WARNING: Not only is it long, but reading this particular entry may give you the idea that the writer is arrogant, proud or full of herself. She promises that she is not these things, and somewhere towards the end, you may realize that she is being VERY transparent about her fears. ….oh, ok, so she does own being some of those things…sometimes.
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I’m not good at failing. In fact, in my mind, I don’t do it….at all….ever. I know I’m not perfect, I make mistakes.
I sometimes yell at my kids in stress when they don’t deserve it.
I leave dirty dishes in the sink for two or three days.
I sometimes have to apologize to people at work for little things.
I have sent emails and forgotten the attachment.
But that’s not what I’m talking about here. I don’t like to FAIL. To fail means you didn’t finish what you started. To fail means you had a great idea, attempted it and it bombed. To fail means you really let someone down. To fail means you just didn’t do a good job. And I just don’t do those things.
My whole life has been about doing a good job. I have always been praised for how hard I work, how good my ideas turn out, what a good job I did. I’ve won awards, people have often been compared to me. And don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for those voices in my life, as a child, in school, in work, in my life.
I want to tell my own kids that they are great, that everything they do is good, the best even. I want them to grow up that confident, believing they have a Midas touch, like me. I really believe that I can do anything I set my mind to…and that it will be great, and I want my kids to believe that too.
But in me, it has created a monster. A monster that has set standards so high it’s next to impossible for anyone else to live up to them, a monster that is afraid to delegate because the job won’t be done right, a monster that has amazing ideas all the time…..
……but only ever attempts one or two of them because the fear of failure is too strong. That’s the real ugly truth. I don’t do half of what I wish to out of fear.
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I really want to write, always have. I’m gifted at other things, I’m a good teacher and I’m a great event planner, and I actually believe that God has given me the spiritual gifts to match those things.
But I long to write, since I was a kid. I used to write poems and short stories. I have ideas in my head for great books….books for parents based on my years of experience with their teenagers, a devotional book for busy moms (think of a mom who can reach out and smack the butt of her kid running by from her “quiet time” chair), fiction books for teenage girls that have scriptural foundations (but with plot lines as cool as Gossip Girls), books about women & friendships without traveling pants or red hats.
Or, I just want to blog more, that’s writing too. I have good blog ideas at least once a day. I read amazing blogs that inspire me, move me, make me laugh out loud. And they are written by these seemingly busy moms who are amazing writers. And I want to do that.
I just don’t have the time, I say, It’s not my time of life yet to do that. But that’s not the truth. I don’t because I’m afraid. I’m so confident about other stuff in my life, but not this. It makes me too vulnerable.
I’m afraid to put myself out there, the hundreds of rejections before someone sees the potential in just one of the many, many things I’ve written. All the letters of criticism….fix this, change that. Sometimes I get started only to think, this is not good enough. More often I won’t even start because I think, No one is going to like this, heck no one is even going to read it.
Several months ago, I got inspired to put these fears on paper, to write this particular post, because an author I read wrote this on his blog, “90% done & published is better than 100% but still in my head.” So I started this post and it sat on my computer, the fear of it staring me down daily.
And then, the other day, I posted a comment on a blog that I read often. This author is a total stranger, yet I am so inspired by her thoughts and ideas. And the next thing I know, she had left a comment on an old blog post of mine. She had taken the time to read my comment, look up my page and read several of my posts.
Now mind you, people read my blog. Obviously you are right now. My dear sweet mother posts the link on Facebook out of pride for her daughter. But it’s not a lot of people, and all friends. But then this stranger….read something I wrote….and it was okay. Who knows if it was good enough, if she thought I wrote well…if it inspired her. It moved her enough to comment.
And it was good enough. Who cares if it was great or not, it was enough. And I am enough without the accomplishments, failures, successes and all. I can write you another post on another day about why failing sometimes is good for us (….who am I kidding, I hate it too much to look for the value in it).
But today, I just know that I am enough, I don’t have to be perfect, or even great all the time. But I have to start what I dream to do, and can’t be afraid in the process. That fear kept me from completing this particular post which I started months ago.
I’ve got a long, long way to go to overcome this fear that’s keeping me from my dream, but this is a start. I’ll let you know how it goes. Or maybe one day, you’ll find out when you see my name on that book you just picked up at Barnes ‘N Nobles.
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