Don't Give Up by Jonathan Anthony Burkett is coming soon. Here is the first chapter, free.
If you are struggling right now: in the United States, call or text 988 any time to reach the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. If you are in danger, call 911.
Three words. That is all it takes to name the thing that saved my life.
Don’t give up.
You have heard those words before. Maybe on a poster in a school hallway. Maybe from a coach, a pastor, or a friend who meant well but did not really know what you were carrying. Maybe you have heard them so many times that they sound empty now, like something people say when they do not know what else to say.
I understand that. I have felt that way too. But I want to ask you to hear those three words one more time, not as a slogan, but as a promise from someone who has stood where you might be standing right now. Someone who had every reason to quit, more than once, and who is still here.
That is what this book is about. And it starts with a song.
On my EP Life As I Know It, released in 2024, there is a song called Don’t Give Up. I made it with Elisa Polanco, who also goes by Polanca Pop. She brought her voice to it, and together we put something into the world that I needed to hear long before I ever recorded it.
The song is about hope and strength. It is about believing in yourself even in the hardest times, when nobody else seems to believe in you and when you are not sure you believe in yourself either. That is the heart of it. It is not a party record. It is not a song about having everything figured out. It is a song for the person who is tired, who is hurting, and who is quietly wondering if it is worth it to keep trying.
I am not going to print the lyrics in this book. I want you to hear the song for yourself, in the way it was meant to be heard, with the music under it and the voices carrying it. What I want to give you here is the story underneath the song. The why. The who. The life that made those three words more than words to me.
Because when I say don’t give up, I am not saying it from a mountaintop. I am saying it from the ground, where I spent a lot of years.
The whole EP is personal to me. It carries songs like Changes, I Can Only Be Me, Two Steps, and One Life. Each of them holds a piece of how I have tried to live. But Don’t Give Up holds something special, because it says out loud the thing I had to decide over and over again just to be alive today.
When people ask me who a song is for, the honest answer is usually more than one person.
Part of me was singing to the little boy I used to be. The boy who was happy in Jamaica with his grandparents, and then, at about six years old, came back to the United States to live with his mother and a man I called my father. The boy who found out what it feels like to be neglected and abused by the person who was supposed to love him most. The boy who was told, in words and in actions, that he had no future.
That boy needed someone to tell him not to give up. Most days, nobody did.
Part of me was singing to the teenager who had his first major seizure at fourteen. The young man who, around that same age, was sleeping in cars, in parks, and on the streets. The one who had seizures and hallucinations tied to a brain disorder that stress and anxiety made worse. The one who sat across from psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists and counselors, and went through anger management classes, trying to understand what was happening inside him.
That young man needed to hear it too.
And part of me was singing to the person I was in January of 2006. On Monday, January 30, I went in for brain surgery. I want to be honest with you here, because this whole book depends on honesty. I went into that surgery feeling defeated. I was not sure I wanted to survive. I had been carrying so much for so long that I did not know if I had anything left.
A hospital worker named Marise supported me through that time. I will talk more about her later in this book, because she matters. The surgery succeeded. And afterward, I made a decision. I decided I was not going to give up.
So when I sang Don’t Give Up, I was singing to every version of myself who almost did.
But I was not only singing to myself. I was singing to you.
I do not know your name. I do not know what brought you to this book. But I have a feeling about you, because people do not usually pick up a book called Don’t Give Up when everything is going well.
Maybe you are carrying something heavy that you have never told anyone about. Maybe you grew up the way I did, feeling unwanted. Maybe your body is fighting you. Maybe you lost a job, a marriage, a friend, a dream. Maybe you are just tired in a way that sleep does not fix.
Think of a woman I’ll call Keisha. She is raising two kids on her own and working a job that does not pay enough. Every month the bills come in faster than the money. She is not falling apart in public. She shows up. She smiles at work. She packs lunches and signs permission slips. But at night, after the kids are asleep, she sits in the kitchen and wonders how much longer she can keep this up. She is not looking for a speech. She is looking for one reason to get up tomorrow and do it again.
Or think of a man I’ll call Andre. He is in his fifties. He spent most of his working life at one company, and one day they let him go. He did nothing wrong. They just did not need him anymore. Now he sends applications into what feels like a void and never hears back. His wife tries to encourage him, but he hears every word as pity. He has started to wonder if his best years are behind him and nobody will ever need what he has to give again.
Or think of a teenager I’ll call Quentin. He is sixteen. School is hard, home is harder, and he has started to believe what some people have said about him: that he is trouble, that he will not amount to anything. He does not say much. He keeps his headphones on. But inside, he is asking the same question I used to ask. Is there any point to trying?
These are not real people I know. They are pictures of people I believe are out there, people who might be holding this book right now. And whoever you are, whatever your version of their story is, this song was for you before you ever heard it.
I sang it for Keisha in her kitchen. I sang it for Andre staring at his inbox. I sang it for Quentin with his headphones on. And I sang it for you.
The image I keep coming back to, when I think about not giving up, is holding on.
Picture someone hanging onto a rope. Their arms are shaking. Their hands burn. Everything in their body is telling them to let go. Nobody would blame them if they did. And the only thing that matters in that moment is not how far they still have to climb. It is whether they can hold on for one more second.
