From three hundred thousand to eight hundred, I waited for my turnaround in the ruins.
When I lost over three hundred thousand, I was numb to the pain.
With only eight hundred left in my account, it felt like standing in ruins, where even the wind was silent. Friends advised me to "find a job," I didn't argue, but that night, I made a decision: no gambling on luck, no hasty recovery, just waiting for a market I can understand.
Waiting for what? Waiting for moments when signals are clear and rhythms are calm. I no longer stared at the market 24/7, no longer overturned my judgments due to five-minute fluctuations, and began to write a trading diary—recording emotions, judgments, and even the weather.
Slowly understanding: not every fluctuation is an opportunity; silence is also a kind of operation.
For my first trade, I waited five days. I made a profit, didn't increase my position, and felt no euphoria, exiting as planned. For the second trade, I waited three days; the rhythm was faster than expected, but I only took the part I could understand.
Some laughed at me for being "too cautious" and for having "little capital," but I didn't explain—I knew that the places I had fallen before were all due to running too fast.
Twenty trades, four months. Eight hundred turned into ninety thousand. No myths, no miracles, just replacing "impulse" with "breath," and "gambling" with "rules."
Finally, I want to say: the market never rewards effort; it only rewards the right kind of waiting. If you haven't learned to stop, you might never be able to run again.
I used to stumble in the dark; now the light is in my hands. The light is always on, will you follow or not?
