The Day I Almost Gave Up

I still remember the day like it was carved into my memory.

It was a Monday. Cold. Gray. The kind of morning where everything feels a little heavier than usual. The sky was dull, my shoes were soaked from a puddle I didn’t see, and my backpack felt like it was carrying the weight of my future — probably because, in a way, it was.

I walked into class with that uneasy feeling in my stomach. We were getting our test results back — the one we had been warned about. “This test will show who’s keeping up,” the professor had said a week earlier.

Well, I thought I was keeping up.

The stack of papers sat on the teacher’s desk like a tower of judgment. He called out names and handed out the tests face-down. One by one, students received their fate. Some turned theirs over quickly. Some hesitated. A few had already begun whispering.

Then he called my name.

I walked up, took the paper, returned to my seat, and slowly flipped it over — like I was defusing a bomb.

23 out of 100.

Not 63. Not 43.

Twenty. Three.

At first, I stared at it in disbelief. I honestly thought it was a mistake. I flipped through the pages, looking for missing marks or points. But no… that red pen was confident.

I felt my face flush with heat. My ears were burning. The room began to blur, not because I was crying — not yet — but because my mind was racing so fast it couldn't focus on reality.

People around me talked in low voices. Some were laughing — not at me specifically, but it didn’t matter. In that moment, I felt like the dumbest person in the room. Maybe even the building.

What hurt most wasn’t just the number. It was the fact that I had tried.

Really tried.

I stayed up late. I watched YouTube tutorials. I highlighted notes. I solved practice problems. I did everything I thought I was supposed to do.

And still… 23.

That number stuck to me all the way home. Every step felt like it was dragging through wet cement. By the time I reached my room, I wasn’t just disappointed — I was done. Done with trying. Done with school. Done pretending like I could succeed in something that clearly wasn’t meant for me.

I opened my laptop, typed out an email to my professor. The subject line: “Withdrawal Request.”

But I didn’t send it.

Not right away.

Instead, I just sat there. Staring at the blinking cursor. Thinking.

Then a memory popped into my mind — random, quiet, and unexpected.

It was my mom’s voice. Years ago. I had failed a math test in high school and was ready to drop the subject. And she said to me:

"You only truly fail when you stop trying."

Back then, I didn’t think much of it. It felt like one of those motivational lines parents are supposed to say.

But now? Now it felt like something more.

So I deleted the email.

And I didn’t quit.

But I did change.

I stopped pretending I knew things I didn’t. I started asking questions — even the ones I thought would make me look dumb. I found a study group. I talked to people who had passed the test and asked them how they studied. I watched tutorials again — but this time, I paused and replayed until I actually understood what was happening, not just copied what I saw.

I rewrote my notes. I made flashcards. I started over.

And it was hard. Not gonna lie. There were nights when I wanted to throw my notebook out the window. There were moments when I thought, “What’s the point?” and days when my brain felt like mush.

But I kept going.

The next test?

67.

Not perfect. But a huge jump from 23.

And the one after that?

81.

That was the day I smiled for the first time in that classroom. Not because I was suddenly a genius. Not because I had aced it. But because I had fought for it.

I didn’t just learn formulas or coding syntax. I learned something way more valuable — something no textbook teaches.

I learned that failure isn’t the end.

It’s a beginning — if you let it be.

I learned that asking for help isn’t weakness. It’s courage.

And I learned that growth is not loud or instant. It’s slow, quiet, frustrating… and worth it.

So if you’ve ever looked at a grade, a result, or a rejection and thought, “Maybe I’m just not good enough,” let me tell you something from experience:

That number doesn’t define you. That moment doesn’t define you.

What does?

What you do next.

I almost gave up that day.

Almost.

And I’m so glad I didn’t.