I am a failure…
No, really, I have failed so hard—I fail like it’s my job at times.
Failure is core to my identity now…I carry it and the F-ed up story that goes with it. The story is full of me F-ing up so much. But it’s a story worth hearing…it is worth sharing.
I used to think that you had to be a raging success living in the after photo to have a story worth sharing. But, I’ve learned there is value in the middle, in the between of the before and after photos. The beauty happens in the creative process of between. And, really, what is “after” anyway…life goes on after the after pic.
I am a 35-year-old mother of three with a failed marriage, no career of which to speak, and auto-immune issues. So, why are you here reading my blog? Maybe you’re living in the between too. Maybe we need to take this wild ride together…maybe you have fresh bruises, you F-up a lot, and you don’t have a gorgeous “after” photo to show of the mess of scraps left over from living your life vulnerable.
Let me tell you a little something I’m learning. Failure is a six-foot bear of a woman who takes in the orphans of best intentions and wraps them in a painful hug, feeds them humble pie and shoves them out the door with her big, rough hand to try again…she’s not messing with no give-inners. The give-inners live down on Shame St.; and, though I’ve pitched a tent there too, I refuse to live there. But Mama Failure’s last name is Up and that’s the only kind of F-ing she likes to see…Mama Failure takes her children and shoves them UP the road until they visit her again…because the good ones always come home to visit Mama.
And that’s why failure is a part of my identity and I welcome it. I greet it with open arms when it zooms towards me. Because it is crucial to my existence, and it is the name of the formidable mother of invention that I visit often. I will keep digging deep for the courage to keep F-ing up like God made me to do and falling into Her arms….failing up, failing up and failing up.