The Narrative We Tell Ourselves

I’m not afraid to fail. I’m afraid to succeed.

 Interestingly enough, I’m not alone.

I work in Adult Education. I primarily help individuals study and prepare for the GED exam and earn their high school equivalency diploma. Students range from 16–60, all working toward one goal.

When I ask why they want to earn their diploma, I see hope in their eyes as they talk about more opportunities.

When I ask the students what obstacles or roadblocks would prevent them from earning their diploma, many students say “mindset.”

Now, I have a bulletin board that talks about growth mindset, and we talk about having a good mindset. I tell them that to succeed, you have to believe you can. I tell them, I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true.

Students come to class, get their work done, and learn things they haven’t before. And as soon as it's time to sign up for a test, or their diploma is within their reach, they stop showing up.

For some of them, there are legit family matters or a change in work schedule, but for many, their mindset gets the better of them.

I try my best to encourage them and get them back into the classroom. But then again, I understand. And more often than not, I do the same thing.

Three years ago, I published my first poetry book. Two years ago, I published my first novel. I achieved my dream. And I was terrified.

18 months ago, I committed to building a brand. To be more than an author, but a speaker and an advocate for women.

Every time I have another success in my journey, I question, spiral, and sometimes pause. I’ll see an email with an opportunity, and I’ll take days to respond.

I used to think it was a self-worth thing, but no, I am more confident in myself and my talent than ever before. I know my words can captivate an audience, whether they are reading or listening to them.

So what is it?

It’s the fear of succeeding. For so long, we created this narrative and associated ourselves with an identity that may or may not be true.

I never thought I’d publish a book, let alone two novels and three poetry books.

I never thought I’d be asked to speak on stages and definitely never get paid for it.

The realization of my dreams coming true is terrifying.

Failure is comfortable.

I’ve been there. I’ve failed.

But success is unknown.

What happens after?

For me, more success sometimes means more vulnerability. Another poetry book exposing my inner thoughts, another performance expressing my truth, another conversation sharing some of my most difficult times.

But it’s so much more than that…

I think what truly terrifies me is that success would mean I am no longer the little insecure girl who sat in her room listening to music, writing poetry, trying to find her community.

Healing! Growth! Now, that’s what's scary.

Recognizing we’ve become the person we always wanted to be. We proved the people who doubted us wrong, including ourselves.

We changed the narrative, and so now we need to write a new one.

And that’s the part that trips us up.

I’m not trying to become a published author anymore.

I am one.

I’m not hoping to speak on a stage.

I have.

I’m not looking for a community.

I found one.

(That continues to grow.)

So, now what? What do I tell my students?

Yes, your identity is going to change. You will no longer be someone who doesn’t have a high school equivalency diploma. Doors will open, and you’ll have to go through them.

Success is within your reach.

So, I’m saying this to myself, to my students, and to you:

GO KNOCK DOWN THOSE OBSTACLES

WALK THROUGH EVERY DOOR

ACHIEVE WHAT WAS IMPOSSIBLE

YOU GOT THIS!

And guess what, I’ll be right here cheering you on, every step of the way.