I was on the Dean’s List all four years at Calvin. I made it through two semesters of the Nuclear Training Pipeline, one of the hardest schools in the military, with very little natural aptitude for math and science before I had to put my mental health first and walk away. In the past year I’ve received two Navy Achievement Medals for my work.

I’m the last person who will tell you to take the easy route, but I’ll be the first to tell you to quit when it’s quitting time.

There’s obviously a lot to be said for embracing failure, getting back up, and trying again. Nothing in this world exists without a series of failures behind it, but there’s a difference between dusting yourself off and staying down because your leg’s broken. As a culture, from what I’ve seen, we’re not really good at differentiating those two.

For better or for worse, the Navy assigned me a hands-on, technical rate. In my desperation to do something after my first career didn’t work and to avoid the crushing uncertainty about who I was, I went with it. I did my best and garnered command-wide respect for my dedication to hard work, but the technical side never clicked. It never will. That’s just not who I am.

“You’ve got the hard part down,” my supervisor said at my last performance review. “You’re a great administrator. Now you’ve got to learn the technical side.”

I just blinked at him and forced a nod. I wasn’t about to point out that he was probably wrong. The man was holding my dazzling evaluation report—my one shot at making rank, because my electrical knowledge definitely wasn’t going to get me there. I’d been trying to learn the “technical side” of my job for four years, feeling useless and stupid most of the time, which did a number on my already deteriorating mental health, while the admin side clicked instantly.

Later that evening, my wife sent me a meme requiring me to read Japanese to get the joke. It made something dawn on me—after all these years away from the country, I could still use Japanese better than I could use any sort of electrical knowledge. I’m a brainy person, not a hands-on person. Some folks are blessed with the destiny to be both. I am not one of them, and that’s that.

It was time to jump ship at first chance. Pun absolutely intended.

So, when an email went out looking for people who wanted to become Legalmen—the Navy’s version of a paralegal—I latched onto the possibility until I practically clawed my way into an intern position in my ship’s legal office (the proper Naval term for such a position is “Striking,” if anyone was curious). For the first time since I joined the Navy, everything fell into place. The work, the office, the patterns of my days felt right, like I was where I was supposed to be.  My mind feels better than it has in years and my body is reaping the benefits of it by finally sticking to a workout regiment.

None of that would have happened if I hadn’t quit my position in the Electrical Division.

I’ve come to believe there’s a nuanced difference between giving up and quitting—one happens when someone wilts in the face of a challenge. The other happens when someone stands up and says “enough.” Enough mistreatment. Enough impossible expectation. Enough giving all of yourself, only to never get what you need in return. Enough stretching yourself so thin you’re about to break. Enough hurting yourself with your favorite destructive coping mechanism instead of doing the work it takes to heal.

I won’t pretend to think I can prescribe a hard and fast standard for the difference between giving up and quitting. Different people thrive and grow in radically different environments. It’s not my place to judge everyone else’s thresholds, but I at least want you to know that there’s more respect and honor in quitting than we’re often led to believe, even if the only respect you’ve garnered is more respect for yourself and your limits. Not to mention the fact that quitting doesn’t mean you’re dead—it just means you have the chance to start something new. Something you might be meant for.

So, if you have to quit, do it with your head held high.

How else are you going to see what’s coming next?

Finnely King-Scoular

Finnely King-Scoular (’14) is stationed at Naval Station Norfolk in Norfolk, VA, where he lives with his wife, Rosalind (’13). His writing, including the Faerie Court Chronicles series from NineStar Press, focuses on contemporary fantasy with an emphasis on LGBTQ+ representation.