Series 2: Hitting Rock Bottom

I did not see it coming, not the spiral, not the emptiness, not the way life can strip you down to nothing but questions and regret. One day, I was holding onto dreams that felt within reach, the next, I was staring at the cold reality of starting over, and not in some romantic, new-beginning kind of way, this was the kind of reset that felt like a slap in the face.

Rock bottom is not always dramatic. Sometimes, it is quiet. It sneaks up on you while you are scrolling through job postings that all demand experience you do not have. It sits beside you when you avoid messages because you are tired of answering, "No, nothing new yet." It follows you into interviews where you fake confidence, knowing full well you are just hoping they do not see the cracks.

I remember the exact moment I knew I had to start over. I had spent months chasing opportunities that never materialized. I had convinced myself that things would turn around if I just kept pushing. Then, one evening, after yet another rejection email, I closed my laptop, sat back, and let the weight of everything sink in. I had nothing left to push with. No job, no money, no direction, just this gnawing realization that whatever I was doing was not working.

There is something sobering about facing yourself with no distractions, no excuses, just you, your circumstances, and the uncomfortable truth that nobody is coming to save you. That night, I did not get some big realization or sudden burst of energy. I just knew I could not keep doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome.

Starting over meant letting go of the version of myself I had been clinging to, the one who thought life would unfold in a straight line. It meant accepting that my path would be different, messier, and unpredictable. It meant figuring out a new way forward without a clear map.

I remember sitting in a café one afternoon, scrolling through job boards, feeling completely disconnected from the world around me. A couple next to me was deep in conversation about their upcoming trip to Thailand. Across the room, a group of friends laughed over something on a phone screen. Life was moving for everyone else, but I felt stuck in place. That moment stung, but it also forced me to ask myself a hard question: Was I going to keep waiting for a lifeline, or was I going to start building one myself?

So, I started small. I stopped applying for jobs out of desperation and focused on what I actually wanted to do. I stopped measuring my worth by how much money I was making or how impressive my LinkedIn profile looked. I found ways to work, even if it was not glamorous. I leaned into skills I had overlooked. Slowly, things started shifting, not overnight, not easily, but steadily.

Rock bottom is not a place you stay. It is a moment, a breaking point, a wake-up call. It forces you to decide whether you will keep waiting for a lifeline or start building one yourself. Once you do, you realize something no one tells you: rock bottom is not the end, it is the place where the real work begins.

If you have ever found yourself at that point, know this, you are not alone. The climb back up is not easy, but it is possible, and it starts with one decision: choosing to move forward.

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