Hello there,
Since my last post, you might think I’m exhausted from the sheer effort of writing anything (including code). And you’d be partially right—I am exhausted. But let’s clear one thing up: this exhaustion won’t stop me from writing, at least not permanently. Let’s talk about it.
I recently wrapped up my second year at university—a significant milestone! For those of you who’ve met the infamous “Second-Year Slump,” you know exactly what I mean. And the best part? I didn’t just survive it; I emerged stronger than I expected—raising my CGPA in the process (quite the pleasant surprise). There’s something about this stretch of university that tests your endurance. The initial excitement of being a freshman starts to simmer down, replaced by bigger workloads, tougher exams, and a growing sense of, “What’s next?”
Now that the chaos has temporarily paused during this break, I’m in a deeply reflective space. Initially, I thought this pause would mean fully unwinding—lazy mornings and carefree days. But instead, my brain refuses to switch off. Writing, once again, has become both my sanctuary and my anchor, keeping me centered amidst the mental clutter.
Let me be honest—this exhaustion I feel? It’s not just academic. It’s like collecting layers of self-imposed pressure. The dreams I chase, the weight of future goals, and a pesky companion named self-doubt all add to the load. At times like these, I usually find solace in stepping away from it all. Activities like swimming, working out, or just diving into a good book have always been my go-to reset. But this time, it feels…different. Even those tried-and-true methods don’t seem to be filling the gap.
I’ve noticed something peculiar lately—I can’t even bring myself to code. For someone like me, where coding feels as natural as breathing (most of the time!), this sensation is unsettling. Normally, when this happens, I know the drill: step away, recharge, and come back with renewed clarity. Yet now, avoiding my projects doesn’t feel like self-care—it feels like avoidance.
So that’s why I must continue. Continuing through the pain, through the mental blocks, and through the moments I want to shrug it all off. Because I’ve realized something ever so quietly during this odd break: stagnation feels far worse than exhaustion.
Sure, coding might feel like lifting a boulder right now, and even writing may feel like shouting into a void some days. But there’s healing, even in the smallest push forward—a healing that reminds me why I started all of this. Why I jumped into the world of programming at just a budding age. Why I stayed up late nights debugging loops, scribbling down ideas, and challenging myself to dream a bit further than I thought possible.
There’s a kind of restoration that comes with leaning into creativity, even when it hurts. Writing, for one, gives me a way to sift through the overwhelm, to unpack and process the weight I’m carrying. And while my projects may be staring at me accusingly from the corner, procrastinated upon for far too long, I know they’ll be there, waiting. Waiting for that moment the clarity breaks through, and my passion reignites, no matter how slow that process feels.
Taking breaks, stepping aside to recharge, is critical—don’t get me wrong. But this time, the growth lies in acknowledging the discomfort head-on. To not run from it, to find ways to cool the intensity without completely avoiding what makes me, well, me.
So if you’re still reading this, I’ll leave you with a simple ask: If you find yourself in your own slump or silent struggle, look for the thread, however tiny, that pulls you forward. Whether it’s writing, coding, art, movement, or simply dreaming beyond the haze, let that thread remind you of the “why” behind it all.
TLDR;
I’m continuing because deep down I know, even in exhaustion, this is still my story to tell.
PS: this was meant to be “why I write blog posts” and yet, we are here 🙂
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