There was a moment this year where quitting felt not just tempting, but responsible.

Not dramatic quitting.
Not the kind you announce.
The quiet kind… where your body is tired before your mind can catch up, and you start wondering if stepping away might actually be the most faithful choice you can make.

I’ve been building Studio West Design Co. for seven years. From nap times. From late nights. From seasons of grit, growth, faith, and fear. I built it as a working mom, holding ambition in one hand and real life in the other.

And this year nearly broke me.

There’s a stage of business no one really talks about.

When the weight becomes too much to carry.

You’re no longer scrappy.
You’re responsible.

You have a team relying on you. Clients depending on you. Payroll, contracts, timelines, systems, expectations. You’re the one holding it all together — even when you’re exhausted.

Add motherhood. Marriage. Old grief that resurfaces without warning. A body that keeps the score of stress whether you want it to or not.

This was the year I realized something hard:
Success doesn’t just ask what you can build, it asks what you can sustain.

And I wasn’t sure I could sustain what I had created.

The Moment I Said It Out Loud

I didn’t just think about quitting.

I prepared for it.

I sat on a tearful Zoom with my team and told them I didn’t think I could do this anymore. I told them I was empty, that I didn’t see a version of the future that didn’t cost me more than I had left to give.

After that call, I reached out to my accountant.
Then my legal team.

Not emotionally. Practically.

I asked what it would take to close the doors.

That was the moment it stopped being a passing thought and became a real option.

The Prayer That Came From Empty Hands

That night, I prayed a prayer that didn’t come with expectations.

“Okay. I think it’s time to close this. I’ve given everything I have. And this is my last exhausted breath asking, if this isn’t the end, I need a really clear sign. I don’t have it in me to guess anymore.”

I wasn’t asking for growth.
I wasn’t asking for success.
I was asking for clarity.

And I fully expected silence.

What Happened Next Wasn’t Subtle

The following week, everything shifted.

Partnerships I had been quietly working toward — for years — came through. Conversations that had stalled suddenly moved forward. Doors I had long stopped knocking on opened without force.

In one week, our business made what used to take a scrappy quarter to earn.

Not because I hustled harder.
Not because I launched something new.
Not because I pushed.

I was actively preparing to walk away.

God showed up… clearly, unmistakably.

And once I saw it, I couldn’t pretend I didn’t.

I Didn’t Hear “Quit”, I Heard “Rebuild”

I expected God to tell me to stop.

Instead, everything that wasn’t sustainable started falling apart.

Offers that no longer fit. Systems that relied too heavily on overfunctioning. Boundaries that had slowly eroded. Expectations that were never meant to be carried long-term.

It didn’t feel like punishment.
It felt like pruning.

So we burned it down… carefully.

We audited everything:
– Our offers and pricing
– Our timelines
– Our contracts
– Our systems
– Our expectations of clients and ourselves

And we rebuilt with intention instead of urgency.

What God Told Me to Build Instead

Not louder.
Not bigger.
Not faster.

But deeper.

A business where integrity mattered more than optics. Where rest wasn’t something you earned — it was something you protected. Where growth didn’t come at the cost of peace.

We chose timelines that felt humane.
Pricing that honored the depth of our work.
Systems that supported real life.
Benefits that treated people like humans: healthcare, creative sabbaticals, space for grief.

Faith stayed part of it, not as a headline, but as a foundation. Quiet trust instead of constant striving.

I Didn’t Quit … But I’m Not the Same

I didn’t quit this year.
But I did surrender.

I stopped trying to build a business that looked impressive and started building one that felt obedient.

One that could hold motherhood.
Marriage.
Grief.
Joy.
Rest.
Seasons.

Staying was harder than leaving.
Rebuilding was slower than quitting.

But it was also steadier.
Lighter.
Truer.

If You’re Standing on the Edge Right Now

If you’re reading this and quietly wondering if it’s time to walk away, hear this gently:

Maybe you’re not being asked to quit.
Maybe you’re being asked to let die the version of it that was never meant to last.

Sometimes God doesn’t remove the calling.
He removes the way you’ve been carrying it.

I came closer to quitting this year than I ever have.

And in that moment of complete surrender, I was given something better than an exit plan.
I was given a blueprint.

One rooted in faith.
In stewardship.
In sustainability.
In trust.

So if this is your year of almost quitting… pause before you decide. Ask the hard question. Listen closely.

The thing you’re meant to build next might look nothing like what you’re holding right now.

And that might be the miracle.