I could not stop tears streaming down my face as I sat in the training session with the new hires. I had just failed the qualifying exam for the fourth time, so my Team Leader sent me back for retraining. Joining me in the video call were my new colleagues, all of them at least ten years younger than me. I felt like a complete and utter failure.
Today, I would like to share my story. It’s about my ongoing struggle of coping with shame arising from failure. It’s also a story about my wrestling match with the idea of control.
I want to share this story because as we hit middle age, we face complex challenges both at work and at home. Failing at things can force us to confront our innermost feelings, which can be paralyzing. Midlife challenges differ from those we faced in our 20s and early 30s. Back then, we were still determining our identity and place in the world. Failing at work recently made me question my self-worth. At a low point like this, like me, you may start to worry again about whether or not you are good enough. For anything.
Two months ago, I transitioned from a freelancer to a full-time employee. As a newbie, I was subjected to many training programs, including exams to pass. Although blaming the system for my failure at the project’s qualifying exam is easier, I will acknowledge my part in it. The system is what it is, and I can’t change that. But saying I was partially to blame does not come from self-hate now.
At work, I am sometimes not as tech-savvy as my younger colleagues, nor do I have the patience to backread all the messages in multiple Microsoft Teams conversations. Perhaps if I had followed their lead, I would have gotten a better score. This experience should help me improve. However, I am still at the stage of accepting my limitations. Once I have done that, I’ll figure out how to move on.
And what do with the residual deep sense of shame? Growing up, when I made mistakes, I was criticized to the point of humiliation. Whenever this happened, I felt diminished. And it happened again and again and again until I felt less of a person and did not feel I had the right to exist.
Perhaps I have internalized the belittling so that every time I make a mistake, I self-shame. Ultimately, self-shaming made me allergic to failure. Failure became a disastrous event that must be avoided at all costs. Maybe it’s high time to disentangle failure, mistakes, and criticism with shame.
When I was younger, I tended to take all negative feedback personally. It’s natural because I was still establishing my identity at that stage of life. Failing a test or class was devastating because I was trying to figure out who I was and what I wanted to do with my life.
But failing at work is just one aspect of my life now that I’m middle-aged.
I know who I am and what I want in life now (mostly). Maybe I could take failures less personally now and focus on the big picture instead.
Despite the deep sense of shame, I should understand my failure objectively and accept that it could be corrected with new skills or coaching. It is not entirely about me. Other factors, such as the specific job I am trying to do, could be the culprit. With maturity, I now realize that some things are beyond my control. Sometimes, we need other people’s help. (“It’s ok, Melany! Everybody asks for help at some point or the other.”)
Falling flat on my face and feeling shattered is a point of reflection.
Ultimately, my stumble is not the journey’s end because there is a mountain to climb. My Mount Everest is to have a writing job that is intellectually stimulating (It’s anti-dementia!) and allows me to feel meaningfully connected to others.
Every morning when I go jogging, I see people in their 50s, 60s, and beyond minding their dogs, energetically walking, running, or doing Zumba. Seeing these energetic seniors reminds me of my “why”: I don’t want to be a bored senior with nothing to do 20 years from now. I know I won’t be content to reach that age and only have physical activity or housework to fill my days. I renew my commitment to my end goal, and I’m starting to look up now. I wipe the mud off my face and continue on my path.