That is what most of my hardest days looked like. Not big heroic moments. Just holding on for one more second. Then one more. Then one more.
When people talk about not giving up, they sometimes make it sound like a grand, triumphant thing. Like you have to feel brave or strong or certain. That is not how it worked for me. Most of the time, not giving up looked very small. It looked like getting through a night. It looked like showing up to a counseling appointment when I did not feel like talking. It looked like waking up after surgery and choosing, quietly, to keep going.
There is another picture I want you to keep with you through this whole book. The next breath.
When you are overwhelmed, when panic is rising, when grief is crushing your chest, you do not have to figure out your whole life. You only have to take the next breath. And then the one after that. A breath is the smallest unit of staying alive. It is also the most important one.
I have had moments where looking at my whole future was too much. I could not imagine how things would ever get better. But I could take one breath. And breath by breath, those moments passed.
So when I say don’t give up, I am not asking you to fix everything this week. I am not asking you to feel hopeful if you do not. I am asking you to hold on for the next breath. That is all. And then we will talk about the one after that.
Think about what holding on would look like for Keisha, Andre and Quentin. For Keisha, it might mean asking a neighbor to watch the kids for one hour so she can sit somewhere quiet and breathe. It does not fix the bills, but it gets her to tomorrow with a little more in the tank. For Andre, it might mean sending one more application, and then calling an old coworker just to talk, not to beg for a job. For Quentin, it might mean telling one adult at school that things at home are bad. None of those steps are dramatic. Every one of them is a hand tightening on the rope.
That is the kind of holding on I mean. Small, stubborn, and real. You do not have to win today. You just have to not let go.
I need to say something clearly, because I think it gets confused a lot.
Not giving up does not mean you never stop doing anything. It does not mean you stay in a situation that is hurting you. It does not mean you keep chasing something that is clearly destroying your health or your peace.
Sometimes you have to let go of a job, a relationship, a plan, or a way of thinking. Letting go of those things is not giving up. Sometimes letting go is the very thing that keeps you alive.
Giving up, the way I mean it in this book, is something deeper. It is giving up on yourself. It is deciding that your life does not matter, that there is no point, that nothing will ever change, that you are not worth fighting for. It is the voice that says quit, not on a project, but on you.
That is the voice I am asking you not to listen to.
You can walk away from a bad situation and still be holding on to yourself. In fact, sometimes walking away is how you hold on. When I think about the times I had to change direction in my life, like losing a job after making mistakes, and then choosing to write, I did not give up. I let go of one path so I could keep going on another.
So as you read this book, ask yourself: am I letting go of something that is hurting me, or am I letting go of myself? The first can be healthy. The second is what we are here to fight.
People sometimes ask me what kept me going. The truth is, there is no single answer. It was a lot of small things, stacked on top of each other, some of which I did not even notice at the time.
One of them was my grandparents. Those early years in Jamaica were happy years. I had love there. I had people who believed in me. And their hopes for me never really left. Even when I was far from them, even when everything around me was telling me I was worthless, something in me remembered being loved. Their hopes for me still drive me today. When I chose to write, part of the reason was to honor what they wanted for my life.
Another was faith. I am a Christian, and I want my story to show the mercy of God. I did not always feel God close. There were days I did not feel anything at all. But looking back, I can see mercy in places I did not recognize it at the time. I can see it in the fact that I survived things I should not have survived. I can see it in a hospital worker named Marise showing up when I needed someone.
The Bible says, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” I did not always believe that during the night. But I have lived long enough now to see some mornings.
Another was the help I got. I do not want you to think I pulled myself through all of this alone. I worked with a psychiatrist, a psychologist, therapists and counselors. I took anger management classes. Some of those sessions were hard. Some of them I did not want to be in. But they gave me tools and words for things I had no words for. If you are struggling, I want you to know that getting help is not weakness. It was part of how I survived.
And another was writing. Putting my life down on paper helped me understand it. Writing about my mother is what helped me forgive her and come to terms with my past. That did not happen overnight. But it happened. And it is part of why I can write this book now.
None of these things alone was enough. Together, they were.
I want you to see what came after, because when you are in the middle of the hardest season, it is almost impossible to imagine an after.
After I decided not to give up, I eventually wrote and published my memoir, Neglected But Undefeated, through Upstormed. It was reviewed by AALBC and the San Francisco Book Review. I wrote the Friends 2 Lovers novels, The Unthinkable, Closed Doors Open and Unexpected Consequences, and I have written more volumes in that series since. I wrote Fighting To Become Champions. I wrote One Life and Abuse and Betrayal.
I founded Upstormed Records and released music. One Life, with the reggae artist Ambelique, came out in 2014, with a remix EP in 2019. Then came Life As I Know It in 2024, the EP that holds Don’t Give Up. That same year came my album Born To Make It. I run Upstormed LLC, with online stores and blogs.
I do not tell you this to brag. I tell you because the boy who was told he had no future did all of this. The young man without a high school diploma or GED did all of this. The person who went into brain surgery not sure he wanted to survive did all of this.
If I had given up, none of it would exist. Not the books. Not the songs. Not this conversation between you and me.
I do not know what is waiting on the other side of your hardest season. But I know something is. Your life has things in it that have not happened yet. Good things. Things that need you to still be here.
I want to stop for a moment and speak directly to someone.
If you are reading this and you are thinking about ending your life, or you are not sure you want to keep living, please reach out right now. Do not wait until you finish this chapter. In the United States, you can call or text 988 to reach the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline, any time of day or night. If you are somewhere else, or you are in immediate danger, contact your local emergency services or go to the nearest emergency room. You can also turn to the Where to Find Help section at the back of this book.
Tell someone you trust what you are feeling. A friend. A family member. A pastor. A doctor. A counselor. You do not have to have the right words. You can just say, “I am not okay, and I need help.”
I know what it feels like to not be sure you want to survive. I walked into surgery with that feeling. And I am telling you, as someone who came out the other side, that feelings like that can change. Not always quickly. Not always easily. But they can change. Please give yourself the chance to see it.
This book will be here when you get back.
I promised myself that this book would not just be inspiration. Inspiration is good, but it fades. You need things you can actually do. So at the end of this chapter, here are a few small steps for the week ahead.
First, listen to the song. If you can, find Don’t Give Up on Life As I Know It and listen to it all the way through, somewhere quiet. Do not multitask. Just listen. Notice what it stirs up in you. Notice who comes to mind. Maybe it is you. Maybe it is someone you love who is struggling.
Second, name what you are holding on to. Get a piece of paper or open a note on your phone. Write down the thing that is hardest in your life right now. Just name it. You do not have to solve it. Sometimes naming the weight is the first step to carrying it differently.
Third, name one reason to hold on. Under the hard thing, write down one reason to keep going. It can be small. A person. A pet. A goal. A song. A belief. Something you want to see happen. If you cannot think of one, write down this: “I want to find out what happens next.” That is a real reason. It is enough for now.
Fourth, practice the next breath. When you feel overwhelmed this week, stop and take one slow breath. Breathe in through your nose, hold it for a moment, and let it out slowly through your mouth. Do it three times. Tell yourself, “I only have to get through this breath.” It sounds simple. That is the point. When everything feels too big, shrink the moment down to something you can handle.
Fifth, reach out to one person. Text or call one person this week, not to unload everything, but just to stay connected. Isolation makes everything heavier. Even a short conversation reminds you that you are not as alone as the hard thoughts tell you.
And if you are dealing with anything that feels bigger than you can handle on your own, like ongoing hopelessness, panic, health problems, or trouble getting through daily life, please talk to a doctor, a counselor, or a pastor you trust. That is not giving up. That is one of the strongest ways of holding on.
This book is built in four parts.
The first part, The Edge, goes to the hardest places. The moments in my life when giving up looked easiest. Being a boy nobody expected to make it. Being unwanted. Being fourteen and on my own. The thoughts that say quit. Facing surgery feeling defeated. If you are in a dark place right now, you might find yourself in those chapters. I hope you will also find that you are not alone there.
The second part, Reasons to Hold On, is about what keeps us here. People like Marise who show up when it counts. My grandparents’ love from Jamaica. Faith on the days you cannot feel it. The truth that your story is not finished. Purpose. And hope, not as a feeling, but as a choice.
The third part, Keep Going, is about the practical work of staying in the fight. Living without a diploma. Losing a job. Hearing no. Health setbacks. Being tired. Starting over. The long middle where nothing seems to be happening.
The fourth part, Proof, is where I show you what came out of all of it. Writing. Publishing. Music. Encouraging others. Holding on to people. What giving up would have cost me.
You can read straight through. Or, if you are in a hard place right now, you can flip to whatever chapter speaks to what you are facing today. There is no wrong way to read this. At the end of each chapter there are three reflection questions. Do not rush them. Write your answers down if you can. Talk about them with someone you trust. They are there to help you turn my story into something useful for yours.
I could have kept my story to myself. A lot of people do. There is shame in talking about abuse, about mental breakdowns, about seizures and hallucinations, about sleeping in parks, about not being sure you want to live. I felt that shame for a long time.
But I have come to believe that the hardest parts of my life are not something to hide. They are something God can use. If my story helps even one person hold on for one more day, then every one of those hard years means something more than pain.
I also write because I know what it is like to have nobody in your corner. I know what it is like to look for someone, anyone, who understands. Maybe I can be that for you, even if only through these pages. Maybe you will close this book feeling a little less alone.
And I write because I am still learning. I have not arrived. I still have hard days. I still have to choose not to give up. Writing this book is part of how I keep choosing.
Let me come back to where we started.
Don’t give up.
Three words. Easy to say. Hard to live. But they are not empty. Not when they come from someone who has been where you are. Not when they are backed by a life that kept going when everything said stop.
You might not believe them yet. That is okay. You do not have to believe them today. You just have to stay long enough to find out if they are true.
So here is what I am asking of you, at the start of this book. Hold on. Take the next breath. Then turn the page.
I will be right here with you.
To be continued in Don't Give Up, coming soon.
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