Why Making a Mistake Can Feel So Much Bigger Than the Mistake
Sometimes the hardest part of making a mistake has very little to do with the mistake itself.
Yesterday, I made a mistake at work, and my reaction to it surprised me.
My boss pointed it out with constructive criticism that was kind, fair, and genuinely helpful.
I’m deeply passionate about my work as a coach, and I’m committed to showing up fully for the people I coach. So, when I feel like I’ve let them down, it hits hard.
For years, I’ve been working to shift my perspective on mistakes, learning to see them as opportunities for growth rather than reasons to beat myself up. I’m a few years out from my former crippling perfectionism, and while it’s gotten easier, this new job (with its new environment, new people, and new curriculum) has me still finding my footing at times.
When a Small Mistake Feels Like a Big Threat
As I processed this mistake, I felt a small part of me slip into disappointment.
I noticed a growing tightness in my chest, a hunching in my shoulders. Something was wrong.
I sat with it, letting the sensations unfold. A sense of dread bloomed in my belly, and fear prickled at the edges of my sense of self.
It was a familiar feeling, like I was bracing for someone to tell me I was fired (the grown-up version of “getting in trouble”).
My best friend, who’s far more insightful about astrology than I am, mentioned that the moon was in Pisces (watery, emotional, intuitive, sensitive) and the sun was in Leo (outward, expressive, confident). In that moment, facing my mistake, I felt it all so deeply.
As I stayed present with these emotions, my body spoke loudly: a desire to bend over and catch my breath, as if hunching to protect myself; a soul-deep urge to cry; the terror of needing to be perfect, to never make mistakes, to always have the right answers.
I felt pain in my chest, pressure in my forehead, and an empty, burning sensation in my gut. So many things.
Then, the tears came, heavy with sadness.
The Feeling Was Older Than the Moment
I realized how painful it must have been to carry these feelings as a child, feelings I never fully connected with back then. In that moment, I experienced the weight of it, it was painful.
A fleeting thought crossed my mind: “If I tried to explain this to someone right now, they’d think I’m crazy.”
That made me cry harder. I thought about how frightening intense emotions can feel when we don’t understand where they’re coming from, and how quickly we can decide something must be wrong with us because our reaction seems bigger than the moment in front of us.
It was intense. It was painful. And I knew this wasn’t just about my job. This was something deeper, something that had been buried for a long time.
As I sat with it, I started to understand that rigid, perfectionistic part of myself differently. It had learned that getting things right mattered. That mistakes could mean something about my safety, my worth, or how other people saw me.
I’ve sometimes wondered, “Who am I to help other people with this when I still have moments like these?” But I don’t think doing this work means reaching some point where nothing ever activates you again. Sometimes the work is recognizing what’s happening while it’s happening and responding to yourself differently.
I know there are people out there who’ve felt this too, those moments when it feels like the storm will never pass, when the fear is so raw it’s like being a small child again, terrified of what you’re feeling. It’s awful, but I made it through.
What I Did Differently This Time
What mattered to me afterward was realizing how differently I handled this than I might have years ago.
After crying and processing, I slept for ten hours, waking with a gentle reminder to hydrate and be kind to myself.
That familiar fire in my being (the passion for my work) burned brighter. And I kept thinking about how many women have had this experience: something relatively small happens, the reaction feels enormous, and suddenly they’re judging themselves for having the reaction at all.
I want to remind you: you’re not alone in the storm. Your feelings don’t make you crazy. Sometimes the intensity itself is information. Instead of immediately asking, “Why am I reacting like this?” with judgment, we can start asking, “What does this reaction know that I haven’t understood yet?”
A mistake can be a mistake. You can take responsibility for it, learn from it, repair what needs repairing, and still get curious about why it felt so enormous.
Sometimes that curiosity shows you something worth knowing about yourself.
If perfectionism and being “the capable one” have followed you for a long time, I wrote more about where that can begin in The Problem With Calling Little Girls “Mature.”
Want Somewhere to Have Conversations Like This?
These are exactly the kinds of things we talk about in our Women’s Circle: the reactions that surprise us, the patterns we're starting to notice, and what we're learning about ourselves along the way.
We meet every Tuesday at 7pm CT on Zoom, and it’s free to join.
Much love,
Ashana
