In this episode, I want to talk about something that has become deeply personal to me. This past month, my little sister passed away at only fifty-nine after a vicious battle with cancer. Losing someone you love brings a kind of grief that cannot be fixed by working harder, staying busy, or simply willing yourself through it. Family and friends are left carrying an absence that cannot be filled and memories that suddenly become more precious than ever.

For those of us who are accustomed to solving problems, protecting others, or taking action when something goes wrong, grief teaches a difficult lesson: some things cannot be fixed. They must be carried, felt, and eventually placed in hands stronger than our own. My hope in sharing this story is that anyone grieving someone they love might find a measure of peace in knowing that healing does not require forgetting, and moving forward does not mean leaving them behind. We carry their love with us, we honor the life they lived, and through faith in Jesus Christ, I believe separation is not the end.

Sometimes the strongest thing we can do is stop trying to control what cannot be changed, allow ourselves to grieve, and trust God with the person we love and with the broken pieces left behind.

Thy will be done.

Thy Will Be Done - This is the last chapter from my Book “Built By Fire”

There comes a point when understanding is no longer enough. You can examine the past, recognize patterns, trace consequences, and begin to see how one season of life led into another. You can identify the decisions that changed you, the people who shaped you, the mistakes you would correct if given another opportunity, and the moments you would never change at all. Reflection can bring clarity, but it cannot resolve everything. Some losses cannot be reversed. Some wounds do not disappear. Some relationships cannot be restored by regret alone. Some people cannot be brought home no matter how badly you want another outcome.

Eventually, the deeper question is no longer simply what happened or why. It becomes what you are willing to release.

For most of my life, I believed that if I prepared enough, worked hard enough, remained disciplined, and accepted responsibility, I could find a way through almost anything. That belief had not come from theory. It had been tested repeatedly. In military service, Search and Rescue, dive recovery, tactical training, protective work, business, and humanitarian missions, preparation and decisive action mattered. When someone was missing beneath the ice, there was no benefit in standing on shore discussing uncertainty forever. When a team entered a dangerous environment, someone had to assess the threat, make a decision, and move. When frightened soldiers were surrounded by an angry crowd in Haiti, someone had to keep fear from turning into gunfire. When doctors and nurses were focused on the suffering in front of them, someone had to watch what was happening around them. In those environments, action mattered. Discipline mattered. Effort mattered. Sometimes they saved lives.

The problem came when I began to believe that the same tools could solve everything.

Service had taught me to carry responsibility until the problem was solved. If something was wrong, I worked harder. If a plan failed, I developed another one. If an obstacle appeared, I tried to overcome it. If I was hurt, I pushed through it. If something was unfinished, I returned to it. That mindset had helped me survive difficult circumstances and had allowed me to be useful to others, but it also created an illusion that took me years to recognize. Not everything can be fixed by doing more.

There are people you cannot save. There are injuries determination cannot erase. There are decisions made by others that you cannot control. There are relationships that require more than one person’s effort to repair. There are moments with your children and family that cannot be recovered simply because you finally understand how important they were. There are missions that end without the answer you prayed for.

I could not bring back those we lost. I could not find the kidnapped boy in Haiti. I could not undo every absence or reclaim every moment when the mission had received more of me than the people waiting at home. I could not command the nerves in my injured foot to restore themselves simply because I wanted them to. I could not repair everything through force of will. Yet for years, part of me kept trying.

That was one of the most difficult things for me to recognize about myself. When something hurt, I often responded by moving. Another mission. Another business. Another project. Another responsibility. Another opportunity to be useful. Activity created purpose, and purpose helped quiet things I did not yet know how to face.

There is nothing wrong with action when action is needed. There is nothing wrong with hard work, discipline, persistence, or service. They are among the qualities I value most. But more action is not always healing. More responsibility is not always recovery. More effort does not necessarily repair what lies beneath the surface. Sometimes action simply keeps you from being still long enough to recognize what needs to be healed.

That lesson came slowly.

Service had given me extraordinary blessings. I had stood beside remarkable men and women. I had watched rescuers risk themselves for strangers, soldiers depend completely upon one another, medical professionals work beyond exhaustion, humanitarian workers enter devastated communities, and ordinary people respond with extraordinary courage when the moment required it. I had been given opportunities to help save lives, recover the fallen, protect people in dangerous places, train warriors, build businesses, and contribute to missions larger than myself. I remain grateful for those opportunities.

The cost does not cancel the blessing, but the blessing does not require me to pretend there was no cost.

Military service, rescue work, disaster response, humanitarian operations, and protection assignments can place unusual demands upon those who answer those calls. They can ask for time, physical safety, emotional reserves, family separation, and exposure to things the human mind was never designed to treat as ordinary. Sometimes the cost appears immediately in blood, injury, or loss. More often it accumulates quietly.

That does not mean the service was wrong. It means we are human.

The people who serve are not machines built to absorb unlimited pressure. Courage does not make someone immune to grief. Training does not make a person immune to trauma. Faith does not prevent every wound. Strength does not mean you can carry indefinitely what was never intended to remain entirely on your shoulders.

I had to learn the difference between responsibility and ownership. Responsibility means doing everything faithfully within your ability. Ownership is the belief that everything depends upon you. For much of my life, I did not recognize how easily one could become the other. Responsibility had served me well. Ownership was slowly exhausting me.

I began to understand that what I had always thought of as control had limits. Control is useful when you are planning a mission, securing a scene, evaluating a threat, managing a team, or deciding whether to enter dangerous water. It becomes something very different when applied to grief, regret, relationships, and the past. You cannot command those things into submission. You cannot outwork them. You cannot intimidate them. You cannot outrun them. Eventually, you have to stop.

For me, that stopping point became deeply connected to my relationship with my Father in Heaven and Jesus Christ.

Faith had always been part of my life. I had prayed before missions, sought direction during difficult decisions, and experienced moments of protection and spiritual prompting that I could not reasonably dismiss as coincidence. I believed in God. I believed in Jesus Christ. I believed I had been guided and preserved many times. But there is a difference between believing in God and trusting Him with the things you cannot fix.

