What Happens When You Work Hard and Nothing Happens?

 

Have you ever found yourself asking, "What’s the point?"
Because you’ve worked hard, stayed consistent, followed every rule that promised results, and still, nothing?

So, it’s no surprise that I’ve been doubting myself lately.
All my life, I was taught that if I worked hard, I’d bear fruit. That consistency pays off. Eventually, if I just keep going, it’ll all work out in the end.

But is there truly an end to this madness?
How long should someone keep pushing before they begin to lose their mind?

I’ve often wondered if there’s a formula for madness.
Surely, there must be a measure for it, an equation that explains the tipping point between effort and exhaustion.
Now, I’m starting to understand why things take time to “tick,” to be “ticked off.”
Because if you keep doing something with no visible result… are you actually doing anything at all?

You start to feel like life is slipping away.
And you’re just there, watching it waste quietly, powerlessly.
You give up… not because you’re lazy, but by default.
Because there’s nothing to show for it.
You stop caring, not out of apathy, but out of fatigue.
Because deep down, you start believing it doesn’t matter.

But even in that numbness, you keep going.
You show up.
You create.
You try.
Because even if there's nothing to show for it, consolation in persistence feels better than the silence that would come if you gave up completely.

So I tell myself this:
As long as I’m still here, breathing, writing, trying—there must be some reason for the madness.

Maybe it’s not about bearing fruit in the way we were taught.
Maybe being the tree itself—still standing, still rooted—is the miracle.

And maybe, just maybe, someone out there needed to read this to realize… they’re not alone either.

A Life Unclaimed

If someone had told me years ago that I would find myself here, sitting in my mother’s house, shrouded in misfortune and solitude, I would have laughed at the absurdity of it. I had always believed that by now, my life would be different—filled with love, success, and the fruits of my labor. I imagined a home of my own, a family, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing that my kindness had paved the way for a blessed life. But life has a cruel way of proving you wrong. I have learned that goodness does not guarantee anything. It does not shield you from suffering. Instead, it seems to invite it. Every act of kindness, every selfless gesture, has only stripped me further of what I had, leaving me empty-handed, as if I had been offering pieces of myself to the world, only to be left with nothing in return.

Had I known that all my efforts, the sacrifices I made, and the dreams I chased would amount to nothing, perhaps I would have chosen an easier road. I would have spared myself the torment, the relentless striving for something that was never meant to be. Maybe I would have settled, accepted a simpler fate, rather than fighting for a vision that was never mine to claim.

It seems those who wished me harm have won. They celebrate each day as I sink deeper into despair, ensuring that even the faintest glimmer of hope is swiftly extinguished. At every turn, they stand as unseen gatekeepers, blocking any path forward, ensuring that I remain trapped in this abyss—crushed, broken, and forgotten. Their envy fuels them, as if my suffering is not already enough.

They despise me without cause, their hatred burning without reason. It consumes them, festering in their souls until nothing remains but the bitter satisfaction of watching me fall. They feed off my sorrow as though it sustains them, as though their own joy is incomplete unless it is built upon my misery. Even when happiness surrounds them, they fail to grasp it, blinded by the jealousy that festers within. And so, they have condemned me to this unfulfilled existence, not realizing that the very life they wish upon me is one they could never endure themselves.

But no matter how deep their malice runs, no matter how many doors they slam shut before me, I know this truth: it is not their voices that decide my fate. At the end of the day, it is God who speaks for me. And when God plans, when God decides, so shall it be.