The lady in white

Chapter 11-She Came When I Gave Up

I reached for my diary, but as I sat down to write, a memory far older than the morning stirred within me. As I turned the pages, a line caught my eye—

“Giving up on myself would mean betraying every version of me that endured.”

I froze.

The words felt heavier than ink, as if they had been written for this exact moment. My fingers tightened around the page, and suddenly, a familiar presence brushed against my thoughts. A dream. Not a recent one—but a buried memory from childhood.

The Lady in White.

Fragments began to surface, sharp and uninvited, pulling me back to a time I had long tried to forget.

I was twelve.

Life was not kind then—not even neutral. I was weak, fragile, and invisible in a world that demanded strength. My classmates bullied me, their words carving wounds deeper than bruises ever could. Inside, I was breaking silently. I felt unbearably alone in a massive universe that had no place for my pain.

My parents were consumed by bills and responsibilities, weighed down by survival. They were trying—but they were tired. And I, unknowingly, was being pushed to fulfill roles I barely understood: a dutiful daughter, a responsible sister, a good student. Everyone complained. Everyone expected. No one truly listened.

I began to believe I was a burden.

My identity started fading before it ever had the chance to form. Day by day, the darkness inside me grew heavier. It felt as if every particle in the universe was whispering the same cruel truth—that I was unworthy of everything I had, and everything I was.

I stopped talking. Even at home.

My self-esteem shattered.

I forgot how to smile.

I forgot how to play.

I forgot my likes, my dislikes—

I forgot myself.

Years passed, but nothing improved. In fact, it worsened. My health declined. My studies suffered. Life felt stagnant and suffocating. People looked at me with pity, and eventually, even my parents seemed tired of hoping.

And one day… I gave up.

A single thought lingered in my mind, heavy and terrifyingly calm:

Why am I here? Everyone’s life would be better if I weren’t.

That night, I cried myself to exhaustion. I wished—quietly, desperately—not to wake up again. I didn’t want another morning. I didn’t want another version of the same pain. My body gave in before my thoughts could settle, and I fell into sleep.

Then the dream came.

I was standing in a vast crowd, yet completely alone. Fear wrapped around my chest as confusion set in. Before me rose enormous white marble staircases, stretching endlessly upward. Everyone around me began to climb, step after step, as if they knew exactly where they were going.

I didn’t move. I stood frozen at the bottom, panic rising, my feet refusing to obey me. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know what I was meant to do.

And then I looked up.

From the stairs descended a woman dressed in white—glowing, calm, untouched by the chaos around her. The moment I saw her, everything else faded. She was smiling—not kindly, not cruelly—but knowingly.

She walked down toward me, each step steady, deliberate. When she reached me, she leaned close and whispered softly into my ear—

“Give up so easily?”

My eyes flew open.

I was back in my bed, breath uneven, heart pounding—but something had changed. Not outside. Not immediately. But within.

From that day onward, I stopped seeing myself as a problem. Slowly, I began healing. I turned inward instead of against myself. I practiced yoga. I read books. I cycled. I learned to sit with my pain instead of running from it.

I am not in a perfect place now.

But I am no longer the girl who wished to disappear.

And now I understand.

The Lady in White did not come to save me from life.

She came to guide me through it.

To protect me from the darkness that tries to consume me through my insecurities and pain.

She appears when I am closest to giving up — to remind me not to.