It is easy to speak of faith after the outcome you wanted. It is easy to thank God when the missing woman is found alive, when the warning beneath the ice brings you safely back to the surface, when the bullet passes through without destroying your ability to walk, or when the aircraft lands and you return home. Faith becomes harder when the ending is different.

What does faith look like when the person dies despite everything you did correctly? What does it mean when the child remains missing? What does it mean when a marriage ends, the body remains damaged, the memory remains vivid, or the prayer does not produce the outcome you hoped for? Those questions forced my faith beyond the expectation that belief would protect me from every painful ending.

I began to understand that faith was not a guarantee that God would remove the fire. Sometimes faith was discovering that He was present inside it.

That realization changed the meaning of four words I had heard and spoken throughout my life: Thy will be done.

For someone accustomed to taking action, those words can sound dangerously close to resignation. They are not. “Thy will be done” does not mean giving up. It does not mean refusing responsibility, abandoning preparation, or standing still when action is required. It does not mean accepting injustice, refusing to protect someone, or waiting for God to perform work He has given us the ability to do ourselves.

It means accepting the boundary between my responsibility and His.

I prepare. I act. I protect. I serve. I accept accountability for my choices. I give the moment everything honestly required of me. Then, when I reach the place where effort can go no farther, I trust Him with what remains.

That was one of the hardest forms of surrender I ever learned.

I had spent years training myself to resist surrender. In dangerous environments, surrender can get people killed. You keep going. You fight through fatigue. You solve the next problem. You refuse to quit. But spiritual surrender is something entirely different. It is not surrender to the enemy. It is surrender to God.

It is recognizing that He sees what I cannot see, understands what I cannot understand, and holds a perspective beyond the narrow window through which I experience my own life. For me, that became the beginning of healing. Not forgetting. Not denying. Healing.

I could acknowledge a mistake without allowing shame to become my permanent identity. I could grieve someone I could not save without assuming that grief was proof I had failed. I could acknowledge that service had sometimes taken me away from my family more than I now wished it had without pretending the past could simply be rewritten. I could accept physical injury without concluding that my usefulness had ended. I could finally separate what had happened from what I was still capable of becoming.

That is where redemption became more than a religious word to me.

Through Jesus Christ, I came to understand that redemption does not require the past to disappear. It changes what the past is allowed to do with the future.

There are things in my life I would change if I could. There are decisions I would make differently, moments when I would listen longer, remain home, speak more carefully, or recognize sooner what someone close to me was carrying. Good intentions do not erase consequences. Service does not make every decision righteous simply because the purpose behind it was honorable. Grace does not require us to pretend otherwise. Grace allows us to tell the truth and still move forward.

That distinction mattered deeply to me because I had spent years believing strength meant pushing through whatever stood in front of me. The answer to weakness was effort. The answer to pain was endurance. The answer to uncertainty was preparation. Those qualities are valuable, but none of them is redemption.

You cannot redeem yourself through sheer effort. You cannot heal every wound by becoming tougher. You cannot make yourself worthy of peace by accomplishing enough good to outweigh everything you regret.

There comes a point when the rescuer must accept rescue.

That may have been one of the most difficult truths of my entire life.

I knew how to enter the water for someone else. I knew how to stand between danger and another person. I knew how to carry a broken body, move toward a threat, guard a medical team, build a plan, organize people, train warriors, and keep functioning when the environment became chaotic. I was much less comfortable admitting that I needed help carrying what had accumulated inside me.

Christ asked me to let Him into the places where effort had failed, not because effort was meaningless, but because it had reached its proper limit. His invitation was not to become weaker. It was to stop confusing self-reliance with strength.

The Savior already understood the weight I was carrying. He knew the sorrow, the regret, the fear, the injuries, the things I could not repair, and the names and faces that remained in my memory. He knew them before I had words to explain them. I did not have to convince Him that I had tried hard enough. I did not have to prove that I was strong enough. I simply had to trust Him.

That trust changed my understanding of service as well.

For much of my life, service meant going. It meant responding to the pager, deploying, entering the water, stepping into the wreckage, moving toward the threat, or accepting the difficult assignment. I still believe deeply in that kind of service. There will always be men and women who are called to go.

But I no longer believe that the most difficult assignment is automatically the most righteous one or that sacrifice must always be measured by pain. Wisdom sometimes means going. Sometimes it means staying. Sometimes it means acting immediately. Sometimes it means listening. Sometimes the person who needs you most is thousands of miles away. Sometimes he is sitting across the table from you.

That understanding did not end my service. It made it more deliberate. Today I continue serving through teaching, writing, podcasts, mentoring, and other forms of communication that allow me to pass along lessons learned through military service, Search and Rescue, tactical training, protection work, humanitarian missions, business, faith, failure, and recovery. I still want people to be safer, better prepared, more aware, and more capable of helping those placed in their care. I also want those carrying unseen wounds to understand that injury, age, loss, or failure does not end usefulness and that service close to home is not somehow less meaningful than service performed in distant or dangerous places.

But this final chapter is not really about me. It is about all of you who go.

It is about the soldier who leaves a family behind because the orders came, the police officer walking toward a call without knowing what waits behind the door, the firefighter climbing the stairs while everyone else is coming down, the rescuer clipping into the rope, the diver descending beneath black water, the medic kneeling beside someone whose life is slipping away, the humanitarian worker entering a devastated community, the protector watching the crowd while everyone else is focused on the principal, the spouse who remains at home carrying responsibilities no one sees, the family member answering the late-night phone call, and the countless people who serve quietly without uniforms, medals, headlines, or recognition.

I know something of what service can give you. It can give purpose, brotherhood, perspective, faith, and the knowledge that your life was used in the service of someone besides yourself. Those are profound gifts.

