What I’ve Learned From Failing (And Why I’m Done Romanticising Success)
What I’ve Learned From Failing (And Why I’m Done Romanticising Success)
Let’s be honest. I’ve failed more times than I can count.
Not cute failures.
Not “learning moments.”
Actual, gut-punch, floor-sitting, what-the-heck-just-happened failures.
So many times in my life I’ve been right on the edge of something. About to break through my glass ceiling. About to hit the next level. About to finally arrive at that mythical place called success.
And then boom.
It all fell apart.
SO. MANY. TIMES.
The job that didn’t work out right when I thought I’d cracked it.
The project that almost flew, then nosedived.
The idea that was ahead of its time.
The momentum that vanished overnight.
The version of me that thought this time would be different.
For a long time, I thought failure meant I wasn’t good enough. Or consistent enough. Or disciplined enough. Or normal enough. I thought it meant I had sabotaged myself again. That I was too much. Too scattered. Too ambitious. Too neurofabulous for a world that prefers straight lines and tidy outcomes.
But here’s what I’ve learned. Failure isn’t the opposite of success. It’s the opposite of the story we’ve been sold about success.
We’re taught that success is linear. Climb the ladder. Tick the boxes. Build momentum. Keep going. Never look back. Never pause. Never fall apart in public. And if you do fail, quickly reframe it so everyone feels comfortable again.
I’m done with that.
Because my life hasn’t looked like a ladder. It’s looked like a pinball machine. Full tilt. Sideways. Up. Down. Backwards. Forward. Wild ideas. Sharp turns. Long pauses. Explosive bursts of creativity followed by collapse. Rinse. Repeat.
And here’s the disruptive truth I wish someone had told me earlier.
Failure isn’t a sign you’re doing it wrong.
It’s a sign you’re trying to do something that doesn’t fit inside the old definitions.
Every time I’ve failed, it’s been at the edge of expansion. Right when I was outgrowing a version of myself, a role, a structure, or a system that could no longer hold me. The failure wasn’t the problem. The container was.
So instead of asking “Why did this fail?” I now ask something far more dangerous. (And I mean on the exciting side of dangerous - not on the 'do something stupid' side.)
I ask myself this: “What is this situation / moment / challenge trying to free me from?”
Empowering right?
Sometimes it’s freeing me from an identity that’s too small.
Sometimes it’s freeing me from approval-seeking.
Sometimes it’s freeing me from chasing someone else’s version of greatness.
Sometimes it’s freeing me from success that would have cost me my nervous system, my creativity, or my sanity.
That doesn’t make failure painless.
It still hurts.
It still knocks the wind out of you.
It still makes you question everything.
But it also sharpens you.
Strips away illusion.
Clarifies what actually matters.
So here’s my new definition of success, and fair warning, it’s not tidy.
Success is not staying upright at all costs.
Success is surviving your own collapse and choosing to keep going anyway.
Success is letting things fall apart that were never meant to last.
Success is refusing to measure your worth by outcomes alone.
Success is having the courage to try again with more truth and less performance.
I’m not interested in “making it” anymore.
I’m interested in making meaning.
I’m interested in work that stretches me, scares me, and occasionally breaks me open.
I’m interested in lives that look messy on the outside but feel aligned on the inside.
So yes. I’ve failed. Repeatedly. Spectacularly. Publicly.
And I’m not done.
Because if failure is the price of building a life that actually fits, then I’ll keep paying it.
So why not get messy and see what happens?
Try it - but maybe let’s do it consciously..........
In your corner,
Monique
FYI: If you like this style of writing, maybe you should read me Novel. It's called 'A Lot'. Link here: https://www.amazon.com/Lot-journey-through-clarity-courage-ebook/dp/B0G35K8HTT
