I need a story about failure,” I said to Sheri and the girls as we sat down to a Saturday night dinner of take-out pizza.
“Surely you can help me think of something,” I added, laughing. “Should be plenty of material.”
But whether they knew something they didn’t want to share, or couldn’t think of anything, no one had an answer. Apparently, I’d also failed to show my appropriate glee in being a miserable failure.
“I once got an F in Old Testament in college,” Sheri offered. “Or maybe it was a D. It felt like an F.”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Old Testament was crazy hard.”
“I once got a B in science,” Ellie added. “Mrs. Sutton’s class in fifth grade. I totally deserved it, but I was devastated.”
“Really?” I hadn’t realized. “Did you mention it and I just forgot?”
“I don’t know.” Her hand paused on her pizza. “I only ever got A’s, until that.”
We’ve lived together every day of her life, but how little I really know about her. Is this my failure to ask about her days? Or maybe to truly listen? It could be she just failed to tell me about it. But even so, maybe she believed I’d fail to offer comfort. “It’s fine,” I could hear myself saying. “A ‘B’ is still pretty good….”
Whatever the case, I had my answer. My parenting is often so incredibly inadequate. And the fact that my daughters and wife wouldn’t say so directly may only be more proof.
And I’m not just being ungracious to myself here. If I were to open the floodgates and start sharing all the ways I fail constantly–to be who I truly am, the more selfless and giving me–wouldn’t I truly connect more?
Isn’t that what relating really means—to relate your truest stories of your inadequate self that could help someone else relate?
It looks like a giant opportunity stretching out before me, a big, bold solution to several fundamental struggles I have. I always want to accomplish a lot and have big impact, but no matter how much I get done, I end up feeling like a failure, a “dad by default,” a distracted, disorganized, disappointment of a dud. It might take me a few lifetimes to replace this bad habit with a good one, to wake every day and remember that whether I can do everything I feel called to that day or not, sharing my authentic self is the real goal.
I’ve needed to remember this, to look beyond what I do or don’t accomplish, to the awareness of how I’m doing at noticing, being, and sharing me.
Because here’s what I know: the big things we want to do aren’t the point. Family and friends are the real point of life. And we can’t help wanting to do more and be more than we are. But to do that, we need to start getting some better mileage out of our failures.
Isn’t this the vulnerability Brene Brown and others have talked so much about? We all want to do such big things and have such great impact, but why aren’t we more honest about our shortcomings? Why don’t we shed our inhibitions and share what we’re bad at, where we struggle, and even our discomfort over appearing inept?
Of course, because of judgment. We’ve been wounded and we took those voices in and let them chastise us relentlessly. And that shaming formed us, formed our self-image to a large extent.
On top of that, as Christians we hear “die to self,” and “the heart is wicked above all else,” and “put aside selfish desires.” And we can struggle for years trying to believe all the Bible memorization and church attendance and prayers and journaling should help.
And why can’t we “Just. Get. Over. It. Already?!”
Everyone else is more resilient than we are, more determined to press on, more spiritual. We’re just failures. And we’re right to be ashamed.
We take all of this in and dwell on it to no end. It’s right and good to care what others think and we never realize this entire foundation is made of sand.
We could let it all crumble and rebuild on rock. This inner torment could be discarded and we’d be free.
We’ve hidden our feelings and true personalities from this bully God, the one who’s so disappointed in us he can hardly bear to hold on and offer us this supposed “free grace and forgiveness.”
He’s only doing it because he has to.
We all believe this in our deepest hearts. How could we ever accept that we’re failures? Our deepest fear broadcast and spread far and wide? Come to full life on the big screen for everyone to see?
Are you kidding me?
No one needs to know the pain and suffering we’ve endured. We’re so tired of feeling like failures all the time….
To let that all go and embrace our inadequacy we’d have to accept our deepest fear: our shame. Sharing our stories of failure could be our greatest opportunity to connect, but to do that we’d have to accept and come to believe it’s important to be vulnerable.
And that can seem downright impossible.
I was Ellie’s age when I realized my worst accusers were inside of me. I didn’t want others to see I was afraid of failing, so I held back and tried to stay hidden. Insecurity became my foundation.
But failure isn’t what we think it is. Failure doesn’t kill you. And sharing your failure with others makes them feel better. And that makes you feel better. In fact, when you fail and share it, it can be success. Failure connects us because we’re all inadequate. And we all feel shame about it. But real connection is what we really want deep down, so we have to stop protecting ourselves and yes, “die to self.”
Give up our shields and trade them for true resilience.
We forget that if we couldn’t be embarrassed, couldn’t be shamed, couldn’t be knocked off our high horse because we’re already vulnerable down on the ground, we wouldn’t need to self-protect.
Upholding appearances is what prevents us from feeling good and successful in our lives, not failing to accomplish the big things we have planned. But our hyper-driven, happiness-worshiping culture keeps us distracted with supposed “free,” guiltless, nutrition-less, connection-substitutes to consume today—we’re “amusing ourselves to death” in binge-watching and window-shopping. The theaters have been full and the churches empty for a long time now.
All our apps and video games and prepackaged foods full of wish-fulfillment fantasies won’t free us. The endless parade of addictive modern fripperies will only make us more inadequate.
We’ve forgotten what healthy connectedness requires. We aren’t the center of the universe. And we need to struggle if we’re to learn anything at all.
I looked at my girls eating happily and said, “Embracing failure can ironically become a new place to succeed.” I tried to explain, but I knew I’d probably fail to convey the full idea.
But it didn’t matter anymore. I could try again. Failure was all I needed to get what I really wanted.
Want to stop being afraid of feeling like a failure? Want to escape the demands of your over-scheduled, under-nourished life? Want freedom?
Accept your inadequacy and remember who is sovereign. Your failure is not the end of the story–it’s the beginning.
And every experience of failure is a connection story waiting to be shared.
No we don’t have to be achievers or successful or hold these perfect images together. We just have to give up that substitute happiness and our addiction to the numbing, feel-good drug, face the truth, and see that we’re all vulnerable. And we’re all failures. And that’s a very good thing.
We all want to connect and escape shame. And we all have failure stories. Sharing them is how we will succeed.
Do you know someone who could use this freedom? Will you share it with them? And in the process, you’ll remind yourself: this is how we succeed, by sharing our honest stories and connecting.
And when you do, you may find that you can never fail because every failure is another way to succeed.
For the higher purpose,
Mick
There is some fear of self-exposure, but most of my failures are shared failures, shared with people whom I also have to consider. Spouse, kids, grands…they all figure in.
I do open up a little with people I trust, on an individual basis, snippets of where I’ve been, if it will help them. But to publish it abroad–no.
However, what I have learned is very helpful to others. I can say: Been there; done that; writing the book. And they know why I’m not sharing, because they hesitate, too.
Still, the truth is strong. It is strong enough to stand up in a crowd of scared people, and shine.
I used to think that after my parents passed on, I’d be free to share, but my siblings are also there to consider. I can share with them. But if I were to share with everyone, I’d check with them, first, I think.
“Your failure is not the end of the story–it’s the beginning.” Loved that!
Oh, yes! Publishing your story is a whole different story! :) Thanks, Katharine. Always honored by your read and consideration. – M
Ties in with last week. Embracing our inadequacies. I’ve always struggled with vulnerability. “Suck it up. Get over it” were household motto’s growing up so when I read your words, “I’ve needed to remember this, to look beyond what I do or don’t accomplish, to the awareness of how I’m doing at noticing, being, and sharing me,” I smiled because with the help of many wonderful writing friends, I finally got that a few years ago. I want to keep practicing that art.
“Isn’t that what relating really means—to relate your truest stories of your inadequate self that could help someone else relate?”
Heck yes!
Encouraging words today, friend. Glad I’ve found a new motto :)
Yes, indeed. It’s a new way to look at life for me, for sure. Looking for where I fail each day, and celebrating failures as opportunities to relate to others and thank the One who is PERFECT!
You get it, Jenelle. And I’m so honored to know you. :) – M
So Mick! How do you REALLY feel about being vulnerable enough to REALLY share what failures we all are! As I perceive you do, I also happen to believe it’s the biggest best gift we can give to anyone and everyone. And you are the guy who helped me and pushed me to risk it all in my memoir. Your turn!
Oh, that sounds like a dare. I love it. :) Thank you. I will ponder that… So cool to be a part of your unveiling–you were an exemplary student and your book shows it! – M
Wonderful piece Mick! I find that vulnerability needs culture first. What I mean is this…for example, in my women’s group it has taken time to create a culture of trust. Certain values have been established: we don’t dis each other’s denomination, we don’t talk politics, we don’t bash husbands, we agree to be confidential with anything shared, we encourage an equal exchange (talkative ones hold back to not dominate the group and shy ones are invited to share), we don’t use the group to solicit or sell anything, we make a commitment to come consistently, we limit our prayer requests to our own needs or the needs of our immediate families (as opposed to asking the group to pray for our Aunt’s-boss’-mother’s-friend etc.–which is a vulnerability copout). These guidelines create “culture” which in turn makes vulnerability possible. And I for one find that to be a very precious if not rare thing among women.
Wow! I love this, of course. And such an important consideration to have ground rules protecting vulnerability and generating trust. I’m grateful for the additional thoughts here, my friend. I need a group like this. Everyone needs a group like this -M
This is good stuff, Mick. We do indeed hear “die to self,” and “the heart is wicked above all else,” and “put aside selfish desires.” But what we don’t hear enough is that as believers, our heart is no longer wicked. That was the old heart. Our new heart is good and the dwelling place of the Spirit. And die to self? We die to self when we are crucified with Christ. He was crucified for us, once. When we are crucified with him (Gal 2:20) once is enough too. The deal has been sealed. Our selfish desires creep back in from time to time, but they are not part of the truest me, or the truest Mick. We don’t have two natures, competing with each other. We are in Him, new creations. Thanks for reminding me of this today and of our need to share our failures. You are a good dad. Don’t be deceived.
Of course! The new self is who we want to live out of. But as Paul says, we so often don’t. Still, it’s encouraging to know the deal is sealed so far as our inner selves are concerned. Now we just have to remember to act from that and not the old ruts. Thanks, bro. Appreciate your careful read, always. -M