I also know what service can sometimes ask from you. It can take time you never recover. It can change the way you sleep. It can alter your body. It can place images in your mind that do not leave when the mission ends. It can teach you to function so effectively in crisis that ordinary stillness begins to feel foreign. It can create a habit of carrying everything yourself because other people have spent years depending upon you to do exactly that.

If you recognize yourself in those words, understand that the qualities that helped you survive the fire may not be the same qualities that help you heal from it.

There is a time to push, and there is a time to stop pushing. There is a time to take control of the situation, and there is a time to release what was never yours to control. There is a time to carry another person, and there is also a time to allow yourself to be carried.

Healing does not dishonor the mission. Rest does not erase courage. Accepting help does not cancel strength.

Acknowledging the cost does not mean you regret the service. Surrendering something to God does not mean you quit.

For me, healing began when I stopped believing that another mission, another accomplishment, another business, another physical challenge, or another act of endurance could finally solve what effort alone had never been able to reach. I had to stop trying to rescue myself.

That did not happen in one dramatic moment. It happened slowly, through faith, reflection, repentance, forgiveness, humility, and a willingness to accept that some things would remain unanswered in this life. The fire had already taught me how to endure. Christ began teaching me how to release. That was the greater lesson.

The scars remain. Some are physical. Others are unseen. There are people I still miss. There are outcomes I still wish had been different. There are moments from decades ago that can return with astonishing clarity. Healing did not erase any of that. It changed my relationship with it.

The past no longer has to demand another mission in payment. Regret no longer has to become punishment. Pain no longer has to prove itself through more pain.

We can honor those we lost by living well. We can honor those we served beside by remaining connected. We can honor our families by becoming more present. We can honor the opportunities God gave us by using what we learned with greater wisdom. And we can honor the Savior by finally accepting the redemption we claim to believe He offers.

That is where I stand now. Not finished. Not perfected. Not untouched by the road behind me. But redeemed enough to know that the fire does not get the final word.

Service was one of the great privileges of my life, and the cost was real. So were the blessings. The wounds were real, and so is healing. The failures were real, and so is redemption.

For all who go when others need help, for those who stand watch, protect, rescue, heal, carry, and sacrifice, I hope you never lose the willingness to serve. But I also hope you learn sooner than I did that you were never meant to carry everything alone.

Prepare well. Serve faithfully. Love deeply. Accept responsibility for what is yours and release what is not. When effort has reached its limit, when there is no additional mission that can repair the loss, and no amount of strength can change what has already happened, trust the One who can reach where you cannot.

For most of my life, I believed the answer was to keep moving. Now I understand that sometimes the most important act of courage is to stop long enough to place what remains into the hands of God.

The fire built much of the man I became. Grace taught me what to do with what survived. After a lifetime of trying to carry the mission myself, I finally understand the freedom contained in four simple words.

Thy will be done.

There are certain dates in history that echo through the generations. Dates that become far more than moments on a calendar. They become symbols. They become reminders. They become markers that separate what was from what might have been. June 6, 1944, is one of those dates. It is remembered simply as D-Day, but behind those six characters lies one of the most extraordinary demonstrations of courage, sacrifice, and determination the world has ever witnessed.

As I reflect on this anniversary, I often find myself thinking less about the military operation itself and more about the men who carried it out. They were young—many barely out of high school. Some had never traveled far from home. They were farmers from Iowa, fishermen from New England, factory workers from Detroit, students from small towns scattered across America, Canada, Britain, and beyond. Most had never experienced combat. Yet on the morning of June 6, they climbed into landing craft and aircraft, knowing that many of them would not survive the day.

The world they inherited was engulfed in war. For years, Nazi Germany had spread tyranny across Europe. Entire nations had fallen under occupation. Millions lived without freedom. Families had been torn apart. Innocent people suffered under oppression, persecution, and violence. The leaders of the Allied nations understood that if Europe was to be liberated, someone would have to cross the English Channel and challenge one of the most heavily defended coastlines in history. Someone would have to confront the machine guns, artillery, mines, and fortified bunkers that stretched across the beaches of Normandy. Someone would have to stand between tyranny and freedom.

Before dawn, thousands of Allied paratroopers descended from the skies over France. Many landed far from their intended drop zones. Some found themselves alone, separated from their units and surrounded by enemy forces. In the darkness and confusion, they pressed forward anyway. They seized bridges, disrupted communications, and created chaos behind German lines. Their mission was critical to the success of the invasion, and many paid for it with their lives. Yet despite the confusion and danger, they carried on because they understood that what they were doing mattered.

As the first light of dawn broke over the Normandy coast, thousands of landing craft approached the beaches. Utah. Omaha. Gold. Juno. Sword. Those names would soon become etched into history forever. Packed tightly into those boats were young men carrying rifles, ammunition, fear, and hope. They knew what awaited them. They had seen reconnaissance photographs. They had listened to briefings. They knew the beaches were covered by machine guns and artillery. They knew many of their friends would die. Yet they kept moving toward the shore.

I often wonder what went through their minds during those final moments before the ramps dropped. Perhaps they thought of their families back home. Perhaps they thought about a mother praying for them, a father who taught them to be strong, a sweetheart waiting for their return, or a future they hoped to build when the war was over. Perhaps they prayed. Perhaps they were too overwhelmed by fear to think clearly at all. Whatever they felt, they stepped forward when the moment came.

The fighting at Omaha Beach became one of the most brutal battles of the entire invasion. As the ramps lowered, many soldiers were met immediately with devastating enemy fire. Carefully planned formations dissolved into chaos. Officers were killed. Units became separated. Men found themselves pinned down on open beaches with nowhere to hide. The invasion itself seemed in danger of failing. Yet in those moments, something remarkable happened. Ordinary men stepped forward and became leaders. Small groups formed under intense fire. Soldiers crawled across the sand, climbed steep bluffs, attacked machine gun nests, and opened pathways for those behind them. The success of D-Day did not come because everything went according to plan. It came because countless individuals refused to surrender.

