The Day I Decided to Keep Going

I remember the day I almost gave up.

It wasn’t dramatic. There were no storms or tears. Just a dull, cloudy morning and a quiet apartment that felt heavier than usual. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone. Another email, another rejection: “We regret to inform you…”

I had lost count of how many versions of that sentence I’d read over the past few months. Every rejection chipped away at my confidence, each one a reminder that the world didn’t seem to have space for my dreams.

I had been trying so hard — submitting stories, applying for freelance writing jobs, pitching ideas, doing everything that people online said you should do to “make it.” But nothing was working. I was tired. And worse, I was starting to believe that maybe I just wasn’t good enough.

For a few minutes, I just sat there. Staring at the wall. Wondering what I was even doing.

I opened my laptop, hovered over my draft folder, then closed it again. I thought about calling a friend to talk, but I didn’t want to hear the pity or the polite encouragement. I didn’t want advice. I wanted answers. I wanted something to work.

But life doesn’t hand you breakthroughs just because you want them. That’s what makes it so hard.

I walked into the kitchen, made a cup of tea, and leaned against the counter. I thought about quitting. Really quitting. Deleting everything I had written and moving on. It would be easier, I told myself. At least I wouldn’t feel like a failure anymore.

But something inside me—maybe stubbornness, maybe pride—didn’t let me walk away. Instead, I grabbed my old notebook and sat down at the table. The pages were messy, full of half-finished thoughts and scribbles. But they were mine. Raw and real.

And I started to write. Not because I was inspired. Not because I believed in myself. I wrote because I didn’t know what else to do. I wrote through the frustration. Through the doubt. Through the heaviness.

And somewhere in those pages, I found something I hadn’t felt in weeks: relief.

I didn’t write the next great masterpiece. I didn’t have a breakthrough. But I remembered why I started in the first place. Not for followers. Not for approval. But because writing helps me breathe.

That moment changed something for me. I realized that the people we admire—the artists, creators, entrepreneurs—they didn’t keep going because it was easy. They kept going despite how hard it was. They had days like this too. They just didn’t stop.

Motivation doesn’t always strike like lightning. Sometimes it’s a slow fire that starts when you show up, even when you don’t feel like it.

I didn’t wake up the next day feeling like a new person. But I kept writing. One sentence. Then another. I submitted another article. Then another. Eventually, one of them got accepted. A small win. But a real one.

Over time, those little moments of persistence added up. Not into fame or fortune — but into something far more valuable: belief in myself.

So if you’re reading this and wondering if it’s worth it—if you should keep trying, keep showing up, keep chasing that thing inside you—I want to say this:

Yes. Keep going.

Even if no one’s clapping yet. Even if no one sees your effort. Even if the world is quiet.

Because the truth is, most people quit right before things start to shift. And the only way you’ll ever know what’s possible is if you keep moving long enough to find out.

You don’t need to be perfect today. You don’t need to feel strong. You just need to take one more step. And then one more.

One day, you’ll look back at this moment and be proud you didn’t give up.