Freedom to Fail

 

Fear—it ices my insides like a Gatorade bucket of chilly water poured down my back on a hot summer afternoon. It’s shocking and sudden, leaving me momentarily paralyzed and paranoid. It makes me run for the hills, sometimes physically but always emotionally.

 

 

Fear—it ices my insides like a Gatorade bucket of chilly water poured down my back on a hot summer afternoon. It’s shocking and sudden, leaving me momentarily paralyzed and paranoid. It makes me run for the hills, sometimes physically but always emotionally.

 

What leaves you frigid and fear-ridden? My list ranges from night crawlers and dark corners, to piano recitals and face planting. But if I’m honest, there’s always one fear that trumps all others. I’m afraid to fail.

 

This fear surfaced in high school every time I tried out for the school musical. What if don’t get the part? It greeted me in college as I stood in practice lab and sang before my peers. What if I forget my words or botch the high note? It met me in my first job. What if I don’t measure up on my performance review?

 

Over the past few years, there has been a plethora of fears and plenty of failure. When sickness stole my strength, my fear took on physical form as I wondered if I’d ever be able to function normally again. Two years later, I’ve learned that I have little control over my health—or anything else. But I can control my outlook and choose to live one day at a time.

 

When I entered marriage, my fear of failure turned into flight from conflict. I didn’t want my husband to see my flaws. And if he saw them (a daily occurrence), I really didn’t want him to tell me about them. But as we grow together, I’m learning to consider his perspective. He sees things about me—good and bad—that I don’t see. And if I’ll humbly reflect on his observations, I’ll find ways to live better and more honestly than I did before.

 

When I decided to write, fear visited every time I submitted an article or drafted a proposal. The prospect of being rejected time and time again wore on my ego and self-perception. But I learned that I have two choices—dig deeper or give up. Some days I write, re-write, and edit again. Other days I decide a piece simply isn’t as brilliant as I thought. So I leave it on the hard drive for another day and try out a new idea.

 

All the faults and failures have taught me what Dr. Dan Allender describes as the Economy of Brokenness. “It is brokenness that increases a heart’s capacity to live with courage”.* It’s true. Every time I accept my physical limits, face my faults, and read my rejection letters, I am freed from myself.

 

The icy grip of fear loosens from my soul, and I stand unfettered and open to new possibilities. I feel free to slow down, say “I’m sorry,” and re-write again. If failure is the pathway to freedom, then maybe it’s not so bad. After all, who doesn’t want to be free?

 

How have failures led you to freedom? What have you learned in the process?

 

*From Leading with a Limp, p. 74.