You Need to Fail.

Often. & Gloriously.

photo via pinterest

I have an entrepreneur’s spirit but not their will.

when I was a kid, i used to think i could open a restaurant in our kitchen only to get frustrated at the idea of creating a menu. and taxes. as a teen i thought about being a photographer but then my friends didn’t want to do the photoshoots i wanted. as an adult i started a business painting denim jackets, spending a couple hundred dollars in thrifted jackets and fabric paint. this i was good at! except i did not know how to run a business. again, expenses, overhead, customer service, deadlines, taxes (they come for even the smallest of businesses).

i was always enamored by the idea of building something but it was only ever that — an idea. never the journey, the struggle, the process. so, i failed. every single time. because results were not immediate. success was not instant.

then when i hit 30, i shit you not, something magical happened. i matured, i think.

ok, i matured before then but there was something special to me about turning 30 because i had quite literally hit rock bottom. i had been laid off, i would make it all the way to the end of the interview process dozens of times either to be ghosted or passed over for the job, i hit road block after road block trying to get unemployment, i was struggling to complete my master’s program, and to top it all off, i had to take a job in retail just to make something. at the time, i didn’t think i could have felt like any more of a loser. but my failures allowed me to do the one thing i hadn’t done in a very long time — play.

the art of play & the inner child

photo via pinterest

during my unemployment i desperately sought comfort, so i went to the usual well — nostalgia.

i indulged every childhood hobby and interest i was ever bullied for. i got back into reading, especially comics and manga. i played video games. i started toying around with the idea of making videos, daring to rekindle my dream of being a content creator; daydreaming of being someone that could build a community. i started drawing again. perhaps most importantly, i wrote.

when i’d get a job rejection, i’d read. when i’d have a bad call with the unemployment office, i’d play a game. when i’d start to feel bad or self-conscious about the fact that i was 30, jobless, childless, living in a one-bedroom apartment with my husband as the dream of homeownership slipped further and further away, i created through the pain and disappointment. i scooped up the little girl that had been clutching on for dear life inside my chest and held her close. i pushed the sweaty hair out of her face and placed a brush in her hand. paint, kid. the walls, the carpet, the ceiling, the furniture — paint it all.

it was in the play that i rediscovered not only myself but the things that mattered to me, the dreams i had tucked away and the confidence i’d once had to pursue them. it was only in what i considered the biggest failure of my life that i was able to connect to that sense of play.

but the idea of what adulthood is supposed to be often robs us of that play. we prioritize work, our partners, our families, our friends which are not bad at all (in many cases this is incredibly healthy and responsible!) but you’d be surprised how easy it is to lose yourself in the expectations. not to mention that many of the things we enjoyed in childhood are relegated by society as childish. the older i get, the more i commiserate with my friends, the more i realize that we’re all just looking for ways to self-soothe — to stay connected to ourselves in a way that feels genuine.

we are all looking to keep the flame alive.

how failure fans the flame.

there is so much freedom in hitting rock bottom. there’s also plenty of “shit!shit!shit!” but let’s focus on the freedom! ✨ oooh, shiny freedom ✨

it’s my personal belief that failing at anything provides you with two things: time and perspective.

both of which are so hard to come buy when you’re too busy moving to stop and think. as i was sitting in our garden level apartment, with it’s uneven floors and galley kitchen the size of an nyc studio closet, staring at the walls and feeling sorry for myself, i thought. something that i, believe it or not, hate doing. not because i think it’s a waste of time, but because it think it’s bad for me. i’ve spent so much of my life in my own head berating myself for not being better, not being smarter, not working harder, not listening sooner, not being prettier, not being more social, not having more friends, not having traveled more, etc. the list goes on. for as long as i could remember, my own mind was a terrible place to be. i’ve spent most of my life running from it. at my lowest, despite my best efforts, i could not escape it. so i tried instead to understand it.

