Nobody really talks about the waiting. The forms get their own guides. Interviews get advice. Even rejection has language around it. But the quiet stretch in between, the bit where nothing happens and everything feels possible at the same time, that part is mostly left out.
I thought I was prepared for it. I wasn’t.
Once the application was sent, tied loosely to programmes like HOPES and funding structures connected to the EU Madad Fund, I expected a pause. A reasonable one. What I didn’t expect was how much space it would take up in my head.
The days didn’t change much. I still did the same things. Made tea. Checked my phone. Tried to keep routines going. But everything felt provisional. I caught myself thinking in half sentences. If this works out, then… If I hear back, maybe… I stopped making solid plans without realising I’d done it.
Email became a strange habit. Not checking constantly, exactly, but always being aware of it. A quiet background process running all day. Every notification felt heavier than it should. Most of the time it was nothing. A message from a friend. A reminder I’d already ignored once. Still, there was that brief moment before opening anything where your body leans forward a little.
What surprised me most was the guilt. Not because I’d done anything wrong, but because waiting felt unproductive. As if I should be preparing more, proving something, staying busy in a visible way. It took time to accept that this part of the process wasn’t something I could optimise. It just had to be lived through.
People around me meant well. They asked if I’d heard anything yet. They offered encouragement, sometimes too quickly, sometimes too confidently. I learned to answer carefully. Not because I didn’t trust them, but because I didn’t want to say something out loud that might collapse later. Saying “we’ll see” became easier than explaining the whole emotional equation.
There were small coping tricks. I limited how often I checked updates. I kept doing things that had nothing to do with applications. I reminded myself that silence didn’t mean failure. Some days that worked. Some days it didn’t. Both were normal, even if they didn’t feel like it.
The hardest part was accepting that the waiting itself was a stage, not an empty space between stages. It was doing something, even if it didn’t look like it. It was testing patience, resilience, and the ability to sit with uncertainty without turning it into a story too early.
Eventually, something does happen. An email arrives. A message changes the shape of the week. Or it doesn’t, and the waiting stretches on a bit longer. Either way, this period leaves a mark. It teaches you how you handle not knowing. It shows you where your mind goes when the future is temporarily out of reach.
I don’t think there’s a perfect way to get through it. But I do think it helps to know you’re not failing just because nothing is happening yet. Waiting is not inactivity. It’s just quieter work.