Letting Go of the Fear of Failure--AKA Unlearning the Reverse Cut Down

I tested for a new rank in karate yesterday—a red stripe on a blue belt.  This is the next step in my journey towards a black belt, and while it is more advanced than the lower ranks I still have oh, so many years ahead of me.  But that’s fine—I’m learning that it’s all about the journey and not so much the destination.  

I started studying karate because it was something that I had always wanted to do as a child but that wasn’t an option for me at the time.  And I think in the adolescent part of me thought that it would give me some superhuman strength and swagger that would help heal some of the wounds from childhood.  That it would give me that confidence that I’ve always faked but never actually had.

What I didn’t expect karate to do for me was to help me examine the deepest, darkest part of my personality, and that is my perfectionism and crippling fear of failure.

I recently had a major anxiety episode, and when I mean by “major” I mean I had weeks of dizziness, heart palpitations, fight or flight response and general panicking over everyday things.  For example, I burst into tears one morning over some mundane item at work.  I was convinced my whole world was caving in by some unknown force.  I started hyperventilating over things like deciding what to make for dinner.  I was wound up something good and I have no idea why.  This was so hard on me, but probably harder for those around me who couldn’t do enough to reassure me that I was okay.  That’s just how anxiety works.  I wish I had a better explanation.

Thanks to the miracles of modern medicine I am detoxing from this anxious state and on the path to taking better care of myself.  And like karate, that is a journey and not an instant fix.  You see, I have a really bad habit, almost an addiction of sorts.  I’m addicted to talking badly about myself, and not loving myself.  A self defense mechanism I put in place when I was a child to stop others from beating me to the punch.  If I was self-deprecating to the point of insulting myself people couldn’t hurt me with their words.  And if I was funny while I did it people would talk about how hilarious I was and ignore my other flaws. The problem with inward-facing self-defense postures is that ultimately the only person you’re defending against is yourself, and that really hurts.  The ultimate goal of self-defense is to protect you from getting hurt.  So why would you use one that purposely hurts you?  I know, right?  My mind is blown, too. 

One of the many problems of this self-defense move, which I have named the Reverse Cut Down, is the creation of the need to be perfect.  Because it sort of sucks to talk badly about yourself, you thrive on praise from others, so you seek good grades, your room has to be perfect, you must be the thinnest one in the room, you must be the “best” at everything you try.  Otherwise your big sham will be exposed and everyone will know that you aren’t “perfect.”  They will see that you really actually don’t love yourself and you have so much self doubt about everything you do that it’s a wonder you aren’t laying in a fetal position somewhere in a pair of dirty sweatpants.  This means you are living for others, not for yourself.  I can tell you that not one good grade I ever received gave me happiness, and I was my most miserable at my skinniest 21 year old self.

So about this belt test.  I have been avoiding this belt test like the plague—I probably could have demonstrated my skills a few months ago, but work obligations and other things kept me from doing it—or so I told myself.  The truth is I was finding reasons to avoid showing it out of fear that it wasn’t “perfect.”  I cringed when I thought of the sensei or master correcting me, and the shame I would feel in doing a move wrong.  I thought that I’m ready when it was absolutely flawless, that I’d demonstrate my strikes and there would be an awed silence over the dojo, right before the standing ovation I so rightly deserved.

I know, try to contain your laughter and/or eyerolling.  Really.  Because I think the senseis and master who do an excellent job of teaching me would agree that no one ever stops learning.  And isn’t that the point? Plus, approaching it this way, that testing was something that I must do flawlessly (otherwise I didn’t deserve the promotion) was sucking all the fun out of the process.  I was totally discounting the opportunity to learn more by just being open and not afraid that I might screw up. And how can someone enjoy a new rank they received through fear and loathing?

Last week I prepared for the test, both physically and mentally (but mostly mentally).  A very wise person (okay, my therapist) encouraged me to let go of the crap that happened to me when I was young and not a great athlete (and falling over hurdles in track) and stop pre-judging the outcome and just do my best based on what I’ve learned.  I know, we all say we will “do our best” but when I said it in the past, I really meant “worry about screwing up and focus on how awful you are so that when you do pass you’ll know it was all due to talking badly about yourself and not from real talent.” And if I did screw up, avoid telling myself (and others) that I’m a failure.

I did the test.  Was it flawless?  Of course not.  My husband videotaped me, and I noticed that I didn’t lift up my knee high in a kick, and maybe there wasn’t enough snap in my left kwondo (and by the way the camera adds 10 pounds—and a white gi adds 10 more).  And the board break—oh, god.  The worst possible thing happened in that it took me four tries to break this board with a palm strike.  When I did break it, it was a terrible break.  But instead of falling apart, I offered up the extra board I brought and broke that in one strike.  

My husband told me later how he was pretty amazed that I didn’t fall apart when the board didn’t break.  He said he was fully expecting me to assume the Reverse Cut Down, proclaiming myself a failure before anyone else could.  Instead, I just shrugged it off and walked out of the dojo with my head held high.  Because this particular test wasn’t just about my demonstrating my skill to the board of judges, it was to demonstrate the new me to myself.  To shed the bad habits and unlearn the terrible self-defense moves I created in favor of practicing time-tested maneuvers which might actually serve their intended purpose some day. And that part I aced.  So we will see about the other part tomorrow.