They say, “Fake it till you make it.” So I did.
I learned how to smile through gritted teeth. How to carry the weight of disappointment and still walk like I own the room. How to take rejection after rejection and keep my chin up, like failure isn’t crawling up my throat, threatening to choke me.
I learned how to watch people win, over and over again, while I clap from the sidelines. Because that’s what I do, right? Be happy for everyone else while I get nothing? Act unbothered while something inside me screams, why not me?
I said I’d win. That I’d be the best. That I’d take everything I’d worked for and claim my place at the top.
But life had other plans.
I hit the ground. Again. And again. And again.
I got up every single time, only to get knocked down harder.
I watched people soar past me, watched doors slam in my face, watched the things I deserved slip through my fingers like sand.
And yet, the world wanted more. More effort. More resilience. More survival.
So I grinned like I was winning, I hit my marks, and I performed.
Because I can do it with a broken heart.
You Think This Will Break Me? Watch Me.
I used to think the world was fair. That if I just worked hard enough, sacrificed enough, pushed myself far enough, I’d get the life I wanted.
But effort isn’t a currency the universe cares about.
Sometimes, you can give it everything—your blood, your sweat, your soul—and it still won’t be enough.
And that should break me. That should make me stop. That should make me quit.
But I don’t break.
I don’t stop.
I don’t quit.
I take my L and suck it up like a real tough kid.
You think rejection will stop me? Failure? Closed doors? Please. I’ll build my own fucking door. I’ll carve my own path. I’ll crawl through fire, through pain, through every damn setback, and I’ll still make it out on the other side, standing tall.
Because this is what I do and that's all do.
I fall, and I rise.
I get knocked down, and I get up stronger.
I lose, and I still find a way to win.
You think I need easy? You think I need luck? I don’t.
I refuse to let this season define me.
I refuse to let this moment tell me who I am.
I refuse to be the person who folds just because life didn’t hand me a golden ticket.
Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to just collapse? To scream, cry, break down, let all of it crush me?
But I don’t get to do that. I don’t get to stop. I don't have time to do that.
So I cry between deadlines.
I break down at 2 AM, then wipe my face and get back to work at 2:05.
I carry heartbreak and disappointment like battle scars, wear them like a crown, turn my pain into fuel, into power, into proof that nothing can destroy me.
The world says, "Not this time."
I say, "Watch me."
The universe says, "Maybe you’re not meant to win."
I say, "Then I’ll rewrite the damn rules."
Life wants to test me? Life wants to throw me into the fire and see if I burn? Good. I’ll set the whole thing ablaze and walk through it like I own the flames.
Because I am not fragile.
I am not weak.
I am not someone who loses and stays down.
I’m One Thing in Life I Can Control.
Everything else is unpredictable. The rejections, the setbacks, the doors that refuse to open. The way people underestimate me. The way life seems determined to make me question if I’m enough.
But again, I am one thing in life I can control.
I am inimitable.
I am an original.
I am not falling behind.
I am not running late.
I am not standing still.
I am lying in wait.
I control how I rise.
I control how I refuse to be broken.
I control how I turn every single loss into a lesson, into a weapon, into proof that I do not stay down.
As I write this with crying eyes, with a heart heavy from rejection, with disappointment sitting on my chest like a weight I can’t shake—I remind myself that I am still standing.
I have worked too hard, fought too long, and burned too bright to let this be the end of my story.
I am unstoppable.
I am inevitable.
And I’m not just surviving.
I’m becoming better and winning ,
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