That night, sleep refused to visit me.
I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of my own thoughts arguing with each other.
One voice kept whispering, “You’re wasting your time.” The other replied, “Just one more try.”
Earlier that day, everything had gone wrong.
My efforts felt invisible, my dreams felt too big for my pocket, and motivation packed its bags without telling me goodbye. I almost convinced myself that quitting would be easier than hoping.
Around 2 a.m., the power went out. The room became quiet, dark, and honest. No distractions. Just me and the truth.
I realized something then: quitting doesn’t end pain, it only postpones growth. Every step I’ve taken so far, no matter how small, has been proof that I’m still moving.
So I made a promise in the dark—to keep showing up, even when the results don’t clap for me.
By morning, nothing had magically changed. But I had.
And sometimes, that’s enough to continue.