That lesson has stayed with me throughout my own life. Whether in military service, search-and-rescue operations, humanitarian missions, business, or simply facing the challenges of everyday life, success rarely comes when conditions are perfect. More often than not, success comes because people refuse to quit. It comes because ordinary individuals continue moving forward despite fear, uncertainty, and hardship. The men of D-Day demonstrated that truth in its purest form.

By the end of June 6, more than 156,000 Allied troops had landed in Normandy. Thousands were dead, wounded, or missing. The cost was staggering. Yet a foothold had been established. The defenses had been breached. The liberation of Europe had begun. From those beaches would come the liberation of France, the eventual collapse of Nazi Germany, and the restoration of freedom to millions of people who had lived under oppression.

When I think about D-Day, I do not first think about generals or grand strategy. I think about individuals. I think about the medic running toward gunfire to help a wounded stranger. I think about the engineer clearing obstacles under enemy fire so others could advance. I think about the paratrooper fighting alone behind enemy lines. I think about the sailor navigating a landing craft through chaos and smoke. I think about the chaplain kneeling beside the dying. History remembers famous names, but freedom is most often secured by ordinary people performing extraordinary acts of courage.

Today, many of those veterans are gone. The Greatest Generation is passing from this world. Soon, there will be no living witnesses left to tell these stories firsthand. That reality places a responsibility on all of us. We must remember what happened. We must teach future generations why it mattered. We must preserve the stories of those who sacrificed so much because freedom itself depends upon remembering the cost at which it was purchased.

The men who stormed the beaches of Normandy did not fight because war was glorious. They fought because they understood that freedom was worth defending. They believed there were principles greater than comfort and safety. They believed future generations deserved the opportunity to live free from tyranny. They understood that some causes are worth risking everything for.

As Americans, we often find ourselves divided by politics, policies, and opinions. Yet D-Day reminds us of something deeper. Before any political label, before any ideology, we are beneficiaries of sacrifices we did not personally make. We enjoy freedoms secured by people we have never met. We walk through doors opened by those who gave everything they had. Remembering that truth has a way of bringing humility and perspective.

Today, I encourage you to take a moment and reflect. Look at an American flag. Read the story of a D-Day veteran. Visit a memorial if you have the opportunity. Teach a child about the events of June 6, 1944. Say a prayer for those who never came home. Because beneath the quiet fields and beaches of Normandy lie thousands of young men who crossed an ocean to defend freedom for people they would never meet.

Their voices may be silent now, but their legacy still speaks. It speaks through every generation that continues to live in freedom. It speaks through every citizen who values liberty. It speaks through every act of courage, service, and sacrifice that follows in their footsteps.

The message they carried onto those beaches remains as true today as it was on that morning more than eight decades ago: freedom is never free. It must be defended. It must be protected. And it is always worth the sacrifice.

This is David Burnell. Today we remember the courage. We remember the cost. And we remember the men who stormed the beaches on the longest day. May we always be worthy of their sacrifice.

Before It Happens is the introduction to the Defense for Women series on the David Burnell Podcast. In this foundational episode, David explains why personal safety begins long before a physical attack, how predators think, why awareness matters, and the core principles that will guide the entire series. Learn why violence is not a fight, why prevention is the ultimate goal, and how recognizing danger early can help you stay safe before it happens.

Full Episode:

Welcome to the David Burnell Podcast and the Defense for Women series.

Before we begin talking about awareness, predators, intuition, boundaries, personal safety, and self-defense, I think it’s important that you understand who I am, why I’m creating this series, and where these lessons come from.

For more than forty years, I’ve worked in professions where understanding danger wasn’t optional—it was essential. My background includes service in the United States Air Force, where I worked in communications, intelligence support, combat communications, and close air support, as well as missions supporting Special Operations. Following my military service, I spent decades working in security consulting, protective services, executive protection, search-and-rescue operations, dive rescue and recovery, disaster response, humanitarian missions, violence prevention, and self-defense training.

Over the years, I’ve trained military personnel, law enforcement officers, rescue professionals, security teams, protective service specialists, and civilians. I’ve worked in disaster zones following earthquakes and tsunamis. I’ve deployed on humanitarian missions in places like Haiti, Japan, and Burma. I’ve participated in rescue and recovery operations where lives depended on preparation, awareness, and decision-making under pressure. I’ve taught awareness, preparedness, personal protection, and violence prevention to thousands of people, and I’ve spent much of my adult life studying how emergencies unfold, how people respond under stress, how criminals select victims, and how ordinary people can dramatically improve their chances of staying safe.

What I learned through all of those experiences surprised me.

The most important lessons about survival rarely come from fighting. They come from avoidance. They come from awareness. They come from recognizing danger before danger recognizes you.

Throughout my career, I’ve watched people spend enormous amounts of time learning how to react to violence while spending very little time learning how to avoid it. Yet when you study real-world incidents, you discover something interesting. The people who consistently stay safe are often not the strongest. They are not the fastest. They are not necessarily the most skilled fighters.

They are the people who recognize danger early. They notice what others miss. They trust their instincts. They understand boundaries. They understand risk. And they act before a situation becomes a crisis.

That’s why I created Defense for Women.

I believe every woman deserves practical, realistic information about personal safety. Not fear. Not paranoia. Not sensational stories designed to scare people. Practical knowledge that can help you recognize danger sooner, make better decisions under pressure, and avoid becoming a victim in the first place.

The title of this episode—and in many ways the title of this entire series—is Before It Happens.

That phrase represents a fundamental shift in how we think about self-defense. Most people think self-defense begins when someone grabs you. Most people think self-defense begins when an attack starts. Most people think self-defense begins when violence becomes unavoidable.

I disagree.

Real self-defense begins long before that.

It begins with awareness. It begins with preparation. It begins with understanding how violence actually unfolds. And it begins with recognizing danger while you still have options.

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned throughout my life is that violence rarely happens the way people imagine it. Most people picture violence as a fight. They imagine two people facing each other, exchanging words, escalating into a confrontation, and eventually becoming physical.

Real violence is usually very different.

