There are days when "not giving up" doesn’t look heroic at all.
It doesn't look like climbing a mountain or shouting victory from the rooftops. Sometimes, it looks like sitting in the driveway for five extra minutes before walking inside. It looks like crying quietly in the shower so your girls don't hear the weight you are carrying. It looks like staring at the ceiling at 2:00 AM, wondering how one set of shoulders is supposed to hold up an entire world.
When you walk this road as a single momma, the temptation to simply shut down is real. Not because you don't love Jesus. Not because you aren't grateful for your blessings. But because you are tired down to the very marrow of your bones.
I have walked through storms I never saw coming. I have watched plans crumble, carried the ache of losing my daughter, and navigated the silent, exhausting reality of doing life without a partner to share the load. And if I am being completely honest—because I refuse to pretend I have it all together—there have been moments when giving up on trying felt a whole lot safer than keeping my heart open.
It is easy to build walls when everything familiar has fallen apart. It is easy to go numb.
Yet, somehow, something inside of me refuses to quit. Not because I am strong—Lord knows I am often afraid—but because Jesus has never once let go of my hand. Even in the darkest valleys, His faithfulness has looked like breath. It has looked like a tiny flicker of hope that simply refuses to go out. As 2 Corinthians 4:8–9 reminds us, we are "hard pressed on every side but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed."
Choosing Life When Survival Was All You Knew
For so many years, my life was built entirely around survival. Bills, crises, appointments, late-night tears, and doing whatever it took to keep my girls steady while my own heart was breaking. When you spend decades pouring out just to make it to tomorrow, you forget what it actually means to live.
Not giving up on life means believing that my story isn't over just because the map changed. It means stepping out of survival mode and daring to believe that God still has sacred adventures ahead—even in an emptying nest, even with scars, even when I don't know what the next chapter looks like. Jesus promised in John 10:10 that He came so we "may have life, and have it to the full." Joy isn't something that just happens to us; it is something we have to pursue on purpose, right alongside the grief, trusting that He is still leading us into open skies.
Choosing Love When Your Heart Knows the Cost
Let’s talk about the scary part: not giving up on love.
When you have experienced deep betrayal, broken dreams, and devastating loss, guarding your heart feels like common sense. You learn how to be both mother and father. You learn how to rely on yourself because you had no other choice. Letting anyone close—or even daring to hope for real, safe, restorative love again—feels terrifying. What if it hurts again? What if the worst happens again?
I don't have all the answers about what love looks like in this next season. What I do know is that I don't want fear to make me bitter. 1 John 4:18 tells us that "there is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear." I want to be a woman who still loves bravely. Whether that means pouring deep, fierce love into my daughters, showing up for friends walking through their own dark chapters, or keeping the door of my heart unlocked to whatever God might bring in His timing—I refuse to let past pain steal my softness.
It is easy to trust God when the prayers are answered quickly and life makes sense. It is a whole different thing to pursue a deeper faith when you are standing in your "even if" moments and Heaven feels quiet.
There have been days I couldn't pray pretty prayers. All I had were tears and a whispered, "Jesus, I am tired, and You are going to have to carry this."
And you know what? He met me right there in the messy, uncertain middle. In Matthew 11:28, Jesus doesn't ask us to clean ourselves up or find our own strength first—He simply says, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."
Pursuing a deeper faith doesn't mean having the right scripture taped to your mirror so you never feel afraid. It means showing up, knees shaking, and trusting that God is good even when life isn't. It means clinging to Isaiah 61:3, believing that He truly is giving us "a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair"—even before we can see the finished masterpiece.
To every single momma reading this who feels like she is running on fumes tonight: I see you.
Galatians 6:9 urges us, "Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." You don't have to have the next five years figured out. You don't have to pretend you aren't weary. Just take a deep breath, place your hand over your beating heart, and remember that you are still here.
Not finished. Not forgotten. Still becoming.
Here's to showing up again tomorrow. Here's to the grit, the grace, and the hope that refuses to die.
