Failures are an important feature of success - don't let LinkedIn convince you otherwise

Like many so-called “high-flyers”, my obsession with achievement began at school. From an early age, I wanted to attend a top university and get the best grades, not because I knew what that meant, but because I knew it was viewed as good and proper. Consequently, my GCSEs, A-Levels and further education benefitted from having that aspiration and target. Yet the results I am most proud of include my C in GCSE German and 49% in my first attempt at the PGDL Contract module. I’ve been actively working to change my mindset around achievement, partly inspired by re-reading 'The Long Win' by Cath Bishop, and whilst it’s easy to characterise these results as failures (with the contract module being an actual example of a failing grade), I have come to be immensely proud of these results. I am not proud of them because of the outcome, but rather the journey around them. I hope that by talking about my failings, my experiences around them, and more, I can give a realistic insight into my journey. Perhaps it will help others stop comparing themselves to others, and perhaps it will show that there is always more going on beneath the surface.

I wasn’t particularly sporty at primary school, having no talent in any of the traditional sports played at comprehensives around the country. I wasn’t a football star, wasn’t good at rounders, and certainly wasn’t going to be winning any medals at a sports day for the track events. Sporting performance remains an instant way to win recognition from peers and teachers alike at the earliest stages of our lives. Many of us who couldn’t thrive in this space instead sought validation and praise through other means - namely learning and academia. Whilst not naturally gifted at maths or science, I did have a talent for English. I cultivated a love of reading, creating a solid foundation for future success. I also saw that if I worked hard enough and put the time and effort in, I could make up for any deficit in my natural ability within subjects such as maths or science. Unlike in sports, this hard work almost always had an instant payoff, with weekly spelling tests or mental maths tests helping me measure progress and create an instant feedback loop providing positive reinforcement. This led to my proud adoption of the “nerd” label and I am ever grateful for the teachers who helped me in this (Mrs Winter, Mr Chamberlin, and particularly Mr Eveleigh).

However this idea of “nerdiness” and being the “clever one” became intrinsic to my identity. I can now recognise it became an obsession, one of my earliest obsessions as someone who (at the time) was still undiagnosed with OCD. I clung to the routine of school life, the strict structures and competition being a useful funnel for many of my OCD tendencies. Whilst some neurodivergent people struggle to thrive in this environment, it was exactly what I craved and needed. Yet at secondary school, you enter a bigger pond. In this later phase of my life, I began to struggle more than ever.?

My first secondary school continued to provide a rigid structure and academic focus. In fact, it was a whole new level of intensity which brought a whole new set of challenges, but also new outlets for my worsening OCD tendencies. Many circumstances played a part in my worsening symptoms, but one critical aspect was certainly that I was no longer one of the top students. Whilst it was a struggle, I adapted and my competitive nature meant I would fight with the others to claim the top spot, becoming obsessive about grades and results, and debating with classmates on overall rankings. My OCD also worsened as during this time I became the primary carer for my mum. I was simultaneously going through the same struggle many young gay men go through, reckoning with the feeling of being different and out of place, knowing that I wasn’t like the others. Academia remained my obsession and outlet, channelling unhealthy compulsive behaviours into something broadly positive.

All these issues came to a head when I moved to a new school in the middle of year 9. My new school was far more relaxed, with less emphasis on academia and grades. Even the uniform was relaxed, eschewing the usual blazer, shirt and tie combo for the same type of pullover jumper and polo shirt I'd worn in reception. Whilst this could be seen as generally positive, for me it was the opposite. It took away the structures which had channelled and reinforced my obsessions but did nothing to replace or rehabilitate them into something healthier.?Quickly, I developed depression and anxiety, suffering from regular and persistent panic attacks as well as taking up self-harm as a means to cope. It wasn't long before there was medical intervention and I was signed off school, going to a much reduced and part-time timetable. It meant that during the stressful times of GCSE's there were weeks where I was completely absent from school, instead choosing to work at home and self-teach. It is for this reason I am proud of my C in GCSE German, a grade achieved off my own hard work and perseverance with a subject I struggled with. I remember clearly that only moments before one of my exams, my German teacher attempted to remove me from sitting the exam due to my absence, stating that I was sure to fail as I hadn't been in their lessons. Despite the circumstances, I persisted and managed to achieve this pass. It is a standout grade, not only because it is not an A or A* like all my other GCSE's, but because it is the one that took the most work.

That brings me to my recent failure of contract. I was incredibly nervous to openly discuss this fact, but I think it's important to be transparent. Not everything is always smooth sailing, with failures an inevitability. There's a reputation that those of us who revive training contracts are naturally gifted, lucky or have everything sorted. That's not always the case, hiding the struggles and hard work often going on behind the scenes of these achievements. No one I know has had a smooth ride, regardless of the LinkedIn posts.

My own struggles began shortly after moving to London upon completing my undergraduate degree. I lost a lot of the support I had built up previously during my time in Scotland and it felt like I was starting from scratch. This was a terrifying and lonely experience, but it taught me a lot. Sadly, during the Christmas exam period, I saw a worsening of my OCD, something that had been so gradual it was only when I was in the middle of it that I noticed how bad it was. I was experiencing frequent periods of anxiety and disassociation, worsening OCD tendencies and time sinks, as well as increasing depressive episodes. Ultimately I wasn't fit to sit my exams but persevered anyways until everything came to a head just before the final exam. It was only then I admitted to myself and others that I needed help. Sadly this was not before sitting my contract exam the days prior and failing.

With this came a tense and awful period, having to explain myself to my sponsoring firm as I had not met the requirements of their offer. Luckily they showed understanding, enabling me to resit and prove myself. There was also a great deal of self-doubt, that perhaps I was not cut out for this career in law. I felt like a failure because I had placed all my value and staked so much on the outcome rather than the process. Taking a step back, I looked at all the facets of my life and began making the changes necessary to deal with my OCD, managing symptoms and unhealthy tendencies. This was supported by CBT therapy and conversations with my doctor. Gradually I built myself back up and reapplied myself to the exams and new modules in the second semester of study. I also began talking more openly about my struggles, asking friends and family for help when I needed it rather than feeling like I had to shoulder it all myself. Previously I had felt a responsibility to keep quiet and be a proper grown-up, trying to power through. Now I recognise this itself is a childish impulse. It is this process that makes me proud of the outcome, that it inspired me to change. I could have very easily given up - but I showed my resilience and demonstrated my value rather than expecting it to become self-evident through an outcome.

I am incredibly lucky that my firm showed compassion as I expected to lose all the things I had worked so hard for, prepared to have to start again. To be able to sit here and write that upon resitting I not only passed the contract but all my modules, and achieve a commendation in spite of all those troubles, it drives home the importance of the lessons learnt during this time. It's also a reminder that no journey is linear, that there are peaks and troughs. Failure is inevitable and I am proud to be working on my own reaction to it, developing better responses to readily accept failure when it happens, learn from it and grow. My hope is by showing this journey, and sharing these stories, others will see that behind the LinkedIn profile lies real people who also struggle and face failure to reach where they are today.