My recent launch for the group programme I had hoped to run didn’t go to plan.
I didn’t get enough women enrolling to make a viable group.
And I have had to call the programme off.
I want to talk about this failed launch because I don’t think we get to hear these kind of behind-the-scenes stories enough.
We hear all the success stories with handy tips to help us replicate the unreplicatable.
But I don’t think we get to hear about failure enough.
Which means we don’t get to have enough open conversations about it.
Which means failure – or the prospect of it – can hold a lot of fear and shame.
Which means we can hold back from doing the brave stuff, in an effort to avoid it.
And the truth is: brave stuff sometimes does end in failure.
Whether the brave stuff is business stuff.
Or a creative endeavour.
Or love.
Or pretty much anything that requires you to put your heart on the line.
Let’s talk feelings
I could give you a run down on what I think went wrong with the launch – and maybe I’ll do that in another email if you’re interested? Let me know.
But I’d rather go straight to the feelings behind failure.
Because I think there’s a lot of information in the messy emotions we experience that we tend to brush aside in our rush to problem solve and fix.
A caveat
I need to say that this situation isn’t an emergency for my business:
I have other income streams.
I have reserves I can draw on to make up the shortfall for now.
But it’s not a non-event either.
I’m left with a sizable hole in my projected income.
The comfy predictability of the next 6 months has been blown apart.
And I’m going to have to either relaunch the same programme again in January or launch something completely different.
Both of which feel like the last thing I want to do right now.
This is to say that I’m coming at this failed launch from a position of discomfort but it’s a safe discomfort.
I’ve had failed launches in the past where EVERYTHING was riding on the thing working. And that was really, really hard.
Because it brought with it very real fears around my family’s financial security and the viability of my business.
You might have experienced or might be experiencing something like that too. And I know how stressful that is.
If you’re in something like that now, please go gently with yourself. What you’re dealing with is really tough.
Seek out support from people who will listen but not lecture.
And when you’re ready, know that you are creative and resourceful. You’ve been here before and you will come through the other side again.
Failure feels like crap
There’s no getting away from it… failure feels like crap. Especially in the beginning.
And being a Type-A, Grade-A, good-student kinda person doesn’t help.
When the cart closed on Friday and I knew it hadn’t worked out, I felt a gnarly mixture of disappointment and sadness with a good dollop of shame.
Shame is the worst
I think the main reason failure feels so bad is because it’s shame’s favourite playground.
But I’ve learned that shame goes away fairly quickly when you share it with people who can hold your hand through it.
So I’ve been talking to the people I feel safest with: my husband, my best friends, my best business pal.
None of these beauties gave me any advice (even my husband resisted the man-urge to problem-solve).
Instead, they gave me what I needed –
Acknowledgement of how shit it feels when something we hoped for doesn’t work out.
And their own shared failure stories to help me feel less alone.
That helped me climb out of the ‘shame hole’ fairly quickly.
I guess writing this now feels like filling that hole up with earth and tamping it down.
But what is underneath?
With shame out of the picture, the disappointment and sadness have felt quite gentle.
And they’ve given me some good information.
They’ve shown me how much I value connection with the women I work with, the rich conversations we have, the work itself.
They’ve shown me that I don’t need (or want) to burn everything down just because one thing didn’t work out.
And underneath the underneath?
Stripping back another layer of the feelings onion, I am surprised to find some excitement there.
Because this programme being a no has turned something else into a yes.
There’s been an itch I’ve been wanting to scratch in my work for a long time now.
I have put it off several times. Waiting for ‘the right time’.
The right time always seems to be on the other side of a big launch:
I’ll just get this new programme going and then I’ll have space to do it.
I’ll be ready when I have all my ducks in a row.
Well, with my usual ducks having flown off in several different directions I’m left without any illusions about ‘the right time’ being around the corner.
And I keep coming back to: Why not now?
Following my heart
So I’m going to follow my curiosity and interest.
I want to explore the midlife experience more – the challenges, changes, feelings, and choices we face in this middle bit.
I’m in this space. So are my friends. And so are many of my clients.
It’s what we talk about around the edges of the business stuff.
It’s always in the room.
And it’s the corner that I want to make my own.
I will be researching, pondering and writing about this over the next couple of months.
And launching a podcast about it early next year.
Not rushing to solve
How that’s going to translate into the offers I put out or the next thing I launch, I still don’t know.
I’m actively resisting making any kind of decision yet.
My brain has been trying so hard to rush me into problem solving.
To work out what and when the next launch is going to be.
To react with the fire-fighting energy I think many of us spend our lives living in.
I’ve compiled a long list of all the ideas that come to me at 4am when I have to get up for yet another wee.
But I’m not going to do anything with them just yet.
I’m going to sit in the messy middle and see what I can create from the mud.
To finish:
Failure feels like crap.
It’s hard.
It’s uncomfortable.
But it’s not the end of the world.
And it’s never, ever just happening to you.
Oh, and, when you can share your failure with someone who’ll listen and empathise, things always feel a lot better.
Consider this is an open invitation to reply here if you would like some of that non-judgemental ‘I get it’ empathy from me.
Because I get it. I really do.