Real violence is often sudden. It is often unfair. It is often unexpected. And it is usually designed to overwhelm a victim before they have time to respond. The person who initiates violence often has the advantage because they choose the time, the place, the method, and the target.

That is why one of the core principles you’ll hear throughout this series is simple:

Violence is not a fight—it’s an event.

When you begin looking at violence as an event instead of a fight, everything changes. You stop focusing exclusively on what happens during an attack and start paying attention to everything that happens before it. You begin paying attention to awareness. You begin paying attention to behavior. You begin paying attention to patterns, warning signs, environmental cues, and the countless small details that most people overlook.

That is where prevention lives.

That is where safety lives.

And that is where this series begins.

Throughout the episodes ahead, we’ll discuss how predators think, how they select victims, how they test boundaries, and how they identify opportunities. We’ll explore situational awareness, intuition, personal safety, confidence, decision-making under stress, and practical principles to help you avoid becoming a target in the first place.

Most importantly, you’ll learn that personal safety is not about living in fear. It’s about living with awareness. It’s about understanding reality without becoming consumed by it. It’s about developing habits and mindsets that create options before a crisis occurs.

Because one of the principles you’ll hear throughout this series is simple:

You win early, or you lose late.

Every second of awareness creates options. Every option creates opportunities. Every opportunity increases safety.

The earlier you recognize a problem, the more choices you have.

The later you recognize a problem, the fewer choices remain.

That is why awareness matters.

That is why preparation matters.

And that is why this series exists.

Thank you for joining me for this introduction to Defense for Women on the David Burnell Podcast.

I sincerely appreciate you investing your time in yourself, your safety, and your future. My hope is that the lessons in this series will help you develop greater awareness, greater confidence, and a better understanding of how to recognize danger before it becomes a crisis.

In the episodes ahead, we’ll continue exploring practical strategies, proven principles, and real-world lessons designed to help you recognize danger earlier, avoid becoming a target, and stay safe before violence ever begins.

If you found this episode valuable, I encourage you to follow and subscribe to the David Burnell Podcast so you don’t miss future episodes in the Defense for Women series. Every episode builds upon the last, creating a complete framework for awareness, prevention, decision-making, and personal safety.

I’d also ask you to share this podcast with the women you care about—your daughters, wives, mothers, sisters, friends, coworkers, and anyone else who could benefit from this information. One lesson learned today may help someone avoid becoming a victim tomorrow.

You can also find additional episodes, articles, resources, and updates at davidburnell.substack.com.

Thank you again for listening and for being part of this community.

Remember these principles:

Violence is not a fight—it’s an event.

You win early, or you lose late.

Bad guys want it easy.

If it feels off, it is off.

And breaking contact is victory.

Remember, awareness creates options. Options create safety. And the best victory is often the danger you never have to face.

Until next time, stay aware, stay prepared, and stay safe.

Most women think violence occurs in dark alleys and dangerous neighborhoods. The reality is very different. In this episode, David Burnell explains why predators often target transitional spaces such as parking lots, gas stations, apartment complexes, and other everyday locations where attention drops and vulnerability increases. Learn how awareness can help you recognize opportunity before a predator does and why winning early is one of the most effective forms of self-defense.

Full Episode:

Welcome back to the David Burnell Podcast and another episode of Defense for Women.

Today I want to talk about one of the biggest misconceptions people have about violence. Most people believe danger exists somewhere else. They picture dark alleys, abandoned buildings, dangerous neighborhoods, or places they would never intentionally visit. They imagine that violence announces itself through obvious warning signs and that danger is easy to recognize. Unfortunately, reality works very differently. Violence can happen anywhere, at any time, and often in places we move through every single day without giving them a second thought.

One of the concepts I teach in personal security is something called transitional spaces. A transitional space is any place where people move from one environment to another. It might be the walk from a store to your car. It might be the parking lot outside your workplace. It could be a gas station, a hotel lobby, an apartment complex, a stairwell, an elevator, or even the short walk from your vehicle to your front door. These are locations where people naturally shift their focus from their surroundings to the next thing they need to do. And because attention shifts, awareness often drops.

Predators understand this. In fact, they depend on it.

Most criminals are not looking for the strongest person in the area. They are not looking for the toughest target. They are looking for opportunity. They are looking for a distraction. They are looking for isolation. They are looking for someone who is focused on something other than them. They know that people become vulnerable during transitions because the mind is occupied with tasks rather than awareness.

Think about how often you leave a store and immediately begin thinking about something else. Maybe you’re looking for your keys. Maybe you’re checking your phone. Maybe you’re loading groceries into your vehicle. Maybe you’re managing children, answering a text message, or mentally reviewing your day. Your body is moving through the environment, but your attention is somewhere else entirely.

That’s exactly what predators look for.

One of the most common locations for criminal activity is not some remote back alley. It’s a parking lot. Parking lots combine several factors that criminals find attractive. People are often distracted. Distances between individuals can be significant. Escape routes are plentiful. Visibility may be limited by vehicles, structures, or lighting conditions. Most importantly, people often lower their guard because they view parking lots as nothing more than a means of getting from one place to another.

A predator standing in a parking lot sees something entirely different. They see people whose attention is fixed on their phones. They see individuals searching through purses and pockets for keys. They see people carrying bags that limit movement. They see people walking alone. They see people who never look up and never scan their surroundings.

Bad guys want it easy.

That phrase is one of the most important lessons in personal safety because it explains so much of criminal behavior. Bad guys want it easy. They don’t want witnesses. They don’t want resistance. They don’t want attention. They don’t want uncertainty. They want an opportunity that requires the least effort and poses the least risk.

Transitional spaces often provide exactly that.

The same principle applies to gas stations. Most people don’t think of a gas station as a place where they need to be alert. It’s a routine stop. You pull in, fill the tank, maybe grab a drink or a snack, and leave. But while you’re standing there, your movement is restricted. Your attention is divided. You may be looking at the pump, your phone, your wallet, or your children. Once again, your focus shifts away from the environment around you.

