What If You're Not Afraid of Failure?

I realized something about myself this week.

For years I've been telling myself that I struggle with commitment.

Half in at work.
Half in on my business.
Half in on the next chapter of my life.

Always keeping one foot near the door.

At first, I thought it meant I wasn't brave enough.

Now I think it means something else.

I think I've spent so much of my life earning my place that I forgot what it feels like to simply belong.

When you're the kid who learns differently, you become really good at reading the room.

You become really good at working harder than everyone else.

You become really good at proving yourself.

What you don't become very good at is feeling at home.

So you build a life where you're always just a little bit ready to leave.

You don't fully unpack at work because what if they decide you're not enough?

You don't fully embrace the business because what if it fails?

You don't even let yourself become the person you know you're capable of because becoming her would mean there's nowhere left to hide.

This week I realized something that stopped me in my tracks.

I'm not afraid of failure.

I've failed before. I'll survive it again.

I'm afraid of success that asks me to become someone I can never shrink back from.

That's a different fear entirely.

I've spent the last few years fixing departments, building processes, mentoring people, and trying to create order wherever I go.

Maybe that's never really been my job.

Maybe my real work has been learning how to stop asking permission to take up the space I've already earned.

The phrase I've built my business around is:

Stand Tall. Lead Forward. Build to Last.

The uncomfortable truth is that I wrote it for myself long before I ever shared it with anyone else.

So here's where I am today.

I'm done auditioning.

I'm done waiting until I feel completely ready.

I'm done acting like the woman I want to become is someone I'll meet someday.

She isn't waiting for me in the future.

She's been carrying me this whole time.

Maybe home isn't a place.

Maybe home is finally deciding to trust yourself enough to stay.