Fear of Failure

My first job out of college was as a caseworker for my county's Children, Youth and Family services. Yes, the people who investigate abused kids and yank kids from unsafe home situations. They also do amazing things like coordinate adoptions and foster families as well as provide respite and other services to people in the community. I was on a less-intense unit that provided services to teenagers who had home issues but were also on probation. Working with me was a part of their probation contract.

It was hard work, and at first I really enjoyed it. But over time, it became tiring. The paperwork, reports and court appearances piled up. And I felt that even after a few years, I was struggling to really find a groove. After the 3 year point, I started dreading work and I became disheartened when past clients came back on my roster.

What good was I really doing? And what was wrong with me that I couldn't be more successful in my work?

I left this job for a brief stint with a faith-based non-profit whose focus was high school kids. I had worked with this organization as a volunteer for several years, and it had been my dream to go on staff with them. I was assigned to a difficult position in a fledgling area with structural and economic issues. In some ways, I felt set up to fail. But shortly after taking up the assignment and moving, I found out I was (unexpectedly) pregnant with Chica. And in this area plagued with difficulties, it was an uphill battle. I was constantly frustrated that I wasn't excelling at this job, a job I had dreamed of working for half of my life.

When Chica was born, Hubby and I were on the same page that I'd stay home with her. I grew up with a SAHM mom, and I guess I'd always assumed that is what I would do when I had kids. Yet, I was not prepared for the lifestyle. To outsiders, the stay-at-home life seems luxurious: lazing around the house with your sweet babe, tackling household tasks with the greatest of ease.

If only this were the case.

I was rudely awakened, when after 3 days home with Hubby he went back to work and I was facing my days (and a new baby) alone. Alone is a word that would best describe my first few months as a new mom. I was bewildered by this wiggling, crying, pooping charge that had been left in my care. I had no idea how to juggle the baby's needs with the daily tasks of cleaning, laundering and getting meals made. Hygiene went out the window. For the life of me, I could not get a handle on taking care of myself as well as taking care of my house and another human. At the time, there were few people I knew who were home with kids, so I just felt lost.

Once again, I felt like I was working at a job I was not cut out for.

Yet, this was my new life.

It took several months to make the transition from "working" to "stay-at-home." And it was a dark road. I eventually eased into my role as Momma, and even went on to have baby #2 a few years later. The truth of the matter is that every mother, whether she is open about it or not, struggles. Some struggle more than others, some hide it better. But we all struggle: with the ups and downs, with the needs, with the responsibility. And, above all, the notion that you were in the process of royally screwing up your children.

About a year after having Bug, I started taking on small chunks of part-time work. Most of the work stemmed from my blogging, leading to freelance writing gigs and social media management opportunities. Over the years, in direct correlation to my kids getting bigger and going to school, I've taken on more and more work. And I now find myself in the position of a new kind of job: Work-at-Home Mom.  We are strange creatures, WAHM's. 90% of my work is at home, with 10% taking me to various meetings or events. (I'll cover the complexities and struggles of being a WAHM in an upcoming post.)

And it is in a job field I feel like I do well in, which makes for happy working.

Sort of.

In taking on this work, which has reached a level of fulltimeness (a phrase I just coined here and now), I feel the familiar strings of ineptness being pulled. I find myself worrying about my performance, if my clients are happy, or if I am in jeopardy of losing work. Being an independent contractor is wrought with uncertainty and instability. My workload changes from month to month. Some months, I am happily overwhelmed, while others I am looking for new work opportunities. And in this, I hear the voices whispering that I am unqualified, ineffectual and temporary. 

So for a while, now, I have struggled with the notion that something is wrong with me. That perhaps I am not really good at anything, that I am not cut out for work. I ruminate on this often. But I was recently struck by a thought that has changed my perspective. 

Yesterday, I was running with two friends, and we were talking about parenting stuff. My one friend was reminiscing on the early months of being a new mom, and how she wished she could go back to live it out differently, now that she knows more. She remarked, "I was just so worried all the time. I was so afraid I would mess up."

And a light bulb clicked for me.

I've spent the better part of my life being afraid of messing up. I live in a constant fear of failure. At my first job, I couldn't just except that I was working in a position that was not a good fit for me. Or that at my second job, the circumstances of the area where I was working were outside of my control. The only option in my mind was that there was something innate to my being that was messing up. I assumed something was wrong with me. I only felt this driven home when I took on the role of being mommy. I spent so much time worrying, so afraid I would mess up yet another "job," and this one being a person! I couldn't embrace that all jobs come with difficulties. I couldn't believe that everyone struggled. Rather, I wallowed in what I felt was my unique ineptitude.

I fear failure because I believe that failing means I am flawed, ineffective, broken and incapable. 

But this isn't true. We all struggle in our various roles in life. We all doubt ourselves or get anxious about our job performance. Most people can embrace that they are not suited for some roles are, or accept that all jobs come with difficulty that just needs to be faced. I, instead, believe the lie that if something isn't working, if something is hard, it's my fault. Which leads to me being very hard on myself (and a heaping load of anxiety to boot). This kind of thinking can easily sink a person.

The truth is: No one is suited for all things. I'm not suited to be a chemistry teacher or a financial advisor or an artist. I'm not skilled in those ways, just as people in those roles may not be suited for writing or social media. Some mothers feel they are at their best when they can stay home with their kids. Others need the professional outlet of working to feel balance in their life. 

