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Sometimes you don't even know if you suffer from the fear of failing. Fear of failing, “atychiphobia” as it is also known, is a fear that stops us from doing things, especially those things that move us forward to reaching our goals. We all have different definitions of what success and failure are. A failure to one person might be a great learning experience to another. Our belief systems, values and standards we live by determine our failure definition. Fear of failing can be immobilizing, it can stop your forward progress in your personal life, business or career.
Let's look at what are some of the signs of fear of failure.
"It'll go away, it just needs time, then I won't have to worry anymore...
It wasn't a big deal, or if it was it doesn't matter now. It's over. I'm fine, and I have all these anxiety coping skills. What's there to talk about anyway?"
I can't count the number of times I've thought that way about my mental health.
The message of silence is one that trauma survivors, and those with mental illness receive loud and clear, from society and often very directly from those closest to them. Most internalize it so deeply that it's years before they realize it isn't their voice. That it never was. That it doesn't have to be.
There are some people who just seem to “have it together” – they ease through life with minimal trouble, and seem to have a certain je ne sais quoi about them. They never seem to have problems finding a boyfriend/girlfriend, have good jobs, a great network of friends and are by all standards – successful. I’ve encountered a few of these fine specimens in my lifetime and am always left feeling a little awe-inspired…and inadequate.
I recently made the decision to send Bob, my son with bipolar disorder, back to his last therapist. I don't have high confidence in talk therapy for a variety of reasons, as I have previously discussed. One of those reasons was brought to light after Bob's second session: therapists don't always get the whole story.
Whenever I think I know what I'm doing, that's when I start to worry.
It's this river running inside me: anxiety. Like background noise that's so strong and permanent you don't really hear it anymore. It's just there, the same as the air moves or my heart beats. I stop, sometimes. Knowing something has to change but unsure what, where, who, or how.
If I'm not anxious, what will I be?
How about loved, valued, self-assured.
What if, just for now, you were able to shrink your abuser's voice down to nothing? What would it be like if you stopped imagining that those hurtful words came from a place of love or concern? What would it feel like to know in your heart and mind that what that abuser said had no relevance to your reality, that your abuser was the one in La-La Land, not you?
What would it be like to trust your own perceptions, to move about freely without fear of reprisal?
Living with anorexia, I've been struggling to get to a healthy weight for several years. As I learned from my doctor, reaching your goal weight is a key part of eating disorder recovery. Watch this video to understand why.
Some dreams are bizarre--my favorite odd one involved a coworker and me being chased through the mall by ninjas, with multiple Broadway musical songs to comment on the situation. Most dreams, however, have a meaning--especially when you interpret them yourself.
I was asked about how I have continued to work even through major bipolar storms. I found when I wrote about this topic, pages and pages were filled, so we’re splitting it in half. Today is part one: how to work an office job with bipolar disorder.
Some of you know I’ve had office jobs in the tech industry for most of my working career and only recently made a shift. And in those years I’ve had various severities of bipolar disorder. And what I’ve learned is this: working with bipolar disorder comes down to one thing - being stubborn.
After several phone calls and missed fax transmissions, I finally had Bob's most recent lab results in my hand and his psychiatrist's. His lithium level was surprisingly low. His BUN, however, was high--enough to generate concern he may be developing lithium sensitivity. His psychiatrist suggested the labs be reviewed by his general practitioner prior to making our next move.
I had forgotten long-term lithium use can lead to kidney failure. I have since added that to my list of Things to Worry About at 3 AM, and asked myself the question: Am I sacrificing my child's physical health for his mental health? Can't he have both?
I also have DID. And I know that it is not safe for people or animals to live with me. This is just the facts and it’s devastating. I know that to be ethical and non-harming I have to live alone. To see me, I look kind and sweet. And parts of me are. But not all the parts. I’ve been officially diagnosed and in therapy over two years, and even if we all heal, I don’t think it’s worth the risk that I could hurt or kill somebody. Some risks can be taken, but I don’t think I could say, ‘hey- let’s move in together. By the way I had violent tendencies but I think I have it taken care of. You ok with that?’