I Was Broke, Tired, and Lost—But This One Habit Saved Me

I don’t usually talk about this part of my life. Most people who see me now assume I’ve always been steady, that I had things figured out. The truth is, there was a time when I was completely lost. Not just confused—lost in the kind of way where you wake up in the morning and wonder if there’s even a point to getting out of bed.

I was broke. I don’t mean “low on money” broke. I mean opening my wallet and finding a few crumpled notes, just enough for bus fare and maybe a snack if I skipped dinner. Rent was a constant worry. Phone bills went unpaid. I learned how to stretch a packet of instant noodles across two days.

On top of that, I was tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes. It was a heaviness in my chest, a fog in my head, the weight of carrying disappointment around like an extra backpack. Every rejection email after a job application felt heavier than the last. My friends were moving forward in life—posting about new jobs, new clothes, new plans. I was stuck in the same place, scrolling through their updates, feeling like a failure in slow motion.

And lost. That was the worst part. I couldn’t see a way out. When people asked, “So what’s next for you?” I’d fake a smile and change the subject. Inside, I was drowning.

One night it hit me hard. I was sitting in my small rented room, staring at the cracked ceiling. The power had just gone out—again—and I sat in the dark with nothing but my own thoughts. I felt useless. I felt invisible. And for a moment, I wondered if maybe this was it. Maybe life would never get better.

That was the night I started writing.

Not because I had some grand plan. Honestly, I had no idea what I was doing. I found an old notebook in my bag, grabbed a pen, and just started scribbling. At first, it was pure frustration. “I hate this. I’m stuck. Nothing works.” That kind of thing. But I didn’t stop. I filled a whole page. Then another.

The next night, I did it again. And again the night after that. It became a habit—one page a day, no matter how pointless it felt.

And something strange started happening.

Writing slowed my thoughts down. Instead of twenty problems spinning in my head, I could see them on paper, one at a time. They looked smaller that way. Manageable. I realized patterns too. I saw how much of my time was wasted comparing myself to people online. I saw how my days slipped by with no structure. Writing forced me to be honest, and honesty gave me clarity.

That one page a day didn’t solve my money problems. It didn’t land me a job overnight. But it gave me something I didn’t realize I was missing: a sense of control. Every page was proof that I hadn’t completely given up.

From there, small changes followed. If I was already sitting with my notebook, why not also write a to-do list? If I was already reflecting on my mistakes, why not also plan a tiny step for tomorrow? Some days that step was just sending one more CV. Some days it was reaching out to someone for advice. And slowly, I started moving.

Months later, I finally got an interview. I remember walking in nervous, but also prepared. Because I had spent so many nights writing about my fears, my answers came out clearer, more confident. I got the job. Not because I suddenly became brilliant, but because I had built consistency when life felt unbearable.

Looking back, I realize that notebook was never really about writing. It was about discipline. It was about telling myself, “Even if the world ignores you, you still show up.” That habit became my anchor.

Today, I still write one page every night. My life is different now—I’m not broke, not lost. But I keep the habit alive because it reminds me who I was and how far I’ve come. It reminds me that small steps matter, especially when you feel powerless.

If you’re reading this and you feel like I did—broke, tired, lost—please listen: don’t wait for a miracle. Start with something small. A notebook. A walk. A routine. Whatever it is, keep showing up for yourself. It won’t feel like much at first, but one day you’ll look back and see that habit was the thread that pulled you out of the dark.

I know because it saved me.