"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best knows in the end the triumph of achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat." ~Theodore Roosevelt
A year ago today, I sat here in a state of naïve bliss. I had just finished up my MBA classes, left my cool, comfy job, and launched my own consulting company. By sheer chance I’d landed a huge, well known client in the first week, and had just returned from an exciting trip to the south to work with them. There had been some waves of nerves in the final weeks of my employment, but all that was behind me now. I had company hats and a jacket with my logo on it. I was on top of the world, and it was nothing but clear sailing, industry notoriety and unlimited cash flow from here on out.
A month later, I was doubled over in a gas station bathroom, in shock. I could acknowledge the blood, but my brain refused to process what was happening. It would be weeks before I could even use the word miscarriage. I was two hours from home, had just left a client, and was on my way to speak to a group of college kids. I’m told it went well, but I barely remember it. The next day, I got in my car and drove to a client’s farm. Halfway there I began sobbing uncontrollably, my body convulsing over the steering wheel. A mile away I pulled over, composed myself, and sat through another meeting I don’t remember. I cancelled my afternoon one and cried the whole way home.
My client list had exploded overnight, and I was already starting crack under the nagging feeling I’d perhaps taken on too many, said yes too many times, and promised things I didn’t know how to do. I’d developed an ulcer, a result of what I’m told was stress and my steady diet of black coffee and gas station food, washed down with anything from fine wine to Utica Club. My whirlwind ride had turned into one that was spiraling out of control, and fast.
The baby that wasn’t brought it crashing to a fiery halt. Imagine every movie you’ve seen, where the accident takes place in slow motion. Time slowed to an excruciating crawl, and I watched it all explode from afar. For a few weeks I went through the motions. I went to client meetings, I met with other professionals, I think I taught a college class. I watched myself do the work, build some spreadsheets, and say the right things. At the same time, I kept my daughter alive, I took her to daycare, I hugged her a lot, but I don’t remember that either. I was in and out of the hospital. One doctor wanted to prescribe anxiety meds- I took some Tums. I was shook up to the core, but I didn’t want to be, and I shouldn’t have been. I knew miscarriages happened and they were traumatic and heart wrenching. I’d watched my sister in law go through a loss more devastating than I could ever imagine. But this was different. I’d only known I was pregnant for six days. And more importantly…
I didn’t want to be pregnant. We weren’t trying to have another. I had just started a business. I was in a weird, distant, emotional space, still riding the egotistical, fraternity high of grad school and mentally recovering from an accident. I had been on the phone putting a down payment on a new horse trailer minutes before I’d found out. I’d just won a long, bloody battle with my husband about trading our family vehicle for a truck, bought a membership to the NRCHA, and signed up for every cow horse clinic I could find. I had picked up a riding lesson client. I was building my freedom and my own identity back as fast as I could, and I was still mad at the world and everyone in it for taking them away in the first place. Nowhere in that picture was another baby. So why was I so affected by the loss of something I wasn’t looking for in the first place?
Well biology, for one. I’m not here to set us back by implying we’re slaves to our hormones, man or woman. But hormones are real, and they’re designed by evolution to make us protect and care for our offspring, so our species can continue. Plain and simple. Those pesky little buggers are more powerful than the most logical of arguments. But so is the fear of failure, and that’s what it was. It was a failure I couldn’t control. I watched helplessly and there was nothing I could do about it.
I’d been battling to stay ahead of what felt like was inevitable, impending failure since I’d started my business. In a lot of ways, I was doing things for all the wrong reasons. I didn’t just want to succeed, I wanted people to KNOW I was succeeding. I had points to prove, assumptions to defy, and a big chip on my shoulder. When I was in college, the joke was that I would do anything if someone said, “do it, you won’t do it.” Fifteen years later and that had evolved from a way to goad me into drunken college stunts and manifested itself into pursuing career achievements, desperately trying to make a name for myself, and getting another degree, none of which I had cared about until someone said I couldn’t. I knew there were people who didn’t expect me to succeed, and those who wouldn’t mind seeing me fail, and I spent way more time thinking about them than they ever had me. My ego was so focused on their imaginary judgement that it drowned out all the encouragement and support around me.
And here it was. Failure in every form. I stopped responding to emails, I didn’t answer calls. I got through tasks on a day to day basis, but barely enough to tread water. My body was trashed, my personal life was trashed. I’d already given up on maintaining any friendships or personal relationships, telling myself focusing on school and then my career were more important right now. They’d understand. My one sanctuary for most of my life was the barn, but that had become a daily battle since my accident, and in the middle of this mess a cold windy day and a fresh horse set me back to zero there. All of my worst fears were coming true. I was a failure.
There is no greater gift anyone can receive than having all of their fears come to life, and surviving anyway. I still got up. I still kept moving. I didn’t really have a plan anymore, I just knew I had to take one step and then another. I recognized I couldn’t do it all myself and hired the best person I could have asked for. Then I hired another, and another. I found a new purpose, and I forgot about my critics. Instead, I focused on making this something that could give these awesome women opportunities. It wasn’t about me anymore.
We restored relationships with clients, who actually became my biggest supporters. Some of them I talked to openly about the struggle, and my admission of weakness did not make me a failure to them. It made me human, and they responded with grace and understanding. I sold that horse and bought another. In one weekend I drove to Ohio to pickup a trailer, Indiana to pick up a horse, hauled it through Detroit in the middle of the night to stay with friends in Michigan, all with my toddler by my side. She was quiet and sweet, and got me through a clinic that made me believe in my own horsemanship again. I reached out to old friends, and old relationships that became new friends.
It wasn’t smooth sailing from there. This isn’t Hollywood and there’s no magical happy endings. That horse actually turned out to be another disaster, another failure. But I kept going, and found another. I struggled with employees, how to train them and manage them and compensate them and motivate them. I lost money and got frustrated, but I kept going, and they began to succeed. I still let clients down, missed deadlines and made mistakes. But I kept going, and got things done, and gained their confidence. In the past two weeks we’ve won two new major clients, and had big breakthroughs with current ones. I have 54 tasks marked overdue and 672 emails in my inbox. Tomorrow a client will call with something that’s gone wrong, and I’ll panic all over again. But I’ll keep going.
I got pregnant again. It’s not a replacement, it’s not a miracle baby or a rainbow baby or whatever. It’s a different being, it was planned, and it’s hard. I’m 34 and pregnant and my body can’t do what it could. I made the decision not to ride, I can't help wrangle beef cows, and I don’t work all night anymore. I miss my horse, I go to bed at 8:30 and watch Netflix with my husband. But every morning I get up, and just keep going. It’s not the flashy, glamorous success I had imagined. It’s the gritty, soul testing path of entrepreneurship and life that always sounds romanticized in retrospect.
That’s the real story. Success isn’t a destination- it’s just the ability to keep going, while knowing that at worst, if I fail, I will fail while daring greatly. And then I will keep going again.
