My Fear of Failure

She sits in front of her computer screen. Each breath is shallow and quick. Her palms sweaty as panic flutters through her limbs.

She takes a deep breath...anticipating the plunge.

It has taken her three days to work up the nerve to sit, and type, what she feels so deeply in her soul. The words swirl about playing a game with her psyche.

“How can I have so many terrific ideas, but can’t write them down?” She asks herself out loud.

“Stop it!” She scolds herself in the next breath. “You can do this. Everyone whom has ever read your stories loves them. Just take the plunge! What is the worse that can happen?”

As she starts to type the first line, her mind is bombarded with...what if?

What if no one likes it?

What if it isn’t good enough?

Are people really interested in what I have to say? What if I say the wrong thing?

She pauses…

“I love to write.” She tells herself. “I know I can be good at it. That is why I joined HubPages. To see if I have any talent.”

She closes her eyes and frees her mind. Ideas start to flow like water in a funnel. Her fingers fly over the keyboard. The rhythm flowing through her. It didn’t matter the topic, just that she was writing…freeing her mind…

I can do all thing through Christ which strengtheneth me.

As I sit here writing this article, I feel like the person who can do no good. How is it that I can stand at work, think of a million things to write about; but as soon as my fingers hit the keyboards, my mind goes blank? I have a notebook in front of me filled with topics, story lines, character names, and research; but nothing makes any sense anymore. I was once told it was fear holding me back.

Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.

I have been told so many times over my life how stupid I am, that by the time I was a teenager, I believed my peers. Occasionally, I would come across an adult who would take pity on me, see my potential, and wanted in desperation to help me out. Unfortunately, I was a failure before I began, because I had set myself up to fail without even realizing it. Criticism...no matter the positive, or negative, was my enemy. I couldn’t handle it in any form.

My head would bow, eyes to the floor, like a dog ready for its beating. Tears would hover in my eyes till finally they would break free and roll down my cheeks. Snot would drip, and a hiccup began to rumble from my chest, sticking in my throat. I felt crushed! A complete failure!

There were so many things I knew I was good at, simply because those that didn’t know me told me. I could bake like my Grandmother Betty taught me, from a simple cookie to a Red Velvet Cake. I could sing with a voice so strong and loud, church members would stop me on the streets to ask when I was singing again. I was the leader of the pack, oldest of five kids.

In the same token, I was an outcast. I didn’t fit in any of the social groups in my school. I didn’t have the designer cloths. I didn’t party with the hardcore rebels. I wasn’t a straight A student, and as much as I loved sports; I didn’t have any talent to outshine others. I loved to talk, but didn’t know how to put my thoughts into words without always sounding so negative.

Writing became my outlet for my misery. A notebook was my best friend. Imagination freed me from the confines of socializing with those that I felt intimidated by. With writing I could control and make up the perfect relationship, perfect environment, perfect characters.

I could invent bad guys to express my anger without the fear of heinous consequences. I could invent the perfect loving boyfriend without the fear of rejection. I could live in a world were people weren’t so harsh with words and judging my every move.

My emotions were so hardwired wrong in my mind, that I became confused with identifying the correct emotion for how I truly felt. I was a mess on the inside, but tried to portray the perfect child/teen/person on the outside. I became a walking mat for those that pleased, in my quest for fitting in.

Then I met a man.

Someone who seen past the lies I had created. He began to tear apart everything I had created around me to my core. Slowly, he built me back up with confidence, compassion, and understanding. I learned how to take a stand for what I believed in, and dealt with intimidation, without feeling like a coward. I felt my writing becoming richer. My views of people, society, religion, and the environment, more open-minded. I had a voice, as I built the confidence to back it. Now all I needed was a little knowledge. The notebook was still my best friend, but the library took on a new meaning.

As I look back over the years in my journals and notebooks, I feel proud of my accomplishments. I have a strong faith in Christ. I married the man, who still to this day, tells me I have a heart of gold. I have new goals and new doors are opening for me. I still on occasion humble myself by remembering my roots so that in return, I may someday be able to help someone overcome and conquer their fear of failure. One day I would like to publish a book. I know it may not be a best seller...but...at least I gave it my best shot.

Really, what is the worst that can happen? That I am told no…who cares! I did it for me!