I'm learning that it's okay to mess up sometimes, that mistakes won't sink me. I won't always parent perfectly. I will make plenty of grammatical errors in my writing. I will have to face clients who are, for whatever reason, dissatisfied with my performance at times. These are opportunities to learn and grow. 

I'll end with a quote from Book 1 of Game of Thrones (sorry for this temporary geek-out), which struck me deeply as I've been processing these things. Tyrion Lannister is speaking to Jon Snow, and they are reflecting on their various flaws, as society would see it. Tyrion says to Jon,

"Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."

I could let my fear of failure completely overcome me. I would be sunk. It could completely paralyze me if I let it. Instead, I can turn this flaw into a strength: to be better, to learn from my mistakes, to have grace with others, to empathize, to grow. 

Friends? 

Whether you are a stay-at-home parent struggling in the role of mommy (or daddy) or doubting yourself in your role at work, embrace this truth: there is no such thing as failure. There is only the opportunity to learn and grow. Let mistakes make your stronger. Let difficulties give you a tender heart to others who struggle.

There is no option to fail. 

Only to grow.

Fear

But Mommy, I'm scared.





The first time she said it was about a year ago, and she was almost 2 and a half.  She'd never uttered the words before, and they came seemingly all of a sudden one night as we were putting her to bed.  


Scared of what, love?

The dark.

My heart sank and cold starting creeping into my stomach.  Almost like panic was starting to set in, which confused me.  Why should this bother me so much?  It was only a matter of time until she got scared at bed time.  Doesn't every kid eventually go through phases of being fearful of the night?

But it bothered me.  

It took a few nights of her crying at bedtime, which was really unusual for her.  We started leaving the door open, and that seemed to allay her fears. The Fear Fest was over for now, and was not revisited even with the transition to a baby sister and a big girl bed all in the same month.

Until about a month ago.  And it started up again.

This time, she wasn't fearful going to bed.  Instead, Hubby and I started waking up to her frantic callings of Mommy!  Daddy! in the 3 or 4 o'clock morning hours.  Hubby usually answered the calls.  It was nightmares jolting her from slumber.  

There is a bug on my bed.

My (stuffed) animals are peeking at me.

What is that on the wall.

I'm scared of my room.

It's been going on for over a month now, some nights better than others.  We do our best to give her love, comfort and send her back to sleep peacefully.  Some nights she resists, other nights it happens almost instantaneously.

But it tugs at my heart, even more than when it first happened a year ago.  I feel panic, anxiety in my heart for her. I struggled over my strong reactions to her dilemma.  And as I thought and meditated on it, I realized exactly why I felt so strongly about it.

Because I had been that kid.

During elementary school, I was the fearful kid at nighttime who went through bouts of not wanting to go to sleep.  I struggled over a period of insomnia, and I was particularly affected by scary movies (which I cannot watch even to this day).  As my 3-and-a-half year old daughter cries out for me, I am brought back to my own experience.

My heart can perfectly recall the agony of being alone in the dark, wondering what might be lurking in the closet or under the bed.  My active imagination conjured amazing thoughts, ideas and images on the matter.  I ached for my parents, who were just downstairs watching TV, fearing that I would still be awake when they headed up the stairs to their bedroom.  Because if they went to bed, I would then be battling the Night alone.  Every sound was my worst nightmare coming to life, and the sun rising seemed impossibly far away.

I spent nights waking from bad dreams, unable to shake them, wondering where the dark shadows were hiding. Unable to determine reality from fantasy.  I wish my 30-year-old self could speak to my 7-year-old self, letting her know that everything would be ok. That one day you would thrill to go to bed, and relish sleeping in.  That monsters and ghouls do not really exist. 

I find that it is this fear that I want to spare my daughter from.  Because when she cries in the night, I know exactly how she feels. I know exactly what scary images might be running through her head.  I know what enemies she battles in the dark.  And I don't want her to face it.  I don't want her to know fear, anxiety, loneliness.

If I am honest with myself, I know the sentiment extends farther than sleeping.  I think ahead to riding the school bus, being in a classroom with peers all day.  There will be new fears, bigger fears.  People will be mean to her. Her feelings will be hurt.  One day, she will know the emotions of embarrassment, insult, shame.  A friend will betray her.  And there will come a time that a boy will break her heart.

But it's all part of life.  As much as I want to embrace her and shield her from every difficult thing, I would be doing her a disservice.  I would be holding her back. I know that, however hard the experiences may have been that I have faced, they have made me who I am today.  I am stronger, wiser and braver than I have ever been.  

And I have my 7-year-old-scared-of-the-dark self to thank for it.  

Because there is nothing more valiant than facing our fears, nothing more victorious than facing a demon and overcoming it. To survive embarrassment and know we live to see another day.  To look Fear in the eye and know it does not power over us. That we will overcome.

And we are better for it.

So tonight, when I hear her tiny voice call out to me, as it will a thousand more times in her lifetime, my heart may break a little.  But I will go to her and show her I am here.  That I love her and will do everything in my power to protect her.  More importantly, I will show her that she is braver and stronger than she thinks she is.  

And she will be all the better for it.