Why We Feel Like Giving Up…And what that feeling is actually trying to tell us
Everyone reaches a moment where they want to quit.
A project.
A relationship.
A goal.
A plan that once felt exciting but now just feels heavy.
Sometimes the thought shows up quietly.
What’s the point?
Other times it’s louder.
Maybe I should just give up.
Most people assume that feeling means something has gone wrong.
But often it means something else.
It means you’ve reached the middle.
And the middle is where motivation almost always disappears.
The beginning is fueled by hope
When we start something new, our brain is full of energy.
We imagine the outcome.
The new job.
The healthier routine.
The stronger relationship.
The finished project.
Hope carries us through the beginning.
The middle is fueled by friction
Then reality arrives.
Things take longer than expected.
Progress feels slow.
Effort starts to outweigh excitement.
This is the point where people start wondering if they should quit.
But the feeling of wanting to give up isn’t always a sign you’re failing.
Often it’s just a sign that the easy energy has run out.
Now the work becomes something different.
Not excitement.
Commitment.
Why the feeling gets so strong
Our brains are built to conserve energy.
When something becomes difficult, the brain starts asking questions like:
Is this worth it?
Is there an easier option?
Would stopping feel better?
Those thoughts aren’t weakness.
They’re just the brain doing its job.
The problem is that the brain is very good at detecting discomfort, but not very good at predicting long-term reward.
So when the middle gets hard, the brain starts trying to escape.
The question that helps
When the urge to quit shows up, most people ask the wrong question.
They ask:
“Should I give up?”
But that question usually leads to panic thinking.
A better question is:
“What kind of tired am I?”
Sometimes we are:
• physically tired and need rest
• emotionally tired and need support
• mentally tired and need a break
But sometimes we’re just experiencing the normal discomfort of doing something that matters.
Learning the difference is important.
Because quitting something that matters often creates a different kind of pain later.
Regret.
What actually helps in those moments
When people push through the “giving up” phase, they rarely do it through sheer motivation.
Instead they do something much simpler.
They make the next step smaller.
Instead of finishing the project…
Work on it for 20 minutes.
Instead of fixing the whole relationship…
Start one honest conversation.
Instead of changing everything…
Change one small habit today.
Momentum doesn’t return through huge effort.
It returns through tiny forward movement.
One quiet truth
Most meaningful things in life pass through a phase where quitting feels reasonable.
Friendships.
Careers.
Creative projects.
Personal growth.
The feeling of wanting to give up doesn’t mean you chose the wrong path.
Sometimes it just means you’ve reached the point where the path becomes real.
And that’s the part most people don’t talk about.
Why Emotional Regulation Is Harder After Screens
Hello, World!
If you’ve ever noticed that your child is more irritable, impulsive, tearful, or explosive after screen time, you’re not imagining it, and you’re not failing as a parent.
This is one of the most common patterns I see as a school psychologist.
It’s also one of the most misunderstood.
Let’s talk about why emotional regulation is harder after screens, and, more importantly, what actually helps.
What’s Really Happening in the Brain
Screens aren’t inherently bad. They’re engaging, stimulating, and often genuinely enjoyable.
The issue isn’t morality.
It’s nervous system load.
Most screen-based activities:
Provide rapid rewards
Require very little effort
Offer constant novelty
Bypass frustration and waiting
For a developing brain, especially one still building executive functioning skills, this creates high stimulation with very low regulation demand.
When the screen turns off, the brain doesn’t gently shift gears.
It slams on the brakes.
That’s when you might see:
Explosive reactions to small problems
Difficulty transitioning
Increased defiance or emotional outbursts
“Zombie-like” behavior followed by dysregulation
This isn’t manipulation.
It’s withdrawal from stimulation.
Why Some Kids Struggle More Than Others
Not all children respond to screens the same way
Kids who tend to struggle more after screens often have:
ADHD or executive functioning challenges
Anxiety (especially fear of getting in trouble or doing things “wrong”)
Sensory sensitivities
A nervous system that already runs “hot”
For these kids, screens don’t just entertain—they temporarily regulate.
When that regulation disappears, their internal system doesn’t yet know how to recalibrate on its own.
The Biggest Myth: “They Just Need Less Screens”
Reducing screen time can help, but it’s rarely the full solution.
I often see families remove screens entirely, only to find that:
Meltdowns still happen
Emotional regulation doesn’t magically improve
Everyone feels more exhausted
Why?
Because regulation is a skill, not an on/off switch.
If screens are the only thing helping a child regulate, removing them without teaching replacement strategies just leaves a gap.
What Actually Helps
1. Build a Transition Buffer
Don’t go straight from screen → expectation.
Try:
A 5–10 minute warning
A predictable routine (“screens off → snack → movement”)
A visual timer or countdown
Transitions are regulation opportunities, not inconveniences.
2. Add Movement Before Demands
Movement helps the nervous system reset.
This doesn’t need to be fancy:
Jumping jacks
A short walk
Carrying something heavy
Climbing, stretching, or roughhousing
Think body first, behavior second.
3. Lower Expectations Temporarily
Right after screens is not the time for:
Homework battles
Big conversations
High-level problem solving
This isn’t “giving in.”
It’s understanding that timing matters.
4. Narrate, Don’t Lecture
Instead of:
“You need to calm down.”
Try:
“Your brain is still coming down from screen mode. Let’s help it reset.”
This builds awareness without shame.
5. Teach Regulation Outside the Moment
Skills don’t stick during meltdowns.
Practice regulation when your child is calm:
Naming feelings
Noticing body cues
Trying calming strategies before they’re needed
Meltdowns are not teaching moments.
