From Zero to Progress: How I Took Back

There’s a quiet kind of pain that creeps in when life doesn’t go the way you thought it would. It’s not the kind that screams or demands attention. It’s subtle. It lives in the spaces between missed calls, empty calendars, and the silence that fills your room at 2 a.m. That’s where I was — stuck in the middle of nothing, lost in the echo of who I used to be.

I didn’t lose everything all at once. That’s the trick about rock bottom — it’s not always a dramatic fall. Sometimes, it’s a slow fade into gray. I had a good job, a handful of friends, and dreams that felt just a little too far away. Then life started to chip away at me. One layoff. One heartbreak. One quiet withdrawal from people I loved. And I let it happen. I watched as my life unraveled, thread by thread, until I didn’t recognize myself anymore.

I stopped trying. I stopped caring. And in that stillness, I became a ghost in my own life.

I used to think “starting from zero” was a failure — something to be ashamed of. But in that empty space, I found something I had never given myself before: time. Time to feel, time to think, time to really ask myself what do I want? Who am I without the job title, the validation, the busy schedule?

At first, the answers didn’t come easily. All I could feel was regret. I had let myself down. I had abandoned my own potential. But one rainy afternoon, I found an old notebook buried in a drawer. It was filled with sketches, ideas, little fragments of dreams I had once chased. It reminded me of a version of me that still believed I could become something more.

That was the day I decided I wanted my life back.

But I didn’t make some huge declaration to the world. I didn’t start a company or move across the country or find love in an instant. I did something much simpler — I made my bed. That’s it. That was my first step back to myself. It felt silly, but in a world where I felt powerless, making my bed was one small thing I could control. And so I did it again the next day. And the day after that.

And slowly, I began to rebuild.

I started journaling. At first, it was messy. Just scribbles. Some days were angry pages. Others were empty because I had nothing to say. But the act of writing — even when the words didn’t feel important — helped me reconnect with myself.

I started walking. Not for exercise, not to lose weight, not to prove anything — just to move. To breathe in the air and remind myself that I still existed. That I still mattered. I listened to podcasts, music, sometimes nothing at all. Just me and the pavement, one step at a time.

I reached out. That might have been the hardest part. Picking up the phone and texting someone I hadn’t talked to in months. Apologizing for the distance. Saying, “I’m trying again.” Some people welcomed me back with open arms. Others didn’t respond. And that was okay. I was learning not to attach my progress to other people’s reactions.

The biggest shift came when I realized that “progress” didn’t mean perfection. It meant movement. Even if it was small. Even if it was just getting out of bed, drinking water, sending an email. I started to keep a “tiny wins” list — little victories I’d write down each day:

Took a shower

Sent a resume

Said no when I needed rest

Meditated for 3 minutes

Those tiny wins became threads. And eventually, they started weaving me back together.

There were setbacks. Days where the old numbness crept in. Days where I felt like I was pretending. But I kept showing up. That’s the secret no one tells you — you don’t need to feel inspired to take a step forward. You just need to take it.

And with each step, I began to reclaim pieces of my life.

I took a part-time job. Not the dream role, but it gave me structure. I started drawing again — just for me, not for likes or money or praise. I found joy in simple things: morning coffee, clean sheets, fresh air. I stopped looking at my life as something I needed to “fix,” and started seeing it as something I could nurture.

Now, months later, I can say this: I’m not “there” yet — wherever “there” is. But I’m here. And that’s more than I could say a year ago.

I’ve learned that progress doesn’t always look like a highlight reel. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s invisible to everyone else. But it’s yours. It belongs to you. And it matters.

The Moral:

You don’t need to wait for the perfect moment to begin again. Even when you feel like you’re starting from zero, you’re not starting from nothing. You’re starting from experience, from strength, from survival. Progress is not about how fast you move — it’s about choosing to move at all. One small step. One tiny win. That’s how you take your life back.

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Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi