I have never failed at anything I have tried as spectacularly as I have failed to conceive and carry a child to full term. It is my most epic and most deep failure – but it is also my most beautiful failure.
How it is a beautiful failure? Because I did everything humanly (and technologically) possible to achieve my goal. I followed all of the directions, thought all the right thoughts, poked in all the right places and put up with all of it. And, yet, I still failed. My failure is beautiful because I am ok that I failed. I’m still loved, accepted and respected – and perhaps, even more so than before because of what I have endured. I don’t have to wear a scarlet letter F (or I for that matter) on my chest, or branded on my forehead. I can hold my head up high comforted by the fact that I did everything that was required and could not change the outcome. In short, my failure is not a measure of me.
For these reasons, failure is no longer a bad word to me. It can truly be a thing of beauty: