The New Ego

The next morning, I woke up feeling… off. The motivation from the previous day had faded, replaced by a heavy fog of doubt.

"Maybe I'll just skip the gym today," I thought, rolling over in bed.

But the memory of my dad's words—"Proud of you, son"—echoed in my mind.

"I can't give up. Not yet."

The gym was quieter than usual. A few regulars were lifting weights, and a couple of people were on the treadmills. I started with my usual routine—a slow jog on the treadmill, followed by some light weights.

Then I saw her.

She was across the room, doing squats with perfect form. Her leggings hugged her curves, and her ponytail swayed with every rep.

"She looks like… her," I thought, my mind drifting to the videos I used to watch.

I felt a familiar heat rise in my chest, a mix of lust and shame.

"No. Stop. You're here to change, not to stare."

I forced myself to look away, but the image stayed in my mind.

By the time I got home, the temptation was unbearable.

"Just one video. What's the harm?"

I opened my laptop and typed in the URL. The familiar site loaded, and I felt a rush of excitement—and guilt.

"This is who you are," a voice in my head whispered. "You'll never change."

I clicked on a video, but halfway through, I stopped.

"What am I doing?"

I closed the tab and slammed my laptop shut.

I sat on the edge of my bed, my head in my hands.

"I'm such a failure. I can't even go one week without messing up."

The weight of my regret felt crushing. I wanted to scream, to cry, to punch something—anything to release the frustration building inside me.

But then my phone buzzed.

It was a notification from my dropshipping store.

New Sale: $15.

I stared at the screen, feeling a small spark of hope.

"At least I'm making something," I thought.

I opened the store dashboard and checked the stats. Sales were slow, but steady. I'd made about $50 so far—not enough to quit my freelance writing, but enough to feel like I was moving in the right direction.

As I scrolled through the orders, I noticed a pattern. Most of the products were cheap, low-quality items that customers were returning or complaining about.

"This isn't sustainable," I realized.

I opened a new tab and started researching. The more I read, the more I understood the challenges of dropshipping—long shipping times, poor product quality, and fierce competition.

"What am I even doing? This isn't going to work."

But then I remembered something I'd heard in a podcast: "Every problem is an opportunity in disguise."

"Maybe I can fix this," I thought. "Maybe I can find better suppliers, improve the store, and make it work."

As I lay in bed that night, I reflected on the day.

"I almost gave in to my old habits. I almost let myself down. But I didn't. And I found a new problem to solve."

It wasn't a perfect day, but it was progress.

"One step at a time," I told myself. "The New Me is still here."