Rising After Every Fall

I failed seven times before I got it right.

Seven business ideas that went nowhere. Seven months of savings drained. Seven times I had to look my family in the eyes and admit I'd failed again.

By attempt number seven, people stopped asking how it was going. They'd smile politely and change the subject, their eyes filled with pity and barely concealed concern.

I didn't blame them. I was starting to wonder if I was delusional too.

But on the morning after my seventh failure, something inside me refused to stay down.

And that refusal changed everything.

The Fall That Almost Kept Me Down

Failure number seven was the worst.

I'd poured everything into a small online tutoring platform. Maxed out credit cards. Worked 80-hour weeks. Believed with absolute certainty that this time would be different.

Three months in, it became clear: nobody was signing up. The market was saturated. My timing was off. My execution was flawed.

I shut it down on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, sitting alone in my apartment, watching my bank account hit double digits.

I was 29, broke, exhausted, and completely out of ideas.

That night, my older brother came over with pizza. He sat across from me at my tiny kitchen table and asked the question everyone had been thinking:

"Maybe it's time to get a regular job? Just for stability?"

He meant well. He was trying to help.

But something in me rebelled against that question.

The Moment I Chose to Rise Again

I looked at my brother and realized something: giving up felt like dying.

Not dramatically. Not all at once. But slowly, quietly, like watching a light dim until it finally goes out.

Every person who'd ever created something meaningful had failed repeatedly. Every success story I admired was built on a foundation of failures most people never heard about.

The difference between the people who made it and the people who didn't wasn't talent or luck or timing.

It was the willingness to get back up.

"I need to try one more time," I told my brother. "Just one more."

He sighed, worried but supportive. "What makes you think eight will be different than seven?"

"Because I learned something from every single failure," I said. "I'm not the same person who started attempt number one. I'm smarter. I'm better. I know what doesn't work."

The Lessons Hidden in Every Fall

That night, I did something I'd never done before: I analyzed my failures.

Not to beat myself up, but to extract the lessons.

Failure one taught me that passion alone isn't enough—you need market demand.

Failure two taught me that a great idea poorly executed is worthless.

Failure three taught me the importance of financial planning and runway.

Failure four taught me that partnerships require aligned values, not just skills.

Failure five taught me that scaling too fast kills businesses.

Failure six taught me to validate with real customers before building.

Failure seven taught me that timing matters as much as execution.

Each failure had been a brutal, expensive lesson. But they were lessons nonetheless.

I wasn't failing randomly. I was learning systematically.

Attempt Number Eight

I spent two weeks planning differently this time.

I validated the idea with potential customers before building anything. I started small and lean. I set realistic timelines. I learned from every mistake I'd made in attempts one through seven.

Attempt eight launched three months later.

It wasn't an overnight success. But it was different. Customers actually showed up. Revenue actually came in. Slowly, steadily, it started working.

By month six, I was profitable. By month twelve, I'd hired my first employee. By month eighteen, I'd replaced my old salary.

Today, three years later, that business supports a team of seven people and serves thousands of customers.

What Rising Actually Looks Like

Here's what nobody tells you about resilience: it's not about never falling down. It's about refusing to stay down.

Every successful person has a graveyard of failures behind them. The difference is, they used those failures as stepping stones instead of tombstones.

Each time I fell, I had a choice: interpret it as evidence that I should quit, or interpret it as feedback that I should adjust.

I chose adjustment. Over and over and over.

And eventually, those adjustments added up to breakthrough.

The Truth About Failure

Failure doesn't mean you're incapable. It means you're learning.

Failure doesn't mean you should quit. It means you should evolve.

Failure doesn't define you. How you respond to it does.

My seventh failure wasn't my end. It was my education. All seven failures were preparing me for the eighth attempt—the one that finally worked because I'd learned everything I needed to know from the ones that didn't.

Your Fall Isn't Your Ending

If you're on the ground right now—if you've tried and failed and you're wondering if you should try again—I need you to hear this:

Your fall is not your finale. It's just your intermission.

The question isn't whether you'll face failure. You will. Everyone does.

The question is: will you rise afterward?

Because every single person who's accomplished something meaningful has fallen repeatedly. The ones who succeeded were simply the ones who refused to stay down.

Your first attempt might fail. So might your second, third, or seventh.

But if you keep learning, keep adjusting, keep rising—eventually, one of those attempts will work.

And when it does, every fall that came before it will make perfect sense.

The Only Real Failure

I've learned that there's only one true failure: the failure to try again.

Everything else? That's just data. Information. Lessons in disguise.

So get back up. Dust yourself off. Learn what you can from the fall.

Then try again. Smarter. Stronger. Better equipped.

The ground is not where your story ends. It's where your comeback begins.

Rise.

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Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi