The Day I Almost Gave Up

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

Three years ago, I sat in my tiny apartment, surrounded by silence—and failure.

Another job rejection.

Another unpaid bill.

Another evening staring at my ceiling, wondering if this is all life had for me.

I was tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix. The kind that seeps into your bones—the kind that makes you question why you even try at all.

I had been chasing a dream of becoming a writer. I poured my soul into articles, blogs, submissions. I applied to writing gigs, cold-emailed editors, wrote pieces that never got seen. For almost a year, I had nothing to show for it but rejection emails and a Word folder full of forgotten drafts.

That night, I told myself:

“Maybe it’s time to give up.”

Maybe I wasn’t talented.

Maybe I wasn’t lucky.

Maybe this wasn’t my path.

I turned off the lamp and crawled into bed. My chest felt heavy. My mind whispered, “You’re wasting your time.”

But before I drifted off, I opened my phone one last time.

There it was.

A message from someone I didn’t know.

“I read your old blog post about anxiety. It made me cry. I’ve been struggling too, and your words made me feel understood for the first time in a while. Thank you.”

It was short. Simple.

But it cracked something open in me.

I had been measuring my success by numbers, likes, money—when all I ever really wanted was to reach someone.

Even one person.

And I had.

The next morning, I woke up different.

Still broke. Still unsure. Still scared.

But no longer ready to quit.

Instead of deleting my blog, I wrote again. Not for money. Not for approval.

For her.

For the girl who cried reading my story.

For anyone else who might feel unseen.

I stopped obsessing over going viral, getting hired, or being validated. I focused on showing up—authentically, imperfectly, daily.

Fast forward.

It didn’t happen overnight. But slowly, things changed.

One article got picked up by a small magazine.

One tweet led to a paid opportunity.

A writer I admired reposted one of my pieces.

Then another.

And then—six months later—I got my first consistent freelance job.

Now, I write full-time.

I work with brands that care. I publish stories that matter to me. I still don’t have millions of followers or viral fame—but I get messages. Messages from real people. People who say my words helped them feel seen, comforted, less alone.

And that means more than any algorithm ever could.

Here's what I know now:

The point where you almost give up is not the end.

It’s the turning point.

Your mind will tell you it’s over. That you’re not good enough. That it’s too late.

But your future self is begging you to hold on a little longer.

You don’t have to be perfect.

You don’t have to have it all figured out.

You just have to keep going—one small step at a time.

Because maybe someone is waiting for your story.

Your voice.

Your perspective.

Even if it’s just one person—that one matters.

I almost gave up that night.

But I didn’t.

And everything changed.

Maybe tonight is that night for you.

Just… don't quit.

You’re closer than you think.