Why Am I Terrified Of Public Failure?

My failure traumatizes me. Not the failure, itself — it’s the publicity that disheartens my ego, so viscerally, that I fear risking the feeling again. Even though I’d potentially be more informed and prepared than my first attempt, the nature of the second attempt unnerves me. And other people’s reaction to it. 

The comeback is greater than the setback, but I decline encouragement for either. 

I call myself a private person. Aside from the whole writer thing — which, I’d argue, shields me more than a stranger might believe, because I’m controlling the narrative — I keep my business to myself. The losses and wins. I mean, it’s phrased “my business” for a reason; it’s mine. I deemed myself private because life flowed more seamlessly when safeguarded.

When I’m asked the perfunctory “how are you/what’s new with you,” I provide a pithy, “I’m good/same old,” regardless of my life’s circumstances.

On the contrary, my filter dissolves when discussing the past — including both the highs and lows — because it’s over. Yet if I were truly the private person I label myself to be, I’d protect every chapter.

The past doesn’t alarm me because I have the answers. 

I’m immersed in the present-tense. I don’t know how the chapter ends. I don’t care if it’s currently going well — haven’t you heard of plot twists?

The protagonist is never safe, and that’s partly the thrill. However, my story isn’t entertainment: it’s my life, and I’m not an omniscient narrator. On one hand, I’m grateful that my self-esteem self-nourishes; I contain my present-tense wins because I don’t glean validation in boasting them. But why am I so petrified for those wins to publicly become losses?

I understand that success doesn’t manifest instantly. It’s a journey entailing multiple setbacks along the way.

For encouragement, I read about the people who’ve reached their pinnacle, and their misfortunes along the way. 

Beyond the realm, I’m reluctant to share my relationship, too. I’ve bounced through posting significant others too soon. I had to purge their memory from my social media. It didn’t matter that the breakups were amicable or mutual. No one knows this. What if people assumed I was the problematic partner? Now, imagine my peers thinking, “there she goes again! am i weird or AM I WEIRD ?

It’s not a facade, but it’s heightened, simply because I don’t complain about my negatives. Sometimes not to my friends, either. No one needs to know that my job or relationship sucks, because what’s the point? I’m not pretending to be perfect. But whatever I’m facing, I’ll get through it on my own. I always do.

In my opinion, at least.

I’d say my remedy is to live low-key. Samuel Beckett says, “fail, fail again. Fail better.” I’ve failed more times than I could count on my fingers and toes. I’m impulsive, audacious, and disrespectful of my own boundaries; I’m a freak up with pure intentions.

A work in progress, but the progress is contingent on my experiences. Unfortunately, most of them don’t occur behind closed doors. I’ve accepted this.

My mistakes are for me to assess. They’re for me to grow from and find peace. I’ll get there. When I do, I’ll feel safe to divulge how. But for now, I’m just trying to figure it all out, too.

Exploring life from me to you,

Nandi :")