Predators understand these patterns because they observe human behavior. They know when people are paying attention and when they are not. They know when awareness is high and when awareness is low. They know that most people operate on autopilot during routine activities.

The same vulnerabilities exist in apartment complexes, hotel corridors, parking garages, elevators, office buildings, and shopping centers. What all these locations have in common is that people are moving from one place to another. They are transitioning. Their minds are focused on the destination rather than the journey. And that brief window of reduced awareness can create opportunity.

This is why situational awareness is such a critical skill. Awareness is not about paranoia. It is not about constantly looking for danger. It is not about living in fear. Awareness is simply the ability to recognize what is happening around you before it becomes a problem.

I often tell people that awareness is not something you maintain at maximum intensity twenty-four hours a day. That’s unrealistic. Awareness is more like a switch. You turn it up when circumstances warrant it. When you’re approaching your vehicle. When you’re entering a parking garage. When you’re walking through a hotel hallway alone. When you’re pumping gas at night. When you’re leaving work after dark. Those are the moments when awareness becomes especially valuable.

One simple habit can dramatically improve your personal safety. Before entering a transitional space, pause for just a few seconds and scan your surroundings. Lift your eyes from your phone. Look around. Notice who is nearby. Notice who appears to belong there and who doesn’t. Notice potential exits, obstacles, and areas of concern. Those few seconds of observation may provide information that could become incredibly important later.

Another mistake people make is believing that danger appears suddenly without warning. The truth is that dangerous situations often provide clues. Someone may be lingering where they have no apparent reason to be. Someone may be paying unusual attention to people rather than conducting normal business. Someone may repeatedly change direction to stay close to you. Someone may seem more interested in your movements than their own activities.

None of these things proves criminal intent. That’s not the point.

The point is that they may justify increased awareness.

Remember, your goal is not to identify criminals. Your goal is to identify situations that deserve caution. Those are two very different things. Too many people wait until danger becomes obvious before they act. They wait until they are certain. They wait until they can prove something is wrong. The problem is that once danger becomes obvious, many of your options may already be disappearing.

One of the guiding principles of this series is simple: you win early, or you lose late.

Every second of awareness creates options. Every option creates distance. Every bit of distance creates safety. The sooner you recognize a problem, the more choices you have available to solve it. The later you recognize a problem, the fewer choices remain.

That’s why awareness is such a powerful self-defense tool. Not because it makes you stronger. Not because it makes you tougher. But because it gives you time. And time is one of the most valuable resources you possess when facing a potential threat.

As we close today, I want you to remember something important. Violence does not require a dangerous location. Violence requires opportunity. And opportunity often exists in ordinary places during ordinary moments.

The parking lot.

The gas station.

The apartment complex.

The shopping center.

The hotel hallway.

The walk to your vehicle.

The walk to your front door.

Those everyday transitions deserve your attention, not because you should live in fear, but because awareness gives you choices. And choices create safety.

Thank you for joining me for this episode of Defense for Women on the David Burnell Podcast. If this episode was helpful, please share it with the women in your life. The more women who understand where vulnerability often occurs, the more women who can recognize danger before it develops into a crisis.

Remember this: Violence can happen anywhere. Violence can happen anytime. Bad guys want it easy. And awareness is often the difference between opportunity and safety.

Until next time, stay aware, stay prepared, and stay safe.

Most women are taught to be polite. Predators know it.

In this episode of Defense for Women, David Burnell examines how criminals and predators exploit one of the strongest social pressures many women experience—the need to be nice. From unwanted conversations to dangerous encounters, many women ignore their instincts because they fear appearing rude, overreacting, or hurting someone’s feelings.

Drawing on decades of experience in military service, rescue operations, security, and self-defense training, David explains why politeness should never come before personal safety. You’ll learn how predators manipulate social norms, why discomfort is often a warning sign, and how confidence and boundaries can help stop dangerous situations before they escalate.

Your safety is more important than someone else’s feelings.

Defense for Women is part of the David Burnell Podcast, providing practical awareness, prevention, and personal safety education designed to help women avoid becoming victims before violence ever begins.

This morning, I was asked to share a few thoughts in church about what freedom means to me. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to attend, so I put some of those thoughts in writing instead.

My thoughts on freedom

When I think about freedom, I don’t think first about politics or even Government. I think about people. I think about the young men and women who raised their right hands and stepped forward when their country called. I think about friends who never came home, and others who came home carrying wounds you can’t see. I think about the families who endured long separations and quiet sacrifices so that others could live in peace. Freedom has always had a face for me. It has names. It has stories.

Over the years, my military service, rescue work, and humanitarian missions have taken me to places where freedom was fragile, where people lived with fear, uncertainty, and few choices about their own future. Those experiences changed me. They taught me that one of the greatest blessings we enjoy as Americans is not simply liberty itself, but the gift of agency—the ability to choose our path, speak our minds, worship according to our beliefs, build a life for our families, and pursue our God-given potential. The more I traveled, the more grateful I became for the freedoms we often take for granted.

I love this country—not because it is perfect, but because of the principles upon which it was founded and the opportunities it has given generations of ordinary people to do extraordinary things. I have spent much of my life serving alongside people willing to stand between danger and the innocent, and that service taught me that freedom is not an entitlement. It is a sacred trust. Every generation inherits it, protects it, and passes it forward.

Today, when I reflect on freedom, my heart is filled with gratitude. Gratitude for those who came before us. Gratitude for those who continue to serve. Gratitude for the blessings of living in the United States of America. And gratitude to God for the gift of agency itself—the ability to choose faith over fear, service over selfishness, and hope over despair. To me, that is what freedom truly means.

God bless you and your loved ones, and may God bless America and all other freedom-loving nations and people.

Please subscribe, follow, and share.

Thank you for listening.

— David Burnell

Most women are taught to be polite. Predators know it.

In this episode of Defense for Women, David Burnell explores one of the most overlooked yet powerful self-defense tools available to every woman: boundaries. Long before violence occurs, predators often test potential victims by pushing limits, invading personal space, ignoring discomfort, and exploiting the desire to be polite.

