Failure
In 1996, when I was twenty-six, I failed the California State Bar Exam the first time I took it.
Big deal, right? People fail that test all the time. Just brush yourself off and take it again. No big thing. If at first you don’t succeed... There are no failures, only lessons.
Nope. Fuck that. For me, it was a big deal. Huge deal, in fact.
I remember seeing those results online and telling myself, “No. Not going to feel this.” And so I did my best to not feel that feeling every single day thereafter, taking drastic measures to not feel that feeling, until I absolutely had to choose. Feel it. Or die.
It has taken me tons of work, growing up, therapy, and a life in active recovery to be able to write that sentence about failing the bar exam and not only not cringe, but actually smile.
See, that epic failure (or so I thought) catapulted me into the deepest, darkest place that ultimately led to my rising up again and becoming the self I was meant to be, a self I truly believe I never would have been had I passed that test. I feel fairly certain that if I had passed the bar exam on the first try, I probably would have skirted a life of just good enough/not quite bad enough to make the changes on my path that were necessary for me to live the life I am supposed to lead.
I knew the statistics about the passage rate. I knew it was a hard test. Three long grueling days after months and months of preparation. I also knew that plenty of very successful, smart, incredible people failed that test not only once, but, in many cases, time and time again. And that is totally okay for them.
But not for me. For me, that just wasn’t an option. And, yet, that is what happened.
I had zero skills to know how to process that failure. None. The pressure I put on myself was innate and not encouraged by my parents. However, my reaction and how I totally mishandled the aftermath of that news has led me to much inquiry into how I raise my own daughters. Were there missed lessons, moments along that path that could have given me some resilience to manage myself in light of that news? Probably.
I take all responsibility for my choices after learning I had failed that test. And for the ones before it that contributed to my not passing. The fact that I was playing a dangerous game with my addictive behavior around the time of that test is undeniable. I quite literally could not process the information that I had failed and so I chose to avoid that information sinking in at all costs. I threw myself 100% into not feeling.
If this short story ever were to become a book, it would be filled with the sad and gory details of what an overachieving Type A girl who pretty much had always succeeded at the things she set her mind to does when she falls flat. It would also recount the deep, consistent, life saving measures I committed to in rising back up.
The crux of the story is that failing that test saved my life. It threw into motion a course of events that ultimately led to my getting and staying sober. I transformed from a girl so deathly afraid of failing into a woman who embraces that life is full of complicated, messy fuck ups that in no way define who we are, but are most definitely moments that teach us what we are made of- grit, resilience, humor, humility. In my chosen career path that felt more like a true calling as a public defender, I joined a tribe that has to redefine what it means to win and makes an art out of gritty, beautiful, complictaed human “failures.” In that job, we lost, failed, all the time. But we also scrapped and fought with guts and joy and smarts and, for me, love.
When I ultimately retook and passed that exam, the experience felt spiritual. I walked into the space clear, aligned, prepared, sober, ready. The stress around me felt palpable, but I was encased in a calm that felt like meditation. I knew it was time. And I also knew without a doubt that I had passed. Taking that test felt cathartic and beautiful and healing. It felt like the ultimate self amends.
That epic failure? I am thankful for it every single day.
