When I Put My Dreams On Hold

I don't remember the exact day I gave up. That's the thing about giving up - it doesn't usually happen all at once. For me, it was more like slowly letting air out of a balloon until there was nothing left.

It was supposed to be temporary. "I just need a break," I told myself. A week turned into a month. A month turned into several. And before I knew it, almost a year had slipped by.

A whole year. Gone.

What did I do during that time? Honestly, not much. I went through the motions. I smiled at the right times. I made dinner and watched Netflix and scrolled through social media like everyone else. But the things that mattered to me - my projects, my goals, my actual dreams - they sat collecting dust.

My notes and plans were still right where I left them. Sometimes I'd see them out of the corner of my eye, and my stomach would do this weird flip. Part guilt, part longing, part relief that I didn't have to try and possibly fail again.

God, the failure. That's what it was all about, wasn't it? I had tried so many times before. Had moments where I thought, "This is it! I'm finally figuring things out!" only to watch it all fizzle out. Again. And again.

So the voice in my head got louder: "What's the point? You're just wasting your time." And the worst part? I started believing it. Not just believing it - I became best friends with that voice. We had full conversations where it would tell me all the reasons I should just give up, and I'd nod along going, "You're so right. I'm being ridiculous thinking I could do this."

That voice became my excuse, my permission slip to stop trying. And there's a weird comfort in giving up, you know? Once you decide you can't do something, you don't have to worry about it anymore. The anxiety of "will I succeed?" goes away when you decide the answer is definitely no.

So I lived in that comfortable numbness for a year. Not happy, not devastated, just... there. Existing. Watching other people chase their dreams while I convinced myself I was being "realistic" about mine.

My friends probably noticed. They'd ask about my projects less and less, and I'd change the subject if they did bring it up. "Oh, that? I'm taking a break right now." The universal code for "please stop asking me about the thing I'm failing at."

I felt like a fraud. Like I was wearing a mask of someone who had their shit together when really, I was just someone who had given up on the things that used to light me up.

But here's the weird thing about rock bottom - once you're there, there's a strange kind of freedom. When you've already given up, when you've already accepted that you're "not good enough," what exactly do you have to lose?

I remember the day things started to shift. It wasn't dramatic. I was cleaning out a drawer and found some of my old notes. Normally I would have quickly shut the drawer, but that day, for whatever reason, I sat down and read them.

And you know what? They weren't bad. Not amazing, but definitely not as terrible as the voice in my head had convinced me they were.

I didn't have some huge epiphany. I didn't suddenly rediscover my purpose or anything that profound. I just thought, "Huh. Maybe I was a little hard on myself."

That's it. That tiny thought. That's what started to crack the wall I'd built.

The next day, I opened my laptop and worked on one of my old projects for 10 minutes. Just 10 minutes. It wasn't good work. But it was something.

I'd like to tell you that everything changed overnight, but it didn't. Some days I still listen to that voice. Some days I still wonder if I'm wasting my time. The difference is that now I talk back. "Maybe I am wasting my time. So what? It's my time to waste."

That year I lost - it taught me things I couldn't have learned any other way. It showed me that my worth isn't tied to my productivity or success. It taught me that starting over isn't shameful, it's brave. And most importantly, it taught me that the voice in my head is just a voice. It's not the truth.

If you're in that place right now that quiet, numb place where your dreams seem too far away or too ridiculous to chase, I get it. I really do. And I'm not going to feed you some inspirational bullshit about how you just need to believe in yourself.

Sometimes you can't believe in yourself. Sometimes the best you can do is doubt your doubts. To wonder if maybe, just maybe, that voice in your head isn't telling you the whole story.

You don't have to make some grand comeback. You don't have to set the world on fire. Just open the drawer. Read the old notes. Give yourself 10 minutes.

The path back to yourself isn't paved with certainty. It's just putting one foot in front of the other, even when you're not sure where you're going.

And if you need to take a year off along the way? That's okay too. Sometimes the pause is part of the journey.