Drawing on decades of experience in military service, rescue operations, security, and self-defense training, David explains why confident boundaries pose a risk to predators and why healthy people respect them. You’ll learn how boundaries serve as an early warning system, how predators use social pressure to manipulate victims, and why “No” is often the most powerful word in personal safety.

This episode will help you recognize dangerous behavior sooner, trust your instincts more confidently, and understand why protecting yourself never requires permission.

Awareness helps you recognize danger. Intuition helps you identify danger. Distance helps you avoid danger. But boundaries help prevent danger from getting close enough to matter.

Defense for Women is part of the David Burnell Podcast, providing practical safety, awareness, and personal security education designed to help women avoid becoming victims before violence ever begins.

FULL EPISODE NARRATIVE

Welcome back to the David Burnell Podcast and another episode of Defense for Women.

Today I want to talk about something that may be one of the most powerful self-defense tools you possess, yet it is rarely taught in self-defense classes and almost never discussed in conversations about personal safety. I want to talk about boundaries.

When most people hear the word boundaries, they think about relationships. They think about dealing with difficult family members, demanding coworkers, or unhealthy friendships. They think of boundaries as something emotional or social. But boundaries are much more than that. Boundaries are a security tool. In fact, strong boundaries can prevent dangerous situations from ever developing in the first place.

One of the biggest misconceptions women have about personal safety is believing that self-defense begins when an attack starts. The reality is that the most effective self-defense often happens long before anyone lays a hand on you. It happens when you recognize danger early. It happens when you trust your instincts. It happens when you maintain awareness. And it happens when you establish boundaries.

Predators understand human behavior far better than most people realize. They spend their lives observing people. They watch how people react. They study body language. They look for vulnerability. They pay attention to hesitation, uncertainty, distraction, and compliance. Most predators are not looking for the toughest target. They are looking for the easiest target. They are looking for the person who will allow them to get closer, the person who will continue the conversation, the person who will ignore discomfort, the person who will doubt their own instincts, and the person who will prioritize politeness over safety.

That last point is especially important.

Many women have been conditioned from childhood to be nice. Be polite. Be accommodating. Be helpful. Don’t offend anyone. Don’t embarrass anyone. Don’t make a scene. While those qualities can be admirable in healthy social situations, predators often exploit them. A predator understands that many women would rather endure discomfort than risk appearing rude. They know many women will continue conversations they don’t want because they don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings. They know many women will tolerate behavior that feels inappropriate because they are worried about overreacting. They know that many women have been taught to question their instincts before questioning someone else’s behavior. And that creates opportunity.

One of the most important lessons I can share with you is this: your safety is more important than someone else’s feelings.

Think about that for a moment. Your safety is more important than someone else’s feelings. You do not owe strangers your time. You do not owe strangers your attention. You do not owe strangers access to your personal space. You do not owe anyone an explanation for protecting yourself.

Many dangerous situations begin with a simple violation of boundaries. Someone stands too close. Someone continues a conversation after you’ve indicated you’re not interested. Someone asks personal questions that seem inappropriate. Someone pressures you to move to another location. Someone refuses to accept no for an answer. These actions may seem small, but they often serve as warning signs.

Healthy people generally respect boundaries. Predators frequently test them.

Think back to our previous episode about the Interview Phase. Predators often use small interactions to gather information. They aren’t necessarily interested in the answer to the question they’re asking. They’re interested in your response. Will you stop walking? Will you engage? Will you allow them into your space? Will you ignore your discomfort? Will you comply with requests? Every response provides information. Every response helps them assess risk.

Strong boundaries interrupt that process.

Imagine two different responses. In the first scenario, a woman feels uncomfortable but continues the conversation. She smiles politely. She answers questions she doesn’t want to answer. She allows the interaction to continue because she doesn’t want to seem rude. In the second scenario, a woman immediately recognizes her discomfort. She confidently says, “No, thank you,” and keeps moving. She creates distance. She does not negotiate. She does not apologize. She does not explain herself.

Which woman appears easier to manipulate?

The answer is obvious.

Confidence creates uncertainty for a predator. Confidence introduces risk. Confidence suggests resistance. And predators generally avoid unnecessary risk. They want easy opportunities. They want compliance. They want predictability. Strong boundaries communicate that you may not be any of those things.

Now, let me be clear. Having boundaries does not guarantee safety. Nothing does. There are violent criminals who attack regardless of confidence, awareness, or preparation. But boundaries dramatically improve your odds by helping you recognize danger sooner and preventing many situations from progressing beyond the earliest stages.

One of the most powerful things you can learn is that “no” is a complete sentence.

Many people feel compelled to explain themselves. They feel they must justify every decision. They feel obligated to provide reasons. But often, explanations create opportunities for manipulation. If you tell someone you can’t help because you’re busy, they may argue. If you tell someone you don’t have time, they may insist. If you tell someone why you’re uncomfortable, they may attempt to convince you that you’re wrong.

But “no” leaves very little room for negotiation.

No.

No, thank you.

I’m not interested.

I’m leaving.

Those statements are clear. They are direct. And they communicate confidence.

Another critical aspect of boundaries is understanding personal space. Distance is safety. Distance gives you options. Distance gives you time. Distance gives you the ability to observe, evaluate, and react. Whenever someone is attempting to close the distance unnecessarily, pay attention. Whenever someone ignores your efforts to maintain space, pay attention. Whenever someone continues advancing despite obvious signs that you are uncomfortable, pay attention. Those behaviors reveal information.

The behavior itself may not be criminal, but it is often informative.

Remember, your goal is not to determine whether someone is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Your goal is to recognize potential danger before danger becomes a crisis. Too many women wait for certainty. They wait until they can prove something is wrong. They wait until they can justify their concerns. They wait until the threat becomes obvious. The problem is that by the time danger becomes obvious, your options may already be shrinking.

Trust what you observe. Trust what you feel. Trust what you notice.

