Do you know what it feels like to get a letter for a business that you had to shut down?
To be more specific, a business that painted a picture of your heart, vulnerable and true, in both ego and virtue?
Well, if you don’t, it’s a sinking feeling, like something bad is happening…
Before you remember that it already did.
Yes, it is unpleasant to receive letters addressed to a failure for many reasons, one of which is shame.
And what does shame sound like while you hold that letter in your hands, debating which trash can to throw it in?
You gave it your all, and your all wasn’t good enough.
Thank you for playing, Alycia, but mostly for paying! To incorporate, to advertise, to try to succeed.
You really did spend (lose) some money, didn’t you? Ouch.
How about that? One little 4×9 with so much power, so much hostility.
Perhaps it is no surprise to learn that it stings to know that I tried and failed, but that self-shame is nothing compared to the other shame.
You know the one.
The shame of knowing that they know I failed.
The ones who supported me and believed I could do it.
The ones who ignored my efforts because they didn’t.
The ones who jumped ship in the nick of time.
And everyone in between.
Today, I pulled a letter out of my old, noisy mailbox that made me remember what I lost.
The remembering stings too.
The long days, the hours worked before/after/during my day job, the times I pushed when I could have paused. The plans I passed on, the fun I didn’t have. The pregnancy spent pitching venture capitalists and start-up investors who never were convinced.
It is a real bummer to be both pregnant and unconvincing, trust me on this.
And it all comes rushing back when I’m nudged to remember.
The shame and the remembering sting, but so does the overexposure.
To think of all the people who knew your deepest desire, the websites and articles and social profiles that contained your depths in writing for all to peruse and dismiss and think “well, isn’t that too bad…”
Yes, Barbara. It is too bad.
Overexposure stings like being left out in the sun, in the light of the world’s awareness of what I wanted but could’t have.
Most days, I am able to sit with the feelings one at a time, avoid the internet entirely, and generally forget what I lost.
But others, I open my mailbox to a reminder of what could’ve been if I’d only been able to make it be.