Motivation Monday: Staying Motivated When Quitting Gets Tempting

You know what? The last few weeks have been tough. I've been battling serious depression - the kind that makes me not reach out to my friends as often, the kind that isolates me, makes me grouchy, sends me to sleep crying every night, and wakes me up with nightmares until morning. Some of it's mental health stuff that would already just be there; PTSD and PMDD cycle back and forth to keep my emotions always on the verge of a downward spiral, and despite my near-desperate effort to always "win" the battle ... sometimes I lose.

This last week, I lost.

I went through the motions, and I made the meals and I dressed the kids and I got them to and from school. I wrote when a deadline loomed over my head, and I kept up with things. Mostly.

But Friday was a three-deadline day. Nothing too threatening, though, and one of the deadlines turned out to be one I had met early, which was nice. I met the second one fairly simply, and I was on a roll.

Until I wasn't. I hit a wall. I had home stuff going on. I had mood stuff going on. I had ... life ... going on all around me, a life full of people who not only don't understand the depth or reality of this struggle, but don't care enough or are too intimidated to want to. And I just couldn't. I went to bed physically ill over it, and that sense of wrongness has plagued me all weekend.

But I know me, and I know the struggles I live with. I know the challenges set before me. And I simply refuse to just lay down and give up. I can't; I couldn't even if I wanted to, because I am the only person my children know who has never given up and walked away from them. I'm the only person they have in their life who is always there, even when I don't necessarily want to be. I'm the only person always choosing to love them with actions and not just words, even when they are at their most unlovely.

And I refuse to take that away from them.

My daughter Josephine is thirteen years old right now. She's wild and crazy and loud and outspoken and has a heart of gold.

I was only two years older than she is right now, the day my mother attempted suicide in front of me. We had had a fight over something I can't remember, and I said things to her that I can't remember, and she said things to me that I can't remember.

But I remember the layout of the apartment we lived in at the time, and how the floor plan played into the rest of the day. I remember her filling my bedroom doorway, angry blue eyes shooting daggers, jaw set in determination. A bottle in her hand. In my memory, I can't hear what she said to me, but I remember looking up from my bed, probably petulant, probably with my then-still-blue eyes shooting daggers right back.

And I remember everything slowing down as I filled with horror, watching her bring the pill bottle up to her mouth, pouring them in. She turned away from the door, across the hall, and stumbled through the kitchen door to the sink. I chased her, tried to stop her, screaming. Enraged. Scared. Horrified.

She bit my hand when I shoved it in her mouth, but some of the pills fell out into the sink. My hand was slimed with drool and half-dissolved capsule goo.

She collapsed on the kitchen floor, and I ran for the phone. My mother was locked in a psych ward for the weekend - and I was on my own for the weekend, at fifteen years old, with no money and no emergency plan. No backup. Just me, and the 18-year-old boyfriend who stayed with me to keep me company.

I will never. ever. ever. do that to my children.

But sometimes quitting looks easy, and all I want to do is just give up and stay in bed, wrapped in my blankets with my dog, and let the world go on doing what it does. And I am so thankful that my children take that option off the table for me.

So then, how do I keep moving? Well, I do it like this:

One day at a time, one post at a time. One tip, one strategy, one coping mechanism.

Because I'm a warrior, and I stand Undaunted.

Undaunted or otherwise, I'd still really love some encouragement lately. Being Undaunted doesn't mean you can't feel defeated, or that you can't struggle, or that you have to be untouchable somehow. It's just about embracing your strength and your inner ability to persevere. And it's okay to admit when that gets hard. If you're living with something lately, and you're surviving it despite what sometimes feels impossible, but you need a little encouragement too, tell me in the comments and then at least we'll know we're in this together. Or if your life is going well at the moment, take the time to leave some encouragement in the comments for others. It can be a quote, a song lyric, a bit of poem, a bible verse, or just something that has helped you get through something in your life. I'd love to see people sharing and connecting in the comments!

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However we stay connected, whether it's through my books, this blog, my social media profiles, or even Patreon, you can always rest assured that my brand is built on the concept of what I write and who I'm writing it for. "Love Stories and Lifestyle for the Undaunted Woman." Click here to find out more about what it means to be undaunted - maybe you'll find that you already know the perfect nominee for our next Undaunted Woman Interview!

And as always, whether you're a first time reader or a long-time loyal follower ... from the bottom of my heart, thank you for being here.


  1. Replies
    1. Never gonna happen. I've been through a lot, and while it sucks sometimes to have had to stand through so many storms ... I've always done it, and that's not ever going to change.


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