end. Hell, I'm 40 and I still couldn't.

But maybe you don't need to know exactly what the end looks like.

Maybe you just need to know what you want to still be carrying when you get there.

Jobs end. Careers change. Plans fall apart. New opportunities appear. Sometimes you choose the next chapter, and sometimes life turns the page for you.

Changing direction doesn't mean you've lost your way.

Sometimes you're carrying the same values toward the same destination, just on a road you never expected to travel.

Looking through these pictures, I don't see seven different versions of myself anymore.

I see the same guy figuring it out as he goes.

How many times has life made you change direction, and what part of you has remained through all of them?

09/07/2026

A friend talked me into doing a Civil War reenactment years ago.

I remember thinking it sounded interesting...

But probably boring. 😂

And if I'm being fair, I had already formed an opinion about it before I'd ever actually done it. My understanding was mostly built from stereotypes and whatever assumptions I'd collected over the years.

Then I put on the clothes, stepped into the camp, and experienced it for myself.

And you know what?

It was fun.

I learned quite a bit. I met some interesting people. I got to experience history from a perspective I hadn't considered before. There is something different about learning when you're physically stepping into another time, even if only for a weekend.

Did I come home and become a Civil War reenactor?

Nope.

Never did another one.

But I'm glad I did that one.

I think sometimes we put too much pressure on new experiences. We think something has to become a passion, a hobby, a career, or somehow change our lives to have been worthwhile.

It doesn't.

Sometimes the value is simply stepping outside the lens through which you've been viewing the world.

Try the thing.

Talk to the person.

Visit the place.

Read the book you normally wouldn't pick up.

Sit at a table with people you don't completely understand.

You don't have to adopt everything you encounter. You don't even have to like it.

But experience has a funny way of challenging assumptions that observation never will.

This didn't become part of my life.

But it became part of my story.

And I'm glad it did.

What's something you tried once, never did again, but are still glad you experienced?

09/06/2026

This photo almost makes me look like a runner.

Almost.

The truth is, I hate running.

For the first part of almost every run, I’m negotiating with myself about why I should stop. My ankles hurt. My knees hurt. My hips hurt. My lungs hurt. And occasionally my pride hurts because I remember what I used to be capable of and compare it to where I am now.

Then, somewhere around that first half mile, something changes.

My body and my mind seem to reach an agreement.

Yes, this is miserable.

We’re doing it anyway.

And eventually the noise starts to disappear.

There’s no yesterday to replay. No tomorrow to plan for. No list of things waiting for me when I get home.

There’s just the next step.

And then another.

That’s probably why I keep running.

Not because I enjoy it.

Because for a little while, I can trade the complicated discomforts of life for one very simple one.

Keep moving or stop.

That idea shows up in different forms throughout Between the Echoes. Sometimes the mind doesn’t need another answer. Sometimes it just needs something simple enough to bring it back to the present.

Running does that for me.

A controlled little dose of misery that somehow leaves my head quieter than when I started.

And when it’s over, it doesn’t really matter whether I ran half a mile or ten.

I did something I wanted to quit doing.

That feels like an accomplishment every time.

What’s something you voluntarily put yourself through, not because you enjoy the process, but because you like who you are when you come out the other side?

09/04/2026

Have you ever thought you had a solid plan, only to have the ground literally collapse beneath your feet?

I have.

Turns out, it changes your schedule a little. 😂

When this sinkhole opened next to our house, there wasn't much time for debating what we wanted to do. The situation had changed. So the plan had to change with it.

And I've thought about that quite a bit since.

We spend a lot of our lives assuming there will be more time.

I'll start tomorrow.

I'll get in shape later.

I'll make the phone call next week.

I'll work on the marriage when things calm down.

I'll chase that goal when life isn't so busy.

I'll deal with that problem when I have to.

But sometimes tomorrow doesn't look anything like the version we planned for.

Sometimes the ground moves.

And when it does, we don't suddenly become disciplined, resilient, adaptable, or prepared. We fall back on whatever we've built before that moment arrived.

That's why we train today.

Not because we know what's coming.

Because we don't.

We build strong bodies. Strong minds. Strong relationships. Strong values. We learn to adapt, change direction, and keep moving when the original path disappears.

There have been plenty of times in my life when the plan didn't survive contact with reality. Some were considerably more serious than a hole in my backyard. Others only felt that way at the time.

But the lesson has remained remarkably consistent:

You don't have to know what's coming next. You just need to have built enough of yourself to meet it when it arrives.

That's part of why I keep coming back to these ideas in my writing. Valuing Echoes is largely about knowing what you're anchored to when everything around you starts moving.

Apparently sometimes the universe prefers a visual aid.

What are you putting off until tomorrow that you could start building today?

09/02/2026

I can look at this picture nearly twenty years later and immediately see what's wrong with it.

The damn pike on the guidon isn't perfectly horizontal.

That's the Marine Corps for you.

I believe this was shortly after we returned from Afghanistan. The captain in front of me was, by every definition of the word, a motivator. Prior enlisted, infantry, Marine officer. The real deal.

And there I am behind him carrying the guidon.

I've been fortunate enough to do a lot of things in my life. I've deployed to Afghanistan and Iraq. I've traveled around the world. I've experienced things that, looking back, probably make much better stories than walking across a patch of grass carrying a flag.

But I loved being the guidon bearer.

I still can't completely explain why.

There was just something about it.

Drill and ceremony can seem almost pointless from the outside. March here. Stand there. Dress right. Salute. Immediate obedience to orders. Do it again until everyone moves as one.

But the guidon was different.

It represented all of us.

The Marines who were standing there that day, the ones who had carried it before us, and the history we had inherited when we earned the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor.

For a little while, I got to be the Marine trusted to carry it.

Maybe that's why this picture still means so much to me.

Some of the things we're proudest of aren't necessarily our greatest accomplishments. Sometimes they're simply moments when we were trusted with something that mattered.

What's something you've done that probably wouldn't sound impressive to anyone else, but you're still damn proud of?

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https://www.skilleddevelopment.com/author, https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/56069257.Brent_M_Lee, https://www.insta

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