Failing. Whether it’s a subject at school, a driver’s test, a promotion at work, a competition, or something else entirely; it is a terrible feeling. In short, it sucks. As a parent, I remember wanting to shield my kid from knowing that pain. I think it’s instinctual. We have a built-in compulsion to protect the ones we love from a few key feelings in life: failing, heartache, grief. I know as a mom that I want to insulate my son from feeling those terrible emotions. Not because I don’t think he couldn’t manage them, but because if you’re not prepared for them, or if they come too soon, I think they can damage you (emotionally). Depending on the events surrounding the failure, it can leave one feeling inadequate and damage their self worth.

My first failure came when I was 12 or 13 years old. I’m sure I’d had small failures prior to this, but this particular ‘fail’ was, in my mind, unfair and unjust. What was it? I failed a set of swimming lessons. The rub? I was a very strong swimmer, I believe, to this day, the reason I did not pass was because I was (and am) a pretty chunky girl. The instructor was, I would hazard a guess, an 18-to-20 year old boy. My classmates – three other girls, all thin and perky – and oh so giggly. There were also two or three boys. The boys and I failed. The perky girls passed. Though two of them could not do the endurance swim and one couldn’t tread water for the full eight minutes. While I do not recall the boys’ performance, I remember mine. My failing? Not being able to keep my ears out of the water for the full eight minutes. I didn’t go under; I just couldn’t keep my ‘ears up’. The instructor’s decision was final.

This crushed me. First, I could not believe I had failed at something I knew I was particularly good at (and loved doing). Second, I felt I had failed because of how I looked, not because of what I could do. I had been judged on the basis of my body and that hurt. I knew I was different, at 12 years old, I was 5′-10″ tall and wore a size eighteen dress. I was not your normal or average kid. This is something I was hyper aware of and very self-conscious about.

When I made my notes about this particular memory, I wrote two things down about how I felt. “Failing this drove me to use my body in a way to get what I wanted and to thumb my nose at crap that was subjective.” Funny the little lies we tell ourselves – upon reflection – neither are true. While something in my life did create the first thing to happen, it wasn’t failing swim lessons. The second? If anything, failing drove me to do everything in my power to try and succeed at things that are subjective. Further to that end, fear of failing in matters of subjectivity is still something that creates an overwhelming sense of sadness and hurt in me.

I never did another swimming lesson and like so many women, after that, I learned to hate how I looked in a swimsuit. Until then, I do not recall thinking there was anything wrong with how I looked in a bathing suit. As I’ve gotten older, it has improved, but only in certain styles of suits and usually with a cover-up.

If I knew I would be judged, I avoided doing it. Sports, art, music, writing. Anything where someone would be looking at what I was doing and evaluating it, I have tried my best to not be involved. For someone who loves to write, draw, and create music, it was a paralyzing encumbrance to have. Sharing these first few writings has been exceedingly difficult, but a liberating experience for me.

Taking this memory to heart and facing the fear, writing about the memories, and sharing my 50×50 list is creating a space to share my writing (good, bad, or indifferent). My countdown is for fun, but they are goals I wanted to do. Some of the items on that list are things I gave up, in part, due of fear (of not being good enough). Like drawing, playing music, and pursuing my writing. As I have gotten older, and creep every closer to fifty, I see that the thing holding me back, is me.

Much love, my chickens.