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The Day I Almost Gave Up

By Edwin Ogie — Benin City, Edo State · Last updated: October 6, 2025

English & Math Practice Physics & Chemistry Practice

A personal reflection on failure, burnout and the quiet choices that kept a dream alive. Meant for students, bloggers, and young professionals who’ve felt the weight of rejection.

The day it all fell apart

I still remember the letter — official, stamped, and blunt. “We regret to inform you….” It was a rejection from the university I had imagined for months. Three years of late-night study sessions, borrowed textbooks and odd jobs to pay a registration fee, and a single page told me I hadn’t made it. I walked from the post office in silence, the dirt road of Benin City under my shoes suddenly too loud. That night I sat on my small verandah and let the world breathe in and out of me without answering.

It was not only the rejection. The next week the part-time job I depended on dissolved — the employer had no money. A friend I’d trusted with a group project disappeared when the deadline came. My savings — all N10,000 of it — had to be split between food and a bus ticket home. In seven days I had lost not only a plan but the tiny scaffolding that held the plan together. Burnout settled like a heavy coat.

The low point: thinking of giving up

Giving up felt reasonable. It felt like logic. Why persist when doors kept closing? I started telling myself the kinds of stories that sound sensible in the dark: “Maybe you weren’t meant for this,” and “Maybe some people are just lucky.” Inside, shame warmed like a fever. I avoided friends so I wouldn’t have to explain failure. I drafted resignation letters in my head — not for a job, but for ambition itself.

On the worst morning, I almost threw my notebooks into the gutter. They had margins filled with problem solutions, scribbled diagrams, half-finished diary entries that now felt childish. Then my neighbour’s little girl — a curious eight-year-old — ran to show me a drawing she’d made of a solar panel. She announced, with the unbothered confidence of children, that she was going to be an inventor. Her voice was small, but it moved something in me: if a child could still plan for tomorrow with that boldness, could I not find a way to keep going?

The turning point: a small yes

The turning point did not come as a revelation. It arrived as a small, practical yes. A former teacher, Mrs. U., sent me a text: “Stop sulking. Come help me supervise Saturday school. I need an extra pair of hands.” It was not an offer of money or a scholarship. It was an invitation to work with students who were behind — the kind of students I used to be. The first morning I went, I found that explaining a single concept to a struggling girl made the idea clearer in my own head. Teaching became a mirror: as I explained, I learned. Small acts of service began to rebuild my self-respect.

That yes led to another. A technician who visited the school for a short repair asked if I could help him with wiring at a local youth centre. I took the job for N2,000 and used the money to buy a notebook and bus fare. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Most importantly, it was movement — the opposite of funeral for a dream. Slowly, those little moves accumulated. The trick is that motion, however small, creates new opportunity to continue.

Tools, habits and practices that saved me

Here are the practical things I did to get back up. They are not flashy — they are honest and repeatable.

1. Short daily rituals: twenty minutes of reading a textbook or solving 3 past-paper questions. Small consistency beats dramatic sprints.
2. Teach to learn: explain one topic every week to someone else. Teaching forces clarity and reveals gaps you need to fill.
3. Micro-jobs for momentum: do small paid tasks that pay for essentials and keep you moving (tutoring, wiring, data entry).
4. Record a “failure log”: write one sentence each day noting what went wrong and one thing learned. Over time it becomes a map of progress.
5. Faith & quiet practices: prayer, short walks, or five-minute breathing — tools that calm the panic and reframe the problem.

If you want structure, try a simple 14-day plan: 20 minutes study + 10 minutes review + 10 minutes writing a “what I learned” note. Repeat and increase slowly.

The power of one supportive voice

A mentor’s single message — “You can still build this” — was a lifeline. Mentors don’t only give answers; they provide permission to continue. If you are a parent or teacher reading: your small message of belief can be the difference between quitting and trying again. If you’re a peer, invite someone to a study group; often companionship beats solitary effort.

For practical mentor resources, see Google AI for lesson templates and writing helpers, and use quick definitions (try define: resilience) to build short study glossaries you can share.

Survival checklist — what to do in the first 7 days after a big rejection

• Day 1: Allow the grief — write for 20 minutes, then close the page. Don’t make any life-altering decisions immediately.
• Day 2–3: Small tasks — solve one past question, prepare a simple meal, call a friend.
• Day 4–5: Find one small paid micro-job or offer to help a teacher/tutor.
• Day 6–7: Teach what you revised to someone else; record one short note of what you improved.

Movement creates momentum. Seven days of small actions often reset confidence better than one week of anxious rumination.

Resources & next steps

Tools and pages to help you rebuild:

• Google AI — use it for study templates, note summarisation and idea generation
• Quick definition: resilience
• English & Math Practice — timed practice to rebuild confidence
• Physics & Chemistry Practice — hands-on exercises and worksheets
• Email support — request a 7-day recovery plan

Final reflection & moral

Months later I looked at that same post office letter again. The sting had faded into a useful scar — a reminder that one closed door did not mean the building was gone. I had learned to stitch new doors from small acts: teaching, micro work, steady study, and the kindness of people who believed I could continue.

Moral: “Failure is only a detour on the road to success.” If you’re reading this on a hard day, pick one tiny action and do it. The next day, pick another. Momentum grows on the back of small, repeated choices.

© 2025 Edwin Ogie Library — Share this story if it helped you, and consider mentoring one person this month.