biditarahman Poetry, Psychology, spirituality, Strength, Thought, Truth

I Am Tired, Yet I Keep Going

By Bidita Rahman

I am tired,
not simply from the burden of passing days,
but from the endless responsibilities
that quietly sip away my strength.

I am tired of being strong,
of carrying burdens no one sees,
of tucking exhaustion behind a practiced smile,
and murmuring, “I am fine,”
when my soul quietly pleads for peace.

Life has asked so much of me—
my patience, my courage, my sacrifices,
my wakeful nights,
and the small, quiet pieces of myself
I have given away in the name of responsibility.

Sometimes, I wish
the world would stop demanding,
the clock would stop running,
and I could simply exist,
without expectations,
without explanations,
without another battle to fight.

There are nights
when even my dreams grow heavy,
when silence becomes my sole companion,
and tears stay unspoken
because tomorrow still needs me.

Yet, I rise again.

Not because I am never broken,
not because I have endless strength,
but because deep down beneath my exhaustion
lives a steady determination
that refuses to surrender.

I have learned
this courage is not always a roaring fire.
Sometimes, it is a weary heart
choosing to beat with hope
for just one more day.

I do not need to conquer the world tonight.
I do not need to prove my strength to anyone.
Perhaps surviving today,
with dignity and grace,
is already its own quiet victory.

And if tomorrow finds me weary again,
I will move a little slower,
breathe a little deeper in,
and remind myself
that even the strongest warrior
deserves a gentle moment of rest.

I am exhausted, but I am not defeated.
I am carrying responsibilities, but I still carry dreams.
I am tired of life’s battles,
yet I have not let go of the journey.

For as long as a small light remains in me,
I will protect it—
not by burning myself endlessly,
but by learning when to rest,
when to release,
and when to quietly begin again.

I am tired.
I am human.
I am still quietly becoming.
And I will keep going—
not at the cost of losing myself,
but with the hope of finding myself again.

biditarahman Truth, Thought, Poetry, Strength

Release the Past, Welcome the Present

By Bidita Rahman

Tonight, I set my sorrows gently down,
And let the stars quietly melt my frown.
What once slipped away, I no longer chase,
I welcome this moment with calm dignity.

The past may whisper softly, but cannot remain,
I value its dwelling shadows and turn away.
Beneath the mild moon, my mind finds rest,
I release the past and accept the present.

“Not every wound needs an answer; some simply need the peace of being released.”

biditarahman Neurosciences, Poem, Poetry, Psychology, spirituality, Strength, Thought, Truth

Still, I Keep Going

By Bidita Rahman

Some nights
sleep stands outside my door
and refuses to come in.

The clock keeps moving,
but I remain awake—
counting unfinished thoughts,
replaying conversations,
carrying tomorrow
before tomorrow even arrives.

My mind becomes a crowded room.

What if I fail?
What if I am too late?
What if everything I have worked for
slips quietly from my hands?

Anxiety knows how to speak loudly
when the world becomes silent.

It turns small worries into storms,
uncertainty into mountains,
and every unanswered question
into another reason to stay awake.

Yet morning always finds me.

Sometimes exhausted.
Sometimes uncertain.
Sometimes carrying a heart
heavier than anyone can see.

But still—
I get up.

I gather the scattered pieces
of courage left from the night,
put my feet back on the ground,
and face another day.

I have learned
that strength does not always roar.

Sometimes strength is simply
washing your face after a sleepless night,
showing up with tired eyes,
and whispering,

Keep going.

Challenges have stood before me
like locked doors.

Some opened.
Some did not.

Some forced me
to find another road.

And perhaps that is what becoming is—

not living without fear,
not escaping every storm,
not winning every battle,

but learning to walk
while your hands are trembling.

I still have questions.
I still have difficult nights.
I still meet versions of myself
that are afraid of what comes next.

But fear no longer decides
where my story ends.

I may walk slowly.
I may stop to gather strength.
I may carry scars
from roads no one knows I traveled.

But I am still moving.

And tonight,
if sleep forgets my name again,
I will remind myself:

I have survived nights
I once thought would break me.

I have crossed storms
I could not see beyond.

And even when
I cannot see the whole road ahead,

I can still take
one more step.

The night may keep me awake,
anxiety may shake my heart,
and life may test every part of me—
but I am still here.
Still becoming.
Still moving.
Still going.

— Bidita Rahman

biditarahman Life, Neurosciences, Poetry, Psychology, spirituality, Strength, Thought, Truth

THE ART OF RISING

THE ART OF RISING

My solitude, my battles, my hidden strength, my hard-won success

Bidita Rahman

I have wandered unseen roads,
Carried invisible burdens on my shoulders.
Smiled through tempests, swallowed my worries whole,
And waged silent wars deep inside.

There were nights when my thoughts thundered louder
Than the restless world beyond my door.
When I questioned the very shape of my existence,
And wondered what cause kept me fighting.

I’ve felt the heavy weight of solitude,
Of holding dreams too vast for my surroundings.
Of giving my all in silence, without applause,
Of building hope atop uncertain ground.

Yet solitude revealed something beautiful to me:
Not every empty room echoes with loss.
Sometimes, when the world hushes to silence,
You can finally hear the voice that lives within your soul.

I’ve stumbled, yes,
I’ve failed, yes,
I’ve watched golden chances slip through my fingers.
I’ve faced disappointments that almost convinced me
That tomorrow would mirror the shadows of yesterday.

But my darkest chapter does not define me,
Nor am I measured by the times I fell.
I am the courage that carried me forward,
The silent strength no one could see.

I have shaped my pain into purpose,
My struggles into stepping stones beneath my feet,
My disappointments into fierce determination,
And my loneliness into a strength that is wholly mine.

I no longer run after applause.
I no longer plead to be understood.
I am learning to trust the winding path of my journey,
Even when the road twists away from what I imagined.

Let them misjudge the power in my silence.
Let them misread the rhythm of my pace.
I am not racing against anyone else;
I am determined to arrive at my own place.

One day, these sleepless nights will reveal their meaning.
These sacrifices will become the story I tell.
The doors that closed will stand as reminders
That rejection was only a bend in my journey.

And when success finally discovers me,
I will remember the person I once was,
The one who held nothing but a dream,
A wounded heart and the courage to believe.

I will celebrate, not for an easy life,
But because I never surrendered.
Because even as the fire circled me,
I found a reason to rise from the glowing embers.

I am still in the making.
Still fighting on.
Still learning,
Still growing into myself.

My solitude is not a weakness.
My challenges do not define my identity.
My failures are not where I am headed.
And my success will never be an accident.

I was forged in silence,
Strengthened by every struggle,
Driven by a purpose that burns,
And destined always to rise.

My journey is far from over.
My greatest chapter waits to be written.

— And this time, I am writing it myself.