Jehovah, Here I Am Again

Jehovah, I’m here again, pouring out my heart through Jesus. I don’t even know how to begin because the frustration I feel is so overwhelming. It’s a new year, but it’s the same struggle, the same unanswered questions, the same suffocating reality. Why am I suffering so badly? Why does it feel like I’m running a race I can never win? I’ve worked, sacrificed, and hoped, yet here I am—a failing entrepreneur and an unemployed 26-year-old with nothing to show for it.

This wasn’t the life I envisioned. By now, I should be waking up in my dream house, maybe in another country, sipping coffee as I plan my next business move or my next flight. Instead, I’m here, in the same place, still dependent on my family to survive. I’m grateful for their help, but it’s humiliating. I’m supposed to be building my empire, living a life of abundance, yet I’m scraping by, wondering if I’ll even make enough to cover my bills this month.

Every time I step outside, it feels like life is mocking me. I see the latest Benzes and BMWs cruising by, their drivers living lives that seem unattainable for someone like me. Meanwhile, I’m drowning in uncertainty, questioning if I’ll ever get back on my feet financially. Will I ever know what it’s like to have stability? To feel secure? To not live in constant fear of the future?

I’ve sacrificed so much to pursue my dreams. Late nights, endless brainstorming sessions, pouring every bit of energy and money I had into my business ideas. But none of it seems to matter now. The businesses I dreamed of growing into national empires have either stalled or failed completely. I’ve faced rejection after rejection, setback after setback, until it feels like the universe itself is telling me to stop trying. But how can I stop? This was supposed to be my purpose. My calling. My way out.

And then there’s the mental toll. Jehovah, the self-doubt is crushing. I see my peers thriving—starting businesses that succeed, landing high-paying jobs, traveling the world. And here I am, still struggling to figure out how to make ends meet. It’s impossible not to compare myself, to feel like I’m falling behind, like I’m a failure. The shame is unbearable. Every time someone asks how my business is going or what I’m doing for work, it feels like a knife twisting in my gut. What am I supposed to say? That I’m still trying? That I don’t know if I’ll ever make it? That I’m barely holding on?

Jehovah, I’ve tried to stay faithful. I’ve prayed. I’ve trusted. But it’s hard not to feel abandoned. Why do the wicked prosper while I, who try to do the right thing, am stuck in this endless cycle of struggle? I see people who don’t even acknowledge you living lives of abundance. They have the cars, the houses, the businesses, the freedom. And I’m here, clinging to faith that sometimes feels more like a thin thread than an anchor. What am I doing wrong? Why should I keep sacrificing if it’s not getting me anywhere?

The weight of it all is exhausting. Even the things I tell myself I want feel impossible to achieve. I think about Mark sometimes, and it’s like a cruel reminder of how messy my life feels. I don’t even know if I want to be with him again, but the thought crosses my mind. Maybe if things were different, if I were different, I’d have the clarity to know what I really want. But clarity feels like a luxury I can’t afford right now.

And my health… Where I am right now, I should be 80 to 100 pounds lighter. I should have my nails done, my hair perfect, stepping out of my brand-new car, ready to face the day. I should be eating better, living better, thriving. But instead, I’m stuck in this endless loop of survival. Even something as simple as skipping a meal feels like a battle I’m too tired to fight.

Jehovah, I want more than this. I want to live, not just survive. I want my businesses to thrive, to create a life where I’m not constantly worrying about money. I want to have the tools to succeed—a proper phone, a reliable laptop, everything I need to make my dreams a reality. I want to be able to travel without guilt, without fear of what I’m leaving behind. I want to live in a home that feels like mine, to have the stability and freedom to enjoy life instead of dreading it.

But most of all, I want peace. Peace of mind. Peace from this endless anxiety and self-doubt. I’m tired of feeling like I’m drowning, like no matter how hard I try, I’ll never break free from this cycle. I pray for that peace, Jehovah. I pray for stability. For a way out of this mess. For a life that feels worth living again.

Why am I here? Why am I struggling so much? What is the purpose of all this pain? I wish I knew. I wish you would show me, because I don’t know how much more I can take. Even just a small breakthrough—$100,000 to clear my loans and start fresh—would make all the difference. I’m not asking for the world. I’m just asking for a chance.

I pray that my bills can be covered this month, that I can finally clear this COK loan that feels like a chain around my neck. I pray for clarity, for strength, for a good attitude and mental space to get through today. I pray to let go of the bitterness I feel toward Daniel and the money he owes me. I pray to detach myself emotionally and mentally from Mark, to stop letting these things weigh me down.

Is it too much to ask for stability, Jehovah? To have a steady income, to not feel like I’m constantly on the brink of collapse? Almost three years of this instability, and I’m tired. I’m tired of waiting, of hoping, of feeling like I’m shouting into the void. Please, Jehovah, just tell me what to do. Show me a way out. Because I can’t keep living like this.

I want to believe that things can change, that there’s a better life waiting for me. I want to hold on to hope, even when it feels impossible. I want to wake up one day and not feel this weight crushing me. Until then, I’ll keep praying, keep hoping, and keep trying. Because what else can I do?

In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen.