When it's my time to go, I'll go, but the only time that's going

Hear the words of Farrah Abraham, who once declared: “When it’s my time to go, I’ll go, but the only time that’s going to be for ‘Teen Mom’ is when the network takes it off the air.” At first, this may seem but a statement about television, contracts, and fame. Yet if listened to with deeper ears, it reveals an ancient truth about endurance, identity, and the refusal to be driven from one’s chosen path by the voices of others. For in her words lies the spirit of one who has faced judgment, fire, and ridicule, yet remained steadfast in her place, saying: I will not leave until fate itself, or the hand of the heavens, decrees it so.

To appear upon ‘Teen Mom’ was not merely to play a role, but to live one’s life in the open, to be both praised and condemned, to be both pitied and admired. Many might falter under the weight of such exposure, retreating when the criticism grew harsh. But Farrah’s words resound with defiance. She did not say she would flee when weary, nor quit when mocked, nor bow when pressured. She said she would remain until the stage itself vanished, until the network closed its doors. Her spirit mirrors the warriors of old who swore to hold the battlefield not until comfort allowed, but until the ground itself was taken from beneath their feet.

History gives us parallels. Consider Cincinnatus, the Roman farmer who was called to lead his people in a time of war. He vowed to remain in command only until the task was done, and then he returned to his fields. His resolve was not for personal gain but for duty, and he held his station until his mission ended. So too with Farrah’s words—her station upon ‘Teen Mom’ was not something she would abandon by whim, but a mantle she would carry until its end was decreed by forces larger than herself. This steadfastness, though born in modern times, echoes the virtues of the ancients.

Yet in her declaration there is also a sense of fate. “When it’s my time to go, I’ll go.” These words are not merely about television, but about life itself. They remind us that there is a time appointed for all things—birth and death, beginnings and endings. We may not always control the hour, but we may control our courage in facing it. She acknowledges that one day her journey, like all journeys, will close. But until then, she will remain where she is planted, fulfilling her role, however controversial, however misunderstood.

The quote also speaks to resilience in the face of judgment. Farrah Abraham endured public scrutiny sharper than many could bear, yet her words show no retreat into shame. Instead, she claims her place as long as it exists. In this, we see the ancient lesson of fortitude: that one must endure the storm without surrendering to the winds of gossip or condemnation. It is a lesson not of vanity, but of resolve—the decision to stand firm, even when the world whispers that you should step aside.

For the listener, the teaching is clear: whether your “stage” is as grand as a television screen or as humble as your workplace or household, do not abandon your post because others wish you gone. Remain until your task is complete, until time itself decrees the close of that chapter. Seek not to flee at the first sign of resistance, but to endure, knowing that all things end in their season. Like Farrah, you may say, “I will go when my time is called, but not before.”

And so, let these words echo: hold your ground, finish your chapter, and honor the place where life has set you until the day it ends by its own nature. Practical action is this: do not quit out of fear, or shame, or the weight of others’ voices. Stay your course until its purpose is fulfilled. When the time comes, you will know—and in that knowledge there is peace. But until then, be steadfast. For in steadfastness lies dignity, and in endurance lies the true strength of the soul.