How to Fail
Nobody really tells you what to do when it all falls apart.
Not the motivational kind of failure.
Not the one that makes you stronger or teaches you a neat little lesson.
I’m talking about the kind that leaves a mark.
That kind that sits in your chest and messes with your sleep.
The kind that makes you pull away from people because you don’t know how to explain the ache.
You thought you did everything right.
You tried. You gave it your best.
Maybe you prayed about it. Maybe you cried over it.
And then it still didn’t work.
And now, you’re here.
Looking at the mess.
And it’s quiet.
So quiet you start hearing all the questions in your head;
“Was I ever enough?”
“Was this a mistake?”
“Should I even try again?”
Failure does that.
It makes you smaller inside.
It makes you think twice next time.
Or not try at all.
But here’s the part that matters:
You can sit there.
Let it sting.
Let it disappoint you.
You don’t need to pretend it didn’t happen.
Don’t shove it down. Don’t rush to make it inspiring.
Let it be what it is—a hard moment.
A break.
A loss.
But then—slowly—you figure out what to do next.
You get up.
Even if it’s just to brush your teeth.
Even if it’s just to breathe differently.
Because trying again doesn’t mean the failure didn’t hurt.
It just means you won’t let it define you.
You’re not broken.
You’re not done.
You’re just human.
And that’s more than enough.
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