You do not need permission to leave. You do not need permission to create distance. You do not need permission to end a conversation. You do not need permission to protect yourself.

One thing I’ve learned from decades of military service, rescue operations, security work, and self-defense training is that confidence is often misunderstood. Confidence is not aggression. Confidence is not hostility. Confidence is not acting tough. Confidence is simply trusting your judgment enough to act when something feels wrong. It is the willingness to listen to your instincts and respond accordingly. It is the willingness to prioritize safety over social comfort. It is the willingness to disappoint a stranger if that disappointment keeps you safe.

The truth is, most dangerous people rely on social pressure far more than physical force. They rely on your desire to be polite. They rely on your fear of appearing rude. They rely on your reluctance to challenge inappropriate behavior. The moment you become comfortable setting boundaries, you remove one of their most effective tools.

So here’s your action step for this week. Practice boundaries in everyday life. Practice saying no. Practice declining requests. Practice ending conversations. Practice creating distance when you want distance. Practice trusting your instincts when something feels wrong. You don’t have to be rude. You don’t have to be confrontational. You simply need to be clear.

The more comfortable you become establishing boundaries in ordinary situations, the more naturally those skills will appear when you encounter extraordinary situations.

Thank you for joining me for this episode of Defense for Women on the David Burnell Podcast. If this episode was helpful, please share it with the women in your life—your daughters, wives, mothers, sisters, friends, and coworkers. The more women who understand how predators think, the more women who can avoid becoming victims.

Remember this: Awareness helps you recognize danger. Intuition helps you identify danger. Distance helps you avoid danger. But boundaries help prevent danger from getting close enough to matter.

Until next time, stay aware, stay prepared, and stay safe.

There are moments in life that change everything.

Not because they are loud or dramatic…But because they quietly alter how you walk forward from that point on.

The Climb is David Burnell’s personal experience ascending the Middle Teton—a climb undertaken just months after a devastating gunshot wound that permanently changed how he moved, how he endured, and how he understood himself.

At first, the mountain is simply a challenge.

But step by step, as the trail steepens and the group begins to separate, something deeper unfolds.

The strong move ahead.

The slower ones begin to fall behind.

And the climb becomes something else entirely.

As pain sets in and his pace slows, David finds himself walking beside those who are struggling—young men who are questioning whether they can continue at all.

What begins as a limitation becomes a placement.

What feels like weakness becomes purpose.

And what seemed like a climb to the summit becomes a journey into something far more meaningful.

Through real moments of exhaustion, stillness, and quiet decision, The Climb reveals powerful truths about life:

* Progress is not measured by speed

* Strength is found in what can be sustained

* The most important ground is not ahead of you—but beside you

* And no one is meant to walk their hardest moments alone

This is not just a story about a mountain.

It is a personal account of pain, purpose, faith, and perspective, drawn directly from David Burnell’s lived experience.

It is about valleys that shape us.Vistas that remind us.And the quiet, sacred work of staying with others when it would be easier to move ahead.

Written in a calm, reflective voice, The Climb offers a deeply personal and authentic perspective on struggle, endurance, and the kind of strength that is rarely seen—but always felt.

It is for those who feel like they’ve fallen behind.

For those who are still climbing, even when no one sees it.

And for those who choose to stay beside them.

One step. One choice. One purpose.Until we reach Him.

What happens when pressure strips away everything you pretend to be?

For more than a decade, David Burnell founded, funded, and operated the Urban Warfare Center — one of America’s most realistic force-on-force tactical training facilities — where thousands of military personnel, law enforcement officers, federal agents, rescue operators, and security professionals trained in the realities of urban combat, stress inoculation, leadership, and survival under pressure.

Inside dark hallways, smoke-filled rooms, and controlled chaos environments designed to replicate the emotional realities of combat and crisis, students confronted far more than tactics.

They confronted themselves.

Fight Through is a powerful and deeply personal exploration of fear, leadership, resilience, trauma, brotherhood, and human performance under pressure. Drawing from years of tactical instruction, rescue operations, humanitarian missions, and real-world operational experience, Burnell reveals what truly happens to the mind and body when chaos overwhelms comfort and survival becomes personal.

This is not a book about bravado.

It is a book about truth.

Inside these pages, readers will discover:

* Why fear is not weakness — and why denial is dangerous

* How stress changes perception, communication, and decision-making

* Why teams collapse under pressure — and how strong leaders stabilize chaos

* The psychology behind fight, flight, and freeze responses

* The emotional burden carried by warriors, responders, and protectors

* How brotherhood, purpose, and resilience sustain people through adversity

* Why pressure does not create character — it reveals it

Blending tactical insight with hard-earned life lessons, Fight Through moves beyond combat and into the universal realities of leadership, suffering, endurance, and personal transformation.

Whether you are in the military, law enforcement, or emergency services, a leader under pressure, or simply someone fighting private battles few people see, this book offers an unflinching look at what it means to keep moving forward when fear, exhaustion, and uncertainty threaten to break you.

Prepared minds survive first contact.

But heart, purpose, and brotherhood are what carry people home.

In the first episode of The Examiner, David Burnell introduces the philosophy behind the series and explores why calm, disciplined analysis has become increasingly rare in an age driven by outrage, instant reaction, and emotional performance.

Drawing on decades of experience in military service, rescue operations, leadership under pressure, and humanitarian work, this episode examines the differences between intelligence and judgment, reaction and reflection, and noise and clarity. Rather than offering political outrage or simplistic answers, The Examiner focuses on consequence, human behavior, history, fear, leadership, and the realities that emerge when pressure strips away illusion.

This is not a podcast about shouting louder.

It is about thinking more clearly.

If you are tired of performative outrage, shallow analysis, and emotionally manipulated narratives, The Examiner was built for you.

Topics explored in this episode include:

* Calmness under pressure

* Fear and human behavior

* Leadership and consequence

* Why societies lose clarity

* The danger of oversimplification

* Judgment versus intelligence

* History as a warning system

* Disciplined thinking in chaotic times

Thinking over shouting.

This has been The Examiner.