This Time, I Didn’t Quit

Today was launch day.

As I’m writing this, the Roi Joy website has only been publicly live for a few hours. When I first began this project, the momentum was intoxicating. Every decision somehow fueled the next, and before I knew it, one little idea had become an entire business.

But today, when it was finally time to share that business with the world, I almost stopped.

I had already done the drawing, designing, photographing, writing, and website building. All that remained was to make a social media post saying, “Here it is.” And yet, suddenly, I wanted to drag my feet.

The truth is, I was nervous to submit this work to the world. Once something you’ve created leaves your hands, it doesn’t feel entirely yours anymore, does it? It belongs, at least in part, to everyone else’s opinions and interpretations.

And then came the questions.

At eight months pregnant, should my attention be on the baby arriving in just five weeks? Why am I trying to prove to the internet that I’m capable of designing shirts people might actually want to wear—and spend their money on? What if no one likes them? What if this was all a silly idea?

I was tempted to give in to the defeat before I had even given anyone the chance to see what I had made.

Then I remembered who was watching.

Three little faces came to mind, with a fourth still growing inside me. But if I’m being completely honest, even they weren’t enough to make me press “post.”

The One who finally convinced me was God.

I began remembering every step that had led me here: the years spent drawing and painting, the way T-shirts have played a surprising role in my own walk with Christ, and the friends and community who have spoken life into this work. I remembered the foot injury that made me sit down and pick up drawing again—and how one week spent on my tushy somehow turned into a whole business.

I also remembered all the things I’ve started and stopped over the years.

First, there was law school, a plan I happily left behind to pursue marriage and mission work. I don’t regret that choice in the slightest. Then there was the book. Guys, I wrote six chapters—at least a hundred pages—before retreating. After that came gallery-style art, social media, a children’s book, and more little dreams than I can count.

Somewhere along the way, I had started to wonder if beginning things was all I knew how to do. Maybe I was really good at dreaming, but not so good at staying. Maybe all I was actually good at was quitting.

But looking back, I can see that none of those seasons were wasted. God was quietly gathering all those abandoned ideas, unfinished pages, years of creating, and lessons learned. He was using them to prepare me for something I couldn’t see yet.

Motherhood didn’t have to become the reason I laid another dream aside. My girls could be part of this one. They could watch me create, help me choose, lean over my shoulder while I draw, and see what it looks like to be afraid—and still be faithful with what God has placed in your hands.

So I put on my big-girl pants. I danced around the room to make a Reel for the ’gram, wrote the caption, took a deep breath, and pressed “post.”

Now I’m sitting here watching people enter “the shop” and browse around. With every little notification, I wish I could reach through the computer screen, wrap each visitor in a hug, and say, “Thank you for stopping by. You have no idea what it means to me.”

I’m proud of myself.

Not because everything is perfect. Not because I know where Roi Joy will lead. And not because pressing “post” suddenly made all the fear disappear.

I’m proud because today, I did the hard thing.

This time, I didn’t quit.

Today, courage looked like pressing “post.”