Emotional First Aid

Do you remember the post I did in April titled When 99% Equals Fail? Well it all came back to me today as I sat a theory test for my St. John's First Aid course.

I was a little nervous when the exam booklet was placed in front of me. The initial uneasiness grew to a nagging anxious feeling that bothered me.

Perhaps haunted or harassed are more apt descriptors.

Would I get 99% AGAIN?

I wondered whether I could ever shake it off. The fear of failing by 1%. I started thinking of how today's story would end. Would it be a tale of triumph or woes of disappointment.

As I progressed through the questions, I began to feel more and more confident that I was indeed doing well. But the more confident I felt, the more doubtful I became. It was an emotional paradox. I was edging close to attaining a perfect score (I could feel it in my waters) and yet one simple or silly mistake could shatter my joy.

Then a miracle happened.

I remembered that I'm in the midst of a metamorphosis. My transformation yet to be complete, but near enough to know that my new attitude is about focusing on the 1%ers as gains as opposed to 99% equals fail. The moment I had this realisation, my shoulders relaxed, my breathing calmed and I continued to the end without further anxiety.

I was the second person to hand in their paper. I proceeded to the lavatory and upon returning, was called over to the examiner's desk. Unsure what to expect, I approached to find out that my paper had been marked during my brief exit. He was all too eager to announce that I had scored 100%.

I was thrilled.

The perfect result was more to do with me conducting emotional first aid on myself than my score on the first aid exam. I recognised the signs and symptoms of an old pattern playing out and was able to stop the infection before it consumed and disabled me. This is progress. Major progress. Thankfully, 'tis also a tale of triumph.

Until tomorrow, administer first aid at the first sign of infection.

Grace xx

PS. Happy 40th Birthday to my cousin Michael... I'm not far behind you!

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Honouring those at Stage III - Bargaining

So my tribute idea is not going as I thought it would go. I had grand visions of opening up a global conversation as we progressed through the five stages of grief.

I imagined people opening up and airing their experiences, thoughts and feelings, albeit anonymously, to help themselves and others heal. Contributors and readers alike would have felt important, considered, acknowledged, supported and loved.

Oh dear, I'm such an idealist. Is that pathetic? Is it time that I learn once and for all, that it's safer to be a realist and stop trying to be a hero.

I am a little person with big ideas. Too easily discouraged. Too often full of fear. It makes me wonder, who do I think I am?

Until tomorrow, keep going because you said you would.

Grace xx

PS. The answer to Saturday Quiz No. 1 was EARWIG and the winner is... Garrie, the iron commentator. Congratulations Garrie, you have a virtual set of steak knives coming your way. These imaginary knives will have you cutting rubber tyres, Reebok runners and aluminium cans in no time.

Pop!

Okay, here it is... the moment we've all been waiting for...

In the early months of 2008 I called for a meeting with the national distributor of my first (and to this day, my only) children's book, 'Nubsy McNoodle Wanted A Poodle'.

My plan was to learn more about an industry I had just entered. I felt like a new girl at school and wanted to get the low down on how things worked. I was talking to an 'expert', someone who'd been in the industry for over 30-years. I was in good hands, or so I thought.

By now, I'm sure you know me well enough to envisage how bubbly I become when inspired. I have as much eagerness and enthusiasm as a child whose anticipating a visit by the Tooth Fairy. Despite being toothless and looking a little goofy - I AM EXCITED!

I walked into the office of a partner that I hadn't met before. We introduced ourselves before I proceeded to explain my plans for that year. I wanted to know cut off dates so I could plan the production of the next three titles, which I already had manuscripts for. My goal was to have them completed in time to be featured in catalogues, and in stores by Christmas.

He seemed bemused by my wide-eyed fervour and was quick to interject, asking "How many did you print?" to which I answered with smiley, "10,000 copies" (coming from a print packaging background, this was considered a small run in my realm). "Well that's 8,000 too many," he replied in a monotone voice.

That was it.

Pop!

That was when my happiness balloon burst (again).

