The Day I Almost Gave Up—And Why I Didn't

It was a Tuesday. I remember because it was raining, the kind of quiet, persistent rain that makes everything feel heavier than it already is.

I had woken up with that familiar knot in my stomach—the one that had made itself at home for months. Life, as I knew it, had unraveled slowly but surely. My job had lost its meaning. My relationships felt strained, shallow. The person I saw in the mirror didn’t look strong anymore—just tired, stretched thin, and on the edge.

I went through the motions that morning. I brushed my teeth. I poured coffee. I stared out the window and watched the droplets race down the glass. And for the first time, the thought came so loudly, so clearly, I couldn’t ignore it:

“What if I just stopped trying?”

What if I quit chasing this version of success that never felt like mine? What if I stopped pretending I was okay? What if I just let go—not in peace, but in defeat?

I had reached the point so many of us do but rarely speak of—the quiet moment where giving up feels easier than holding on.

But then something small happened.

My phone buzzed. Just a simple text from an old friend I hadn’t spoken to in weeks:

“Hey, I don’t know why, but you crossed my mind this morning. Just wanted to say I’m proud of you. Whatever you’re facing—I know you’ll get through it.”

It stopped me. It didn’t solve my problems, but it softened the storm.

That one message reminded me that I wasn’t invisible, even if I felt like I was. That I mattered to someone. That I had made it through dark days before, and maybe—just maybe—I could do it again.

So I made a choice.

Not a dramatic one. I didn’t overhaul my life or suddenly feel “fixed.” I just decided to give myself one more day. Just one. To breathe. To cry. To write in my journal. To take a walk, even if my feet felt heavy.

That one day turned into a week.

A week turned into a month.

And slowly, life began to change—not because my circumstances suddenly improved, but because I did. I started going to therapy. I let myself ask for help. I stopped pretending that I had to be strong all the time.

I stopped chasing perfection and began embracing progress. I stopped fighting my emotions and started honoring them. I stopped seeing myself as broken and started seeing myself as becoming.

The truth is…

There was no single “aha” moment. No miracle. No Instagram-worthy transformation. There was just a quiet, persistent decision to keep going, even when I didn’t have all the answers.

And that choice—to not give up—became the foundation for everything beautiful that followed.

Today, I still have hard days. I still get overwhelmed. But now, I have tools. I have support. I have perspective. And most importantly, I have self-compassion.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

The day you feel like giving up might be the day just before everything begins to shift. We often don’t realize how close we are to a breakthrough when we’re standing at the edge of our breakdown.

You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t need to feel strong every moment. You just need to hold on a little longer. To breathe. To rest. To ask for help. To believe—just enough—that tomorrow might offer something better.

The Moral:

You don’t have to be fearless to keep going. You just have to be brave enough to take one more step.

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Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi.