Mistakes and me... how I went from fearing failure to daring greatly.
I was speaking to a friend earlier in the week and when explaining a project that I’m currently working on (and really excited about) I found myself saying ‘I’m not worried if it doesn’t work out. If it doesn’t I’ll just adapt it, shift it, change it and try again.’
And I paused for a second. Once upon a time I’d have never said this. If I didn’t think I could do it perfectly I wouldn’t do it. If I though I might get it wrong, make a wrong decision, or make a mistake, I’d avoid it at all costs.
My crippling fear of failure and making mistakes kept me trapped. It kept me drowning under the extreme pressure I was putting on myself to meet the unrealistic, unobtainable expectations I had.
At work I was always worried about not doing a good enough job, getting it wrong, making mistakes. And when the job was done I was worrying about what might happen when they realised I didn’t do a good enough job. I kept my passions as a ‘side hustle’ because I worried that if I went for it I’d inevitably get it wrong and fail. In my relationship I feared letting my partner down.
My fear of making a mistake was nothing to do with the mistake itself, it was what it said about me as a person. If I got it wrong I wasn’t good enough, I wasn’t capable, I wasn’t worthy. But if someone else made a mistake… well they’re only human, it’s okay, it happens. But if I make a mistake… I won’t, because I wouldn’t dare risk putting myself in that place of Shame.
When we internalise a narrative that we are never good enough we subconsciously try to prove ourselves right. So rather than acknowledging all the things we did well, we zone in on all the things that went wrong, that reaffirm our unworthiness.
And now here I am... Self-employed, trying stuff out, seeing what works and allowing what doesn’t. Taking everything as a lesson, not a failure. If I make a mistake… well at least I tried, I’m proud of myself for that.
How did I get here?
To be honest I learnt the hard way so it was a long road. But the key things that allowed me to take the pressure off and improve my relationship with failure were:
I listened to what people where saying and let it in. When someone said I’d done a good job I’d hear it, rather than push it away because it didn’t fit my narrative.
I adjusted my expectations. If I can allow everyone else to make mistakes, why not myself?
I built a bank of evidence that it was safe to get it wrong sometimes. When I realised I could handle the consequences, and that the consequences where nowhere near as catastrophic as I’d let myself believe my confidence grew and the pressure lessened. I also realised I didn’t get it wrong half as much as I expected.
But it actually all started when I read this:
It is not the critic who counts;
not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles,
or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.
The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,
whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood;
who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again,
because there is no effort without error and shortcoming;
but who does actually strive to do the deeds;
who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions;
who spends himself in a worthy cause;
who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement,
and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly,
so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.
This speech by Thodore Roosevelt is the basis of Brene Brown’s book Daring Greatly. The book that quite frankly changed the course of my life.
So I invite you to join me in Daring Greatly, and maybe getting it wrong occasionally.