This past week, I’ve been sitting with so much reflection. For the longest time, I carried the weight of asking the wrong people for support. I stayed knocking on closed doors, waiting on promises that were never going to be fulfilled, and telling myself that maybe one day they would come through. The truth is, they never did. And that waiting almost broke me.
But something shifted. I remembered a verse I’d overlooked for years: Ask, and it shall be given to you. I don’t know why it hit differently this time. Maybe because I was tired. Maybe because I finally understood that fear had been lying to me, making me believe that rejection was the only outcome.
So I asked again. This time boldly, with my ego on the side. And for the first time in a long time, someone said yes. Not just yes, but more than yes. They gave me the very thing I’d been praying for, the tool that would unlock a new chapter for my business. That moment taught me something deep about fear, about faith, and about the difference between begging at closed doors and stepping toward the ones that were meant to open.
This piece is my gratitude, my celebration, and my lesson.
There was a time I swallowed my pride
until it became a lump in my throat.
I kept asking the wrong person,
kept standing at a locked door,
kept believing that one day
he would remember the promises he made.
But all I received were excuses stacked on excuses,
a fragile tower of letdowns,
the kind that crumbles with the weight of a single hope.
I called it patience.
I told myself to wait.
But waiting turned to begging,
and begging turned into silence that bruised me more
than any “no” could.
I forgot the truth I always knew:
don’t drink poison just because you are thirsty.
Fear sat on my chest like a heavy stone.
Not fear of failure,
I have failed and risen more times than I can count.
Not fear of hard work,
my calloused hands and sleepless nights
testify to my labor.
It was fear of asking.
Fear of sounding desperate.
Fear of being told no again,
of watching the door slam shut
in my already tired face.
Fear has a way of making you believe
that silence is safer than possibility.
It keeps you rehearsing rejection in your head
until you no longer bother with the chance of acceptance.
But then, scrolling one night,
a verse I already knew rose like a flare:
Ask, and it shall be given to you.
I had overlooked it,
rolled it around in my memory like a pebble,
but never pressed it to my chest as truth.
This time I did.
I tested its weight.
I whispered it like a dare.
And with trembling fingers,
ego set aside,
I asked.
Not a hypothetical hoping to soften the blow,
but a question laid bare,
heart visible,
voice steady though my knees shook.
And they agreed.
They agreed.
Do you hear the miracle in that?
The yes that rang louder than all the excuses I’d ever been fed?
The yes that didn’t come with conditions,
or debts,
or chains disguised as support?
They didn’t just agree,
they poured more than half the seed I needed,
they breathed life into the thing I had been carrying like a weight,
and in that moment I realized,
fear had lied to me all along.
What if it works out?
What if they say yes?
What if abundance doesn’t come from the hands I begged,
but from the ones I never even thought to knock on?
When the printer arrived,
I almost cried just opening the box.
I ran my hands over its smooth body
like it was a newborn I had been waiting to hold.
The scent of new plastic,
the shine of untouched buttons,
the hum as it came to life.
That first test print,
paper sliding in,
ink whispering its colors,
and there it was,
a piece of my dream in full color on the page.
I stood there smiling like a child,
because this was no longer imagination.
This was no longer borrowed promises.
This was mine.
Gifted, supported, lifted.
Mine.
And yes, I mourned for a moment.
Mourned the years wasted knocking on the wrong door.
Mourned the promises never fulfilled.
Mourned the way I allowed myself to be strung along
by someone who was never reliable to begin with.
But grief quickly turned to gratitude.
Because when you finally taste water,
you forget the dust that once sat on your tongue.
When you stand in the light,
the shadows lose their grip.
I learned something sacred:
some people will only take and take,
wringing every last drop of skill,
patience,
and loyalty out of you.
And some,
without you ever having done a thing for them,
will see your worth immediately,
and invest in your vision
as though it were their own.
I used to think loyalty meant staying,
even when the well was dry.
Now I know loyalty means moving,
when your spirit tells you the water is elsewhere.
They say when you realize you’re on the wrong train,
get off at the next stop.
But I stayed seated too long,
counting the money, the time, the effort already spent,
forgetting that every mile deeper into the wrong journey
only carried me farther from where I was meant to go.
But I know better now.
I’ve unboarded.
I’ve changed my ticket.
And I am traveling lighter.
So here is my celebration:
for the courage it took to ask again,
for the yes that met me halfway,
for the machine that now hums abundance into my days.
This printer is not just a tool,
it is proof.
Proof that closed doors are not the only doors.
Proof that support exists in unexpected places.
Proof that my business was worthy all along,
and sometimes the only thing standing between you and the breakthrough
is the courage to risk a no.
I celebrate the lesson too:
that not everyone who promises will deliver,
and not everyone who delivers will promise.
That worth is not measured by who chooses to help you,
but by your decision to keep building,
to keep asking,
to keep believing in your vision
until the right yes finds you.
To every woman who has been let down,
who has begged at doors that would never open,
who has given her brilliance away for scraps of support,
hear me:
you are not wrong for asking.
You are not weak for needing.
You are not less for wanting someone to stand with you.
What is wrong
is waiting at the wrong doors.
What is wrong
is calling a closed door fate.
What is wrong
is believing your dream must shrink
to fit into someone else’s excuses.
So I stand here grateful,
abundant,
unashamed.
Grateful for the “no’s” that taught me how to walk away.
Grateful for the “yes” that reminded me what’s possible.
Grateful for the humming machine beside me
that feels like a partner,
a silent witness to my persistence.
And most of all,
grateful for the version of me
who finally laid her ego down,
who risked asking again,
who remembered that verse,
and believed it enough to test it.
Ask, and it shall be given to you.
Today, I know those words are not just scripture.
They are seed.
They are key.
They are alive in me.
And this is just the beginning.
Getting that printer was more than just about the equipment. It was a reminder that miracles don’t always come from the places we expect. That sometimes the people you’ve poured into won’t pour back, but others, the unexpected ones, will. It was proof that fear had been stealing from me, keeping me from asking, keeping me small.
I share this because I know I’m not the only one. Maybe you too have been standing at a door that will never open, clinging to promises that will never be fulfilled. Maybe you too have been scared to ask again, scared of being seen as desperate, scared of being told no.
But here’s what I’ve learned: closed doors are not the only doors. The moment you step away, the moment you ask with courage, the moment you believe that you are worthy of support, that’s when things shift.
This wasn’t just about a printer. This was about choosing myself. This was about learning to let go of fear and ego, and letting life surprise me. And to every woman reading this: may you find your yes, may you ask boldly, and may you never waste too much time waiting at the wrong doors.