It is only now with hindsight that I realise this was just another rendition of '99% Equals FAIL', and the feelings that accompanied the experience were identical to the primary instance. I was shattered. What's most interesting is that just as my maths went from bad to worse, until I chronically failed and eventually dumped the subject, my book sales seem to be taking the exact same path - down the gurgler.

Instead of dismissing what he said as merely one person's less than optimistic opinion, I made it mean something about me. I felt stupid and childish. I thought myself an idiot for believing that my work could be good enough to succeed in the publishing world. Though I tried to continue on believing in myself, it was forced. My conviction eroded to a point where I felt as gullible as the days I believed in the Tooth Fairy - who on Earth did I think I was?

Consequently, this has been a thorn in my side. This is where I'm stuck. I have 8,000 books (funny that...?) remaining and I have no energy, passion or spirit to do anything more about it. Just as I became known as the 'math's dummy' (which I now know is crazy considering at one point I got 99%), will I also become known as the author who printed 8,000 too many?

Right now, I still cannot face those 8,000 copies. I don't know what will happen to them (or the other three titles that have been in production for the last two and a half years). I'm hoping that just by letting it out, externalising it, will help the healing process. Perhaps one day it'll go 'click' and the path will become clear, for I have already started to realise I'm not bad at maths... so perhaps those 8,000 copies will turn out to be not too many after all.

Until tomorrow, may you only listen to those that serve you and dismiss those that don't.

Grace xx

When 99% equals FAIL

You may be disturbed to learn that ever since I was eight years old, I deemed 99% as failure.

Long story short, I once scored 99% in a maths test (not a typo, we say 'maths' in Australia) and was falling over myself with eagerness to share the thrilling news with someone whose opinion I held in high esteem.

Instead of receiving the cheer and pat on the back I'd anticipated, I was met with a very blunt "Which one did you get wrong?" At that point, my happiness balloon burst (stabbed by a javelin en route to my heart). I began to deflate immediately.

As if being kicked in the guts when you least expect it isn't bad enough, I was brought further to my knees by something along the lines of "you have no grounds to celebrate till you get everything right" (excuse me if I can't quote verbatim as things seem to go in slow motion when one is stunned like a mullet - the fish not the 80's hairstyle, though the latter is equally stunning).

From that moment on, something was inscribed into my subconscious - 99% equals fail.

I've realised how much this belief has shaped my life. I've spent so much energy and focus aiming for that 100% and if I'm so much as 0.25% short of the mark, guess what? - FAIL!

Not wanting to remind myself of the failure I am at 99% capacity, I opt to walk away and start something anew hoping that maybe THIS time I'll achieve that illusive 100%. Consequently this has seen me jump from job to job, industry to industry and gym to gym.

Okay, this is where I fess up.

Since breaking my butt, my gym attendance has been less than perfect (subliminally translating to "I've failed"). Another balloon burst. The pattern that generally follows goes something like this:

Feeling despondent, I spiral downwards from mild embarrassment to utter shame. I reach a point where I can no longer face the staff, eventually ceasing all attempts to 'redeem myself'. Then a few years pass and I'll be on the look out for another gym where I will try once more to be 'Little Miss 100%'.

Isn't that insane?

This time I'm breaking the pattern. I am turning the equation on its head. Instead of 99% equalling fail, I'm equating each 1% a success. It is far more uplifting to build on increments of triumphs than it is to aim for the seductive 100% mirage and risk another balloon bursting.

I know what I'm attempting to do is not unlike retraining myself to write with my left hand. After being right handed for 39 years, I'll instinctively revert to old habits. But with constant self coaching (courtesy of Project Grace 2010) and frequent reminders that it's the 'one percenters' that count, I feel I'm on the path to recovery.

Until tomorrow, may you accumulate over a million one percenters in favour of a hundred.

Grace xx

PS. I never bounced back after that test. My maths results went from bad to worse, till eventually I chronically failed (academic fails, less than 50%). I dropped the subject as soon as I was allowed to and ultimately became renown in the family for being 'bad at maths'.