I've been in the crypto market for 5 years; which year was the most painful? No need to think, it must be 2021.
That winter's wind seemed to carry a chill — over the years, I saved up more than a million from working overtime in the factory, living frugally, and yet two-thirds of it evaporated in just 2021. The last time I opened my account, the numbers on the screen flickered. I stared at them for half a minute, forgetting to blink, feeling a buzzing in the back of my head, as if someone was holding me underwater; that feeling of plummeting from the clouds to the depths, those who haven't experienced it probably can't understand.
Later, I simply stopped trading, it took me two years to recover. Now, I dig out the insights I gained from climbing out of the valley; if you're currently struggling, perhaps you can take a shortcut.
The real taste of loss: it's not hysteria; it’s the feeling of being too exhausted to even cry.
Many people think losing big money will make one hysterical; in reality, when it reaches that point, only numbness remains.
In November 2021, during that wave of crashes, the altcoins I held fell for three consecutive days. On the first day, I stubbornly argued with friends, 'It's just a pullback'. On the second day, seeing my account drop by 200,000, I couldn't eat. By the third day, when the margin call notification popped up, I didn't even have the strength to click 'confirm'. I threw my phone on the table, the screen lit up, but I stared at the ceiling, my mind blank, like being trapped in a vicious cycle of nightmares — always returning to when I first deposited money, counting, 'This is the result of staying up late working overtime'; when I opened my eyes, everything was gone.
During the darkest times, I truly doubted life. The savings I accumulated from working late nights, the bloodshot eyes from staring at the screen at 3 a.m., and the notes taken while squatting at the exchange door — those efforts I once regarded as 'the foundation for a comeback' seemed wasted. My chest felt like it was pressed down by a soaked cotton ball, it hurt even to take a breath. Afterward, I was afraid to casually open my phone; seeing the red and green K-lines made me nauseous. Once, a friend sent a market screenshot, and just glancing at it made me rush to the bathroom to vomit; my stomach was empty, and I just brought up bile.
The struggles in the valley are the same for both you and me.
If you’re currently losing, don’t think you’re the only one suffering — the struggles of retail investors are pretty much the same.
At that time, I was constantly oscillating between two states: when I lost, I would toss and turn all night, staring at the K-line chart until dawn, my eyes sore but too afraid to close them; when I finally made a little profit, I would become overconfident and dare to increase my position with unrealized gains, forgetting how I had lost before.
What’s even more foolish is 'knowing I should stop-loss but still waiting'. Once, when a coin fell below the stop-loss line, I stared at the screen and bet with myself, 'Let’s wait 10 more minutes; maybe it will bounce back'. Those 10 minutes turned into torture — watching the price drop steadily, my finger hovering over the 'close position' button, and I just couldn't press it down. Later, driven by the obsession to break even, I secretly took money from my credit card to increase my position, thinking 'I'll recover it all in one go', and ended up losing even more. That night, I stood on the balcony until late, the wind stinging my face, and I finally dared to admit: I had long been dragged away by greed.
Still blaming this and that. When I lose, I curse the market maker for being too ruthless, blame the market for being unreasonable, and even hate myself for not running away sooner. The more I think about it, the more I feel like the whole world is against me. Once, while talking on the phone with a friend, I choked up while speaking, and only after hanging up did I realize that it wasn't anyone else's fault; it was my own path that went wrong.
Only later did I understand: the real enemy is the out-of-control self.
During that half-year break, I uninstalled the trading software, dug out my previous trading records, and looked through them one by one until I finally admitted my mistakes.
It turned out it wasn't the market that didn't give opportunities? In the summer of 2021, I actually made a profit of four hundred thousand; I clearly planned to 'sell half after earning 30%', but staring at the rising K-line, I kept thinking, 'Just hold on a while longer, maybe it will double', and dragged on until the pullback, losing most of the four hundred thousand profit. Later, when it dropped, it was even more ridiculous; the plan was to 'clear out if it breaks the 60-day line', but when it really broke, I thought 'Just hold on, it’ll be fine', stubbornly waiting for liquidation.
Those clear plans were all ruined by 'just hold on a little longer' or 'get through this'. Emotions and desires acted like shackles, twisting my operations — no matter how familiar I was with the technical indicators or how clearly I could read the K-line charts, if I couldn't control my mindset, I would still stumble. In trading, the biggest enemy was never the fluctuating market but that self who loses control at crucial moments.
