The Night I Almost Gave Up. "Some nights, the weight feels too… | by Joshua Kelechi

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“Some nights, the weight feels too heavy. But even the smallest reminder that you matter can save you. This is the story of the night I almost gave up… and why I didn’t.”

There was a night I will never forget.

I was sitting alone in my room, the kind of silence that doesn’t comfort you but instead makes your thoughts louder. The clock on my wall ticked like it was mocking me. Every second reminded me of everything I hadn’t done, everything I had failed at, everything I thought I was supposed to be by now.

I wasn’t just tired. I was worn down in ways I didn’t even know how to explain.
Tired of pretending I was okay.
Tired of saying “I’m fine” when people asked.
Tired of carrying pain like a secret I wasn’t allowed to share.

That night, I remember staring at the ceiling and whispering to myself:
“What’s the point? Why keep trying when nothing ever changes?”

The thought scared me—but at the same time, it felt like the only honest thing I had said to myself in months.

I almost gave up that night.
Not just on my goals.
Not just on my dreams.
But on myself.

—

Then something happened that shouldn’t have mattered. My phone buzzed.
I almost ignored it—I didn’t want to talk to anyone. But for some reason, I picked it up.

It was a simple message from a friend:
“Hey, I was just thinking about you. You okay?”

That was it. Just a short text. But it stopped me.

Because in that exact moment, when I felt invisible, the world reminded me that I wasn’t. Someone thought about me. Someone cared enough to check in. Someone saw me—even when I felt like I was disappearing.

It wasn’t a miracle. It wasn’t a life-changing solution. But it was enough. Enough to remind me that maybe I wasn’t as alone as I thought. Enough to help me hold on for just one more night.

And sometimes… one more night is all we need.

—

Looking back, I realized something powerful:

It’s not always the big victories that save us.

Sometimes it’s a kind word, a small gesture, a reminder that we matter.

Sometimes survival is just about making it through one more hour, one more night, until the weight doesn’t feel as heavy.

I used to think I had to be strong all the time, but I was wrong. Strength isn’t pretending everything is fine. Strength is letting yourself be human. Strength is admitting, “I’m not okay right now,” and still choosing to stay.

—

I want to say this directly to you:
You are not alone.
Your story is not finished.
The world is better because you are still here.

Even if you don’t believe it right now, your presence matters more than you know. Somebody out there is quietly grateful for you. Somebody loves you in ways you might never fully see.

And even if it feels dark, I promise—the smallest flicker of light can still cut through the heaviest night.

—

I’m not writing this because I’ve figured life out. I still have hard days. I still get tired. But I share this because I know how heavy it feels to stand at the edge. I know what it’s like to wonder if you matter. And I know what it’s like to be saved by something small—a text, a smile, a reminder—that pulled me back just enough to take one more step forward.

If you’ve ever felt that way, I want my words to be that small reminder for you.

You matter.
Your life matters.
And the world needs your story.

—

If this spoke to you, follow me. I write for people who feel too much, carry too much, and need reminders that they are never alone.

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