as progressive as i am, i am still uncovering the small ways my upbringing and social environments have impacted the way i view mental health. my husband had suggested for years that i try therapy but i was always too scared to try. too scared that going meant admitting there was something wrong with me even though i already believed there was. but i did it. and i ended up crying for so many sessions unpacking shit i had no idea were still rooted inside of me (shout out to my therapists, marlene and allison!).

the thing about therapy is that it’s a lot like deep cleaning a house: you sort of have to make a massive mess first and throw out the trash as you go before you get the perfectly manicured shelves and the sparkling clean floors. i spent a year cleaning house, coming to terms with some ugly parts of myself and learning to understand them instead of hate them; navigate them instead of hide behind them. and i thank god every day i managed to do this before the worst season of my life. i dont know how i would’ve survived without it. because therapy gave me the time, freedom, skills, and perspective to connect with myself in an incredibly meaningful and eye-opening way.

during a time when every short coming felt magnified, when the writing on the wall, in hindsight, had been so obvious, i gave myself a lot of grace to start. the longer my unemployment went on, the harder it was to hold onto that grace. i had to do something that wasn’t just applying to jobs 24/7. i began to burrow into all my free time and all the opportunities to gain perspective. i started questioning who i wanted to be. what i wanted my life to be. it lit a fire under me to become an active participant in my own life, to be confident about the things i wanted, to pursue things that brought me joy.

failure showed me how much time was slipping by and taught to actively pursue the life and relationships i was hungry for.

whatever you do, feel.

photo via pinterest

at this point you may be thinking, “gee, thanks for trauma dumping on us, becca. you didn’t have anything better to do?”

1. no, i didn’t.

2. there’s another lesson here, i promise.

for most of my life, i’ve been told my emotions are a hinderance. they get in the way of my logic, they stifle my ability to approach things calmly. and while that may be true, i have also learned to view my hyper-sensitive emotions as a super power.

my emotions are what allowed me to feel the depth of my failures, the sadness they brought and the sense of accomplishment that arose when i figured out how to navigate them. my emotions allowed me find my way back to play and instinctively reach for the things i didn’t know i needed. i grew up in an age where it felt like everyone constantly had to hide how they were actually feeling — because it was cooler to be aloof, because your feelings were a burden to others, etc.

now it feels like the pendulum has swung violently to the other end. we see everything. pain, hunger, suffering, a nation slowly slipping into fascism. people are torn between wanting to stay connected and needing to disengage so that they don’t get pulled into a violent riptide of empathy and helplessness. it can feel like there’s so much — too much — going on for us to care about everything. it can make you want to turn off.

but i am urging you to feel — as much and as often as you are able to.

we are human and it is in our nature to fail. it’s how we progress. it’s how we learn who we are and what we’re made of. it’s what makes success sweet and hard fought. we only truly fail when we stop caring, when we stop trying, when we allow moments of respite turn into a graveyard of dreams. the failure keeps us alive.

i wanted to write this post because i am once again in a season of life where i feel like despite my best efforts i am, once again, failing. this time at something i truly, deeply care about. and while it is not the same sloping pit into tartarus i experienced back in 2024, it still stings. but i’m taking breaks, and i’m allowing myself moments of reflection, and i am allowing myself to feel it. the return to the childhood well, the journey to understand instead of hate myself, made all the difference in my ability to keep going. if nothing else, take that. take it with you, embark on your own journey, and let your heart be a well. let it fill up with all your favorite things and even some of the things you don’t like. mess up your house and learn how to put it back together again the way you like. broken vases, framed photos and all.

i wrote this because i want you to know you are not alone in your struggles. there are ways to wade through difficulty and come out the other side triumphant — and you get to decide what that looks like. if you’re going through a season of what feels like failure, i want you to know that there is power in that. you know what the other magical thing is about aging? your world gets bigger. some hurts grow big while others grow small and you get to decide what you make of it — what you make of yourself.

there is power in our failures, a reflection of self not offered anywhere else. may you wield it bravely.