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
