“It’s impossible to make it on Steemit.”
“Those whales made their money and have everything on lockdown.”
“No one is getting in.”
“We’re wasting our time.”
“Imagine spending five hours creating a post and getting no upvotes.”
“It’s not as if it would kill them to upvote posts.”
“They even gain from it.”
“Steemit is shit.”
I stared at the chats appearing and disappearing up my screen so quickly my vision blurred as my fellow newbies in our chatroom aired their frustrations. I should contribute something.
It won't be a word of encouragement.
Only those doing well have enough in the tank to give out. It was the way of the world; you can't give what you don't have.
I was in the same shoe as they were. Worse even. You see, I’ve been sick for the past five months. I learned about steemit in December. But by then, the last thing on my mind was making money.
I was battling for my life.
I won that battle narrowly.
But my protracted battle with asthma didn’t leave me unscarred. As I read the text messages, my tongue still stuck to the roof of my mouth, my stomach roiled sickeningly, I had to rest my phone on my chest because I was too weak to hold on to it, and my post remained littered with zeroes.
Not the kind that come after a number. Those annoying zeroes that come before a number and mean exactly what it was.
Nothing.
But I had no right to complain.
You see, I wasn’t working hard. Not like the frustrated people in my chat group who stayed up all night creating posts.
Like most autobiographies, my story didn’t start here.
I joined Steemit in March 2018. Before then, I was so sick I couldn’t walk or talk. I was mute for a whole week.
You would think it couldn't get any worse.
Before then, I was a failed writer.
The zeroes in my posts were no one’s fault but mine. I wasn’t good enough. And I wasn’t working hard. Not like them.
I was posting my old series that hadn’t seen the sunlight or breathed fresh air in the months I spent sick.
I deserved it.
@Rasamuel believed I was brilliant. That I was good enough. I wasn't.
Someone else did.
Because at past midnight Nigerian time, I woke in the middle of another restless sleep. Any asthmatic will tell you how we sleep. We don’t. Not really.
I had enough sense to avoid our chat room. My self-esteem wouldn’t have survived another beating.
A series of chat lit up my screen. An 
Me: (frowns) Oook. Am I in trouble?
Me: (expels a relieved breath) So?
Me: Yes, I’ve been working on it off and on for months now.
Me: No. You said I wasn’t in trouble.
Me: It's my work. That’s just chapter one; I haven’t even written chapter two yet.
About three or four hours later, I think, my GINA bot lit up with notifications. I sat on my unmade bed staring at my phone as it continued vibrating. When it was done, reached for my phone with trembling hands. I rushed to check my Steemit blog.
Undesirable Sin, the work of a failed writer: $44.66 and 293 votes.
I got the Curie upvote.
Discovering high quality posts, blogs, and authors on the Steem blockchain.
Curiesteem.com
My Steemit story has just begun.
I honestly think Curie is the very best thing on steemit. And Steemstem and other trails that reward great contents. Curie supports them too. When you think of great content in any field, you think Curie.
They are doing an amazing job. I wonder how many quality posts and talents would have sunk under the great sea that is steemit if Curie hadn't shone a light on them.
I follow the Curie trail, and they have my witness vote.
Believe.