Hey friends, it's Rosie.
Welcome back to Radio Headspace.
So let me take you back to the first time I wrote a book proposal.
I was nervous but excited.
Writing a book has always been a dream.
And when I finally sat down and poured myself into the pages, I stitched together the beginnings of an idea I really believed in.
It wasn't perfect.
I mean, it was far from it.
But it was mine.
It felt like a piece of my heart was typed out in black and white ink.
I was living in Portland at the time and a friend of mine I'd met was a New York Times bestselling novelist.
This novelist coached writers on how to publish their work.
Jackpot, right?
Or so I thought.
Who better to ask for feedback than someone who's been there, done that, and crushed it?
Enter ominous music.
This will not end well.
So I sent her my proposal, half done, half polished, but full of heart.
And what I got back? was the most brutal feedback I've ever received.
I don't mean tough love.
I don't mean constructive criticism.
I mean she tore it apart, line by line, sentence by sentence.
Not much was left when she was done.
And listen, I'm not a wimp.
I can take feedback.
I've been in enough workshops, production meetings, therapy sessions and awkward relationships to know when critique is helpful.
But this was different.
It wasn't about the work.
It felt like it was an assault on me and the audacity I had to even try.
And I'll be honest, it stung.
Bad.
Like, really bad.
Because when you create something, anything, it's personal, right?
Even when you tell yourself it isn't.
Even when you say you're not precious about whatever it is.
You can meditate, journal, quote the Buddha, etc.
But sending your art into the world always carries risk.
And when it gets torn to shreds, dear one, it feels like you've been torn too.
This is where the middle path comes in clutch.
The middle path is about holding two truths at once.
Yes, my proposal needed work and no, my worth wasn't tied to it.
Yes, feedback can hurt and no, feedback doesn't define me.
That's the trick with this type of scenario.
Let's call it A failure, since our brain loves extremes.
I failed, so I'm a failure.
I messed up once, so I'll never succeed.
But the middle path reminds us, failure is neither fatal nor final.
It's just information.
Psychologists even have a term for this mental spiral, catastrophizing.
This is the tendency to take one negative event and turn it into a story of permanent doom.
Like, my book proposal got shredded.
Therefore, I'll never publish anything.
Therefore, I'm not creative anymore.
Therefore, I suck.
Does that sound familiar?
Yeah, I get it.
And yeah, we all do it.
But studies on resilience show that the people who bounce back fastest aren't the ones who never fail.
They're the ones who interpret failure differently.
They see it as data, not destiny.
They understand that falling short is part of the process, not the end of the story.
Looking back, that proposal wasn't a failure at all.
It was one step.
It was messy, raw, incomplete, but it was necessary.
And without it, I wouldn't have learned how to actually write one.
I wouldn't have found my voice.
I wouldn't have written the book that I eventually did.
So now, when failure stings, I try to remind myself this isn't the end.
This is just one chapter.
The longer story hasn't been written yet.
So if you're in the middle of your own failure, if you've been rejected criticized, ghosted or told not good enough, try this.
Pause.
Take a deep breath.
Place your hand over your heart.
Remind yourself.
This hurts, but I am safe.
Name it.
Say out loud, this is feedback.
This is not my identity.
Reframe it.
Ask, what can this failure teach me?
What gets to grow from here?
That novelist who tore apart my book proposal.
She taught me something that I carry with me to this day.
Not about writing, but about resilience, about the necessity of failing and the importance of the middle path.
Sure, I could have made up a story about this person and come up with all types of storylines about why they didn't like me, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
But I would have wasted so much time.
And that's the one thing I will not allow another person to do.
So if you're in the sting right now, let me say this.
You're not done.
You're not broken.
You're not foolish for trying.
You're just one step closer to the version of you who succeeds.
And maybe like me, one day you'll look back at your failure and realize it wasn't fatal at all.
It was just the beginning.
And if you're looking for some extra support, check out the Get Good at Failure video in the app.
That's it for today, friends.
If you've had a moment where feedback cut deep but eventually shaped you, I'd love to hear about it.
Message me on Instagram at Rosie Acosta.
Until then, remember, the story isn't over.
Keep going, and I'll see you back here soon.
