Every order ships reliably through USPS, ensuring consistent service and peace of mind year‑round.

SHOP HAPP

Every order ships reliably through USPS, ensuring consistent service and peace of mind year‑round.

SHOP NOW GO AND SAVE

I never thought I’d say it. “I give up.”

Not because I lack strength. Not because I don’t care. But because sometimes, the weight of chronic pain and the pressure to keep a business afloat becomes too much to carry alone.

I live with chronic back problems—an invisible anchor that drags behind every effort, every plan, every hope. It’s not just physical. It’s emotional. It’s financial. It’s the quiet grief of watching your own momentum stall while the world keeps spinning.

And yet, I’ve tried. My family and friends have tried. They’ve stepped in, offered help, held space, and tried to keep EJADA alive in ways that only love can. But even love has limits when the body refuses to cooperate.

I’ve learned something in this season: I can’t get angry at people who don’t know me. They don’t see the pain. They don’t feel the hours lost to immobility. They don’t understand the rituals behind every product, the symbolic weight behind every caption, the boundaries I fiercely protect. And that’s okay. Not everyone is meant to understand.

But those who do—those who’ve stood beside me, who’ve tried to help me hold the line—know that this isn’t surrender. It’s recalibration. It’s the moment before the next iteration. It’s the pause that precedes the pivot.

So yes, I said it. I give up. But only on the version of the story that demanded I keep pushing through pain without pause. What comes next will be different. It will be slower, maybe smaller, but it will be real. And it will be mine.

—Brinder Curator, EJADA Specialty Merchandise


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