How to Fail

Nobody talks about the kind of failure that stains. The kind that makes you question who you even are.

Not the cute, inspirational kind—the kind that knocks the air out of your lungs. The kind that makes you hesitate where you once ran freely. The kind that tastes like regret long after everyone else has moved on.

You think if you prepare enough, if you care enough, if you give it everything—you’ll make it. But then you don’t. And now you’re here, standing in the wreckage of what should have worked.

And this is where most people stop.

Because failure doesn’t just hurt—it rewires you. It makes you second-guess yourself, even when you know what to do. It makes you shrink. It makes you wonder if trying again is even worth it.

But listen.

Failure is not a verdict. It is not a stop sign. It is not proof that you were never enough to begin with.

It will feel like one. It will feel like an ending. But failure is a door, not a wall. And what happens next—the part that matters—is whether you walk through it or let it close.

So, how do you fail?

You sit in it. You let it burn. You acknowledge that something inside you cracked, and you don’t try to glue it back together like nothing happened.

And then, when you’re ready—or maybe even before you are—you take a step forward.

Not because you’ve shaken off the failure. But because you refuse to let the fall be the final word.

You do not erase what happened. You carry it. You let it change you. Not into someone smaller, but into someone who knows the weight of loss and still moves.

Because here’s the thing nobody tells you: Failure doesn’t mean you’re on the wrong path. Sometimes, it means you’re exactly where you need to be.

So try. Risk. Begin again.

Even if it breaks you.

Because you will not stay broken.