When You Want to Quit

🌅 Morning Whispers with Holy Spirit – Companion, Friend, and Helper - Entry #41 — When You Want to Quit

It was just after 3:30 a.m. when I woke up already tired. Not the kind of tired sleep fixes. The kind that sits deeper—behind the eyes, under the ribs.

The room was dark. Phoenix quiet. The kind that doesn’t rush you, but doesn’t hide anything either. Frankie shifted at the foot of the bed and went still again.

“Good morning, Holy Spirit,” I said.

The words came out slower than usual.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

I didn’t mean today. I meant this.

The building. The becoming. The cost that keeps asking for more parts of me than I thought I had.

I stared at the ceiling, chest tight, breath shallow. “I knew it would be hard,” I said. “I just didn’t know it would feel like this.”

There was no immediate answer. Not absence. Just space.

“I’m tired of explaining myself,” I went on. “Tired of being misunderstood. Tired of holding steady while everything around me shifts.”

My throat tightened. “Tired of being brave.”

That’s when the thought surfaced—the honest one I hadn’t wanted to say out loud.

“I want to quit.”

The word sat there between us. Heavy. Real.

I expected correction. Disappointment. A reminder of calling or endurance.

Instead, He said quietly,

You don’t want to quit because it’s hard. You want to quit because you can feel who this is shaping you into.

That landed hard.

My chest burned—not panic. Recognition.

“You’re not afraid of the work,” He continued.
You’re afraid of becoming someone who can carry it.

I swallowed.

“I don’t know if I like who this is asking me to be,” I admitted. “She’s exposed. She’s visible. She doesn’t get to go back to smaller.”

No, He said. But she gets stronger. And freer.

Tears pressed behind my eyes—not dramatic. Just tired.

“I thought partnership meant You’d make it lighter,” I said.

I’m not here to remove the weight, He replied.
I’m here to make sure it doesn’t crush you.

The room felt still, but different now. Like something had shifted its grip.

“I don’t want to quit You,” I said slowly. “I just don’t know how to keep going like this.”

Then don’t go like that, He said.
Go with Me.

That was the moment.

Not relief. Not motivation. Just a choice.

Stay. Even here. Even tired. Even unsure.

I turned onto my side, pulling the blanket closer—not to escape, but to settle. Frankie let out a soft breath, like he’d been waiting for that decision.

“I’m still here,” I whispered.

I know, He said. That’s why I’m still speaking.

We stayed there a while.
No promises.
No finish lines.

Just shared ground beneath the weight.

And for today—
that was enough.