I Keep Praying for Breakthrough but God, why do I have to break in the process?

I want the promise but why does the process feel like so much loss? Am I really ready for what I asked for?

Photo by Marek Studzinski on Unsplash

Lately, I’ve been sitting with something that’s been hitting way too close. We love to ask God for more. We pray for peace, for purpose, for healing, for love that actually feels safe. We want growth. We want clarity. We want something solid. And the truth is, God listens. He hears it all. He starts moving things. He starts stirring. And that’s when everything starts shifting.

But the moment He asks us to move? We pause.
He whispers “let go,” and we hold on tighter.
He says “trust me,” and we start backpedaling into old versions of ourselves that felt more in control, even if they were killing us inside.

We say we’re ready for something new. But our actions keep proving we’re still stuck in what’s familiar. Stuck in habits that don’t serve us. In relationships we’ve outgrown. In patterns that feel safe but never let us breathe.

And then we start to blame the delay on the enemy or outside sources.But if we’re being real, sometimes we are the enemy. It’s us. Dragging our feet. Holding on to stuff we swore we released. Praying for new while still living in the old. Pretending we’ve got it all under control when secretly we’re held together by a pin.

Nobody talks enough about the part that comes before the breakthrough. The breaking.

It’s that in-between place. The one where everything you thought you needed starts falling apart. Where your old identity doesn’t fit anymore, but the new one hasn’t fully settled in. It’s confusing. Lonely. It feels like you’re losing more than you’re gaining. And it hurts in places you thought had already healed.

Breaking will stretch you. It will shift your relationships. It’ll pull you out of your comfort zone and leave you sitting in silence, wondering if you messed up. And that’s where most of us stop because the process feels too heavy. Too uncomfortable. Too risky. It can’t be “us?,” right?

Recently, I had to ask myself something I didn’t want to:
What needs to break in me for this prayer to come to life?

Not what needs to happen around me. Not who needs to act right. Not what opportunity needs to show up.
But what in me needs to crack, to be stripped, to let go, so I can finally receive what I’ve been asking for?

Because it’s not enough to pray. You have to prepare.
And that part? That’s where it gets real.

Preparation isn’t always pretty. It’s not a vibe. It’s not aesthetic. It’s not just about vision boards, affirmations, and manifestation playlists. Sometimes it’s crying in the shower. Sometimes it’s deleting that number. Sometimes it’s choosing silence over being understood. Sometimes it’s watching everyone else shine while God keeps you hidden—on purpose—so He can finish the work He started in you.

It’s like when your mom told you to clean the house because people were coming over. And you were like, “Why? They’re just gonna mess it up.” But it didn’t matter. The house still had to be clean. Because company was coming. The space had to be ready.

That’s what this season feels like for me. God saying, “Clean up. Get honest. Make room.”
So I’m doing the hard work. And I won’t lie. It hurts.
It looks like grieving the people I thought would stay.
It looks like setting boundaries I used to avoid.
It looks like walking away from situations that once gave me comfort but never gave me peace. It looks like walking into rooms where I know no one and starting over. “Hi, my name is Joi…”

You can’t run forward while looking backward, but some of us keep trying. Lord knows I've tried to run off a diving board while staring behind me, attempting to jump into new waters. It simply doesn’t work. You’re going to fall. You’re likely to break a bone and hurt yourself, which slows your progress because you’ll need weeks to heal, setting you back even further. And that’s what many of us do: run toward the future while looking behind us, dragging the weight of what we should’ve let go of a long time ago.

And the hard truth? We want both.
We want what’s familiar and what’s next.
We want the safety of the past and the promise of the future.
But what if they were never meant to exist at the same time?

What if your new life literally can’t survive inside your old mindset?
What if the love you’re praying for can’t live in a heart still tied to fear?
What if the life you’re dreaming of needs a version of you you’ve never dared to become?

We say we want more. But we hesitate. We tiptoe. We halfway commit. We pray big but live small. And when nothing happens, we blame everybody else. But sometimes the truth is, it’s on us. When we don’t show up fully for what we prayed for, and it slips through our hands, we have to own that.

That’s where I’m at right now:
Tired of being “almost” healed.
Tired of “almost” happy.
Tired of being in spaces that look full but feel empty.
Tired of praying for more while not preparing for what more requires.

I am finally tired of smiling and pretending.

So God, do what you need to do.
I’m ready to break.

I don’t have the neat ending to this story yet.
I’m still in the process. Still shedding, stretching, learning how to let go of who I was to become who I’m called to be.

But I know this: breakthrough doesn’t come without breaking.
And becoming never happens without surrender.
And sometimes, the breaking is the blessing.

So let it happen.
Let it strip me.
Let it expose what isn’t solid.
Let it build something that actually lasts.

Because I am not turning back.
Not this time.
Lord, I am ready to be broken.