Four-step breakthrough method: this is how I crawled out of the mud.
Step One: Be ruthless and pause, first detach from your emotions.
The best decision back then was to completely cut off contact with the market.
I uninstalled the exchange app, set group messages to 'Do Not Disturb', and avoided discussions about the market with friends. The first three days were painfully difficult, like withdrawal — I couldn't help but touch my phone while sitting on the sofa, and during meals, my ears perked up at the words 'rising' and 'falling', my heart would clench, and at night, lying in bed, I kept tossing and turning, always thinking, 'What’s the price now?'.
But after struggling for seven days, I suddenly felt relieved. Without the dazzling K-lines, I finally dared to sit down and think: am I here to make money, or to be toyed with by the market? Only after stepping away from trading did I see clearly that my previous self had long become a puppet of emotions, floating when the price rose, panicking when it fell, with hardly any rationality left.
Step Two: Deep review, clarify the reasons for each loss.
Once I calmed down, I started going through old records. I found a notebook and exported all my trades from 2021, listing each one: when I bought, why I bought, where I planned my stop-loss, how I actually operated, and whether I made a profit or loss.
When I got to the third page, I was stunned — eight out of ten trades were losses. It wasn't because I followed the group's calls blindly, nor because I forgot to set a stop-loss and stubbornly held on. Only two losses were genuinely due to sudden market changes. I once saw a trade in April where others said, 'This coin can reach $10'; I jumped in without even reading the project's white paper, and in the end, it dropped to $2, and I cut my losses. Looking back, I feel embarrassed: it wasn't the market to blame, but my own laziness and lack of brains.
Mark the reasons for each loss in red and stick it in front of my desk, glancing at it every day — it's not about being angry with myself, but remembering: which pits cannot be stepped into again.
Step Three: Cultivate inner peace and calm the mind.
I used to think that 'as long as the skills are solid, that's enough'; later I realized, if the mind isn't calm, no matter how good the skills are, they are useless.
During those two years, I set aside half an hour for myself every day, without fail: either I would go to the park early in the morning to run a couple of laps until I was drenched in sweat, releasing the anxious energy along with the sweat; or I would hold onto 'Trading Psychology Analysis' and sit on the balcony reading. When I read 'Don't be greedy when making profits; don't panic when losing', I would underline it and stick it on my phone case. If I couldn't calm my mind, I would sit quietly, close my eyes, and count my breaths. Whenever the thought 'Why not check the market' popped up, I would pinch myself — slowly, my mind would really settle down.
Later, when looking at others' market screenshots, with red and green flashing in my eyes, I could calmly say, 'Let's see the monthly line first', no longer like before, getting itchy at the sight of 'rising'.
Step Four: Small steps to rebuild, using small successes to gain confidence.
Last spring, I dared to trade again, but I didn't invest much — just a small amount of five thousand to test the waters, lowering my margin and setting strict rules for myself: strict stop-loss, running at the first 1% drop; not being greedy, earning 5% a quarter would be enough.
The first trade earned me three hundred bucks, which felt more solid than earning two hundred thousand in 2021. Because that time, I followed the plan: I bought when the monthly line had a golden cross, and exited when it reached the preset profit point, not holding on for a second longer. Gradually, I increased my position, and even now I haven't dared to hold a large position, but it’s stable — I haven’t experienced 'losing sleep over liquidation' again, and instead, because each trade followed the rules, I feel very secure.
Now, I no longer have the restlessness of those years; I don't hope for overnight riches, just focus on 'operating by the rules, managing risks'. For me, trading has changed from 'snatching quick money' to 'long-term accumulation', and as for my mindset? Previously, watching the K-line felt like a roller coaster; now, I can smile while flipping the monthly line regardless of price fluctuations — in short, I’ve regained the 'stability' I lost.
Trading alone feels like walking in the dark; there are too many pitfalls, and it's easy to trip. If someone had pulled me up back then, I might have lost less. Now I keep notes of my daily reviews and insights from small trades; if you're stuck trying to break even, don't stubbornly hold on.
Just follow me; we won't talk nonsense — I’ve probably stepped in the pitfalls you have; the insights I’ve accumulated might just help you catch your breath. The road to breaking even is long, and I’m here waiting with practical advice; let’s take it slowly, and we’ll find stability.