The Climb That Changed Me

Success, for a long time, was just a word I whispered to myself when no one was listening. Not because I didn’t believe in it, but because I didn’t think it belonged to someone like me.

I grew up in a small town, the kind where everyone knows your business before you do. My parents worked hard, did everything right, and still barely made ends meet. There was pride in that kind of survival, but there wasn’t always hope. Somewhere in the cracks of broken dreams and unpaid bills, I learned early that success wasn’t guaranteed. It was earned—fought for, even.

So, I fought. I studied hard, graduated top of my class, and got accepted into a big-name university. I thought I was on my way. I had a plan. But here’s the thing no one tells you about plans: life doesn’t care about them.

The First Fall

In my second year, I started a business with three classmates. It was a side project turned obsession—late nights, skipped classes, caffeine-fueled pitches to anyone who’d listen. And for a while, it worked. We got seed funding. We made noise. People started to notice.

But success that comes too fast is like a house of cards built in the wind. We didn’t know what we were doing. We had passion, not experience. Within a year, we lost everything—investor confidence, our savings, our friendships.

I failed. Publicly. And nothing crushes your spirit like failure when the world was just beginning to believe in you.

I dropped out. I moved back home. And I didn’t open my laptop for six months.

The Turning Point

People talk about rock bottom like it’s a single event. For me, it was a season. Days blended into nights, and I felt invisible in my own life. But rock bottom has one advantage—it’s solid. You can stand on it if you choose.

One morning, while walking past the community center, I noticed a flyer: “Volunteers needed: Adult Literacy Program.” I don’t know what pulled me in. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe curiosity. Maybe I just needed to feel useful again.

What started as two hours a week turned into something more. I worked with adults who had slipped through the cracks—people who were brave enough to start over at 40, 50, even 60. One woman, Maria, told me, “It’s never too late to rewrite your story.” That sentence stuck with me.

That night, I opened my laptop for the first time in months. Not to check social media. Not to scroll endlessly. But to write.

Climbing Again, This Time With Purpose

I didn’t go back to the university. I enrolled in an online course in education and literacy development. I worked part-time and spent every free moment tutoring, learning, and writing about the people I was meeting.

Their stories changed me. Their resilience inspired me more than any startup ever could. And slowly, something shifted—I started redefining what success meant to me.

It wasn’t about headlines or investors. It wasn’t about proving anything to anyone. Success, I realized, was choosing a life that aligned with my values—even when no one applauded.

A few years later, I launched a nonprofit focused on adult education and digital literacy. It started small—one town, a few volunteers, a few donated laptops. But it grew. It’s still growing. And this time, we built it slow, strong, and rooted in real purpose.

Looking Back, Moving Forward

People often ask me if I regret dropping out or if I wish the first business had worked. The honest answer? No.

That failure taught me what success really feels like—earned through purpose, not applause.

If I hadn’t failed, I would have never found the thing that truly lights me up from the inside.

And if I hadn’t chosen myself, after everyone else walked away, I’d still be lost trying to fit into someone else’s version of achievement.

Moral of the Story:

Success isn’t always loud or fast. Sometimes, it looks like failure first. Sometimes, it looks like starting over. But real success begins the moment you choose yourself, your values, and the path that aligns with both.