It's not about the chicken biscuits

Shame spirals, rejections, and failing without being a failure

Hello.

I’m currently in bed, my great-grandmother's well-worn quilt draped over my lap even though it’s 90 + degrees outside. My own body is registering closer to 102, a feverish state I haven’t been able to shake for the last three days. When I look through the quilt from underneath, there are patches where the light shines through, bright orange squares with torn fabric revealing the underlayer. 

Meeting myself where I am

Two weeks ago, I messed up an order at the bakery that resulted in a loss for the bakery and a disgruntled customer. I profusely apologized to the owner but instead of shaking it off and moving on, I’ve fixated on the incident, wondering what other mistakes I’ve made without even realizing it—as a mom, a nurse, a writer.

It’s not about the chicken biscuits, I keep reminding myself, nursing a shame spiral that’s had me recalling every mistake I’ve ever made—from misidentifying steaks as a waitress working my first job, to not having a clue about anything crafty yet being in charge of the craft department at JoAnne’s. Once, while working in an office, I even addressed envelopes so that the sendee's address was switched to the recipient's. All the mail was returned, a whole stack of letters that went nowhere.

My anxiety on high alert, I’ve inspected past and current failings under a microscope, looking for evidence that I’m a failure, incapable of doing anything right.

Am I even a writer if I keep getting rejection letters? What’s the point of being a stay-at-home mom if I can’t keep the house clean or my family healthy? When will I have the energy to be a better neighbor or friend? Why are we spending so much money on childcare so I can pursue a career with no guarantee of ever earning any income? Why am I even bothering with the bakery? With my book?

Nothing is going well, I insist, fueling the anxiety flames higher. 

Oh, really? Is that so?

It’s no surprise my body has pulled a stop-gap measure, forcing me to toss and turn in bed and do nothing but rest, letting my partner take care of me, the house, and our toddler. 

Sigh.

If you can’t already tell, I’m not a big fan of learning curves. I don’t like being bad at something. I don’t like beginnings, if only because they require a willingness to make mistakes without believing I am a mistake. 

“Darling,
it is inevitable
that some people will call you
“Mistake,” before you’ve
ever entered this world,
branding your body 
before it is yet fully formed

But I want you to know,
for every mouth curled 
in shame, for every time
someone says “Mistake,”
I will say, “Miracle”
For every whispered “Oops,”
I will say, “Hallelujah”

-An excerpt from my poem “Miracle,” written for Noah before he was born

I can’t exactly pinpoint where this fear stems from— where or how I learned that making mistakes or failing wasn’t safe or made me a bad person. But maybe the beginning of the story isn’t as important as how I choose to write the next chapter. 

Can I soften into my failures? Can I give myself the same grace and compassion I would a friend? Can I teach Noah it’s not only okay but necessary to make mistakes? 

While freefalling into my current anxiety/shame spiral, I’ve been reading “A Field Guide to Getting Lost,” by Rebecca Solnit. She says, “Never to get lost is not to live.” Might we say the same about failure? About trying again and again?

I’m reminded of another time when “nothing” was going well. I was twenty-eight, stranded in France with the clear realization that the forever love I’d risked everything for wasn’t going to last. I had no backup plan, just the feeling of rushing over a waterfall, totally out of control. And yet, all the while I heard this gentle reassurance, “the landing is soft.” 

May your landings always be soft and may you have the courage to fall and fail again and again.

All my love,
Mariah

P.S. As someone living with anxiety and PTSD, please know that sometimes we can’t self-soothe or talk our way out of an anxiety spiral and that’s okay. Reaching out for professional help and resources is also part of the journey. Be kind to yourself and know you’re not alone. In the U.S., if you or someone you know is experiencing a mental health crisis, you can receive 24/7 support by calling 988.  

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