I’m Afraid of Failure

I could say a lot of things here about failure. How it’s part of the learning process, or how it’s an essential element of growth. There’s probably studies we could cite, and there’s definitely something Brene Brown wrote somewhere about failure and vulnerability. I could even do the thing where I explain the hiatus, and why I haven’t been writing, or Amy and I haven’t hosted any more events. But as you have perhaps figured out, I’m not going to do any of that. Instead, I’m going to tell you a story. 

I recently started going back to therapy because I was having pretty near daily panic attacks and sobbing at random. My fiance had the good sense to help me email M- (which I’ll call my therapist for her for privacy’s sake), and in we have dug to the potential roots of the current sprout of my mental unwellness. Part of our work has involved homework that I don’t want to do, but try to keep up with. I’ve been keeping voice memos, listening back to them, and then I’m supposed to write 5 things for which I’m grateful. I have done the full routine a few times, but last night, I ended up recording a conversation with my fiance about how I define success. What does this have to do with why I restarted therapy? Well, I was initially really frustrated with work, and mostly thought I was experiencing burnout at first, tied to high expectations (of my own design) but low support (both real and perceived) at my job. Also, this isn’t the first time I’ve been asked to think about how I define success. I’ve chatted about it with my supervisor (a topic for a different post) in relation to recognition, which is where our conversation last night went. 

I unpacked a few things as I cry-spoke into my pillow. First, I have two different definitions of success: one for my personal life and one for my professional life. Second, both are hampered by a foundational worry: that I don’t want to be like certain members of my family. 

For me, personal success is about achieving stability and a healing home life. I intentionally collaborate with my partner to ensure our home is a place to which we both want to return. Some of this has to do with furniture and decor of course, but mostly it has to do with the experiences we want each room to encourage. My office, for instance, is solely for work, so it’s moodier than our other rooms and library-like because I reference a lot of materials throughout my day. My fiance’s office also doubles as a guest room, however, so it’s brighter and has more art. These spaces are a reflection of us both and are important locations for us to retreat to when we need to be individuals. I get really worried, though, if I say or do something that I perceive destroys our home’s stability, or even worse, my fiance’s experience of it and of me. If you guessed that my home life as a child lacked stability and safety, you would not be incorrect. 

I associate professional success, on the other hand, with being recognized for my contributions. I also deeply dislike that this is the association I make. It worries me to desire recognition because I fear it will make me seem ego-driven, narcissistic, even greedy. And so I take on projects that I hope will lead to this kind of recognition, only to get deeply disappointed when I don’t receive it. Or, I start projects that would require some public recognition, and freeze-panic, letting them languish. If you surmised that the blog for WIYB was one such project, you would be absolutely spot on. 

What I realized last night, though, was that my intense worries in both personal and professional spaces aren’t wedging me between a rock and a hard place: they’re the same freaking rock. All I’ve done is carve a channel down the middle, creating the illusion that they’re two different worries. No matter what I do, I’m worried that I’m exhibiting traits I associate with people no longer in my life, but who were integral to my development. And because of this, I’m worried about failing publicly, because I’m worried that it will prove I am just like those family members, if not worse. 

I’m not sure how this realization is going to inform my life yet. I honestly don’t even know if by the time I have therapy again I’ll remember to share it with M-. What I will say, is identifying this rock got me to write this, and for that, I’m deeply grateful to my partner (and that voice memo) for getting me this far. If you read all this, I encourage you to spend some time getting to know your worries, too. Are they actually different? Or do they all boil down to the same old rock?