They’re support moments.
A Reframe That Helps Parents
If screen time is followed by dysregulation, the takeaway isn’t:
“Screens are ruining my child.”
It’s:
“My child needs more help transitioning and regulating.”
That’s a solvable problem.
And it gets better with understanding—not punishment.
Final Thought
Screens aren’t the enemy.
They’re powerful tools, and powerful tools require support.
When we shift from controlling behavior to supporting nervous systems, kids don’t just behave better.
They feel better.
And honestly?
So do parents.
When Something You Love Goes Away
Sometimes, something really important goes away.
It might be a person you love.
A pet.
A teacher.
A friend.
A home.
A routine.
Even a version of life that felt safe.
And when that happens, it can feel confusing, heavy, or unfair—especially for kids, who don’t always have the words yet.
Here’s something important to know first:
If you feel sad, mad, quiet, weird, or nothing at all—you’re not doing it wrong.
Loss doesn’t come with instructions.
Loss Can Look Like a Lot of Things
Grown-ups sometimes think “loss” only means when someone passes away. But kids lose things in lots of ways:
A best friend who moves away
A pet that doesn’t come home
Parents who separate
A favorite teacher changing schools
A grandparent who gets very sick
A life that suddenly feels different
Your brain notices when something meaningful disappears.
Your heart notices too.
Feelings Don’t Follow Rules
Some days you might cry.
Some days you might laugh and feel fine.
Some days you might feel mad at everyone.
Some days you might not feel much at all.
All of that is allowed.
Feelings don’t line up neatly. They show up when they want to.
Missing Means It Mattered
Here’s a gentle truth I tell kids all the time:
If it hurts to miss someone or something, that means it was important.
The pain isn’t proof that you’re weak.
It’s proof that you cared.
And caring is a good thing, even when it hurts.
You Don’t Have to “Be Over It”
Sometimes people say things like:
“You’re so strong.”
“At least you still have…”
“It’s time to move on.”
But healing doesn’t mean forgetting.
It doesn’t mean pretending nothing happened.
It means learning how to carry the memory without it hurting quite as much.
That takes time. And time looks different for everyone.
A Small Thing That Can Help
If you’re a kid (or helping one), try this:
Name it.
You can say:
“I miss ___.”
“I’m sad because ___.”
“I don’t like that this changed.”
Saying it out loud helps your brain and heart work together.
You’re Not Broken
If you’re hurting, nothing is wrong with you.
If you’re not hurting yet, nothing is wrong with you either.
Loss is part of being human.
And humans heal best when they’re allowed to feel, ask questions, and be honest.
One Last Thing
Even when something goes away,
what it gave you doesn’t disappear.
The love stays.
The memories stay.
The way it changed you stays.
And you don’t have to carry it alone.
Isn’t getting older grand?
A child I work with recently told me they’re scared to get older.
They talked about bigger expectations. More responsibility. Harder days.
They worried that something important might disappear—that being older would mean less fun, less safety, less magic.
It wasn’t dramatic. It was honest.
And sitting there with them, I realized how often we talk about getting older like it’s something to brace for instead of something to step into.
We warn kids about it.
We joke about it as adults.
We measure it in losses more than gains.
But the truth is, getting older isn’t just about what gets heavier.
It’s also about what gets wider.
What We’re Afraid Of When We Think About Getting Older
The fear makes sense.
Getting older does come with more responsibility.
More decisions.
More moments where no one swoops in to fix things for you.
For kids, that can feel like the end of something precious.
For adults, it can feel like a narrowing—fewer options, fewer chances, fewer firsts.
We don’t lie when we acknowledge that weight.
But we miss something important when we stop there.
What Actually Grows With Age
What we don’t talk about enough is how much capacity grows as we age.
You gain skills you couldn’t have accessed earlier:
Emotional regulation
Perspective
Knowing when to push and when to rest
Knowing what matters and what doesn’t deserve your energy
These skills don’t arrive all at once.
They stack quietly, year after year, often unnoticed until you need them.
You also gain new freedoms:
Choosing your people
Choosing your pace
Choosing how much you explain
Choosing what you no longer carry
Getting older doesn’t mean you lose agency.
It often means you finally get to use it.
Three Generations, One Moment
This all hit me in the same week I was talking with that child.
I’m getting another year older next week.
Not in a dramatic way—just one of those birthdays that sneaks up on you.
At the same time, I’m planning a summer trip with my 78-year-old mom.
We’re traveling to foreign countries together—new streets, new languages, unfamiliar places.
Watching her plan that trip is a quiet reminder of something powerful:
getting older doesn’t mean you stop exploring.
It often means you explore with more confidence, more curiosity, and fewer apologies.
In one week, I’m holding:
A child afraid of growing up
My own reflection on aging
And a parent who is still expanding her world
That doesn’t feel like decline.
It feels like continuity.
A Better Way to Think About “Older”
Getting older doesn’t mean the door closes.
It means the map gets bigger.
Each year adds tools you didn’t have before.
Each year gives you more choice about how you move through the world.
Yes, the stakes change.
Yes, responsibility increases.
But so does your ability to meet what’s in front of you.
What I Told the Child (and What I Tell Myself)
I didn’t tell my client not to be scared.
I told them that every year comes with new tools they don’t have yet—and that they won’t be alone when those years arrive.
And I think that’s the part worth holding onto.
The excitement of getting older isn’t loud.
It doesn’t announce itself.
It shows up quietly—in new skills, new freedoms, and the growing realization that you’re more capable than you once were.
That doesn’t mean life gets easier.
It means you get stronger at living it.
And honestly?
That’s something to look forward to.