Yesterday I failed.

Fresh from graduation and with the looming threat of student debt, I snatched the first job that would have me. I convince myself I could do it. After all, I had done everything else that had come before.

Nope. Yesterday I failed.

After only a week of work – days of learning and success followed by nights of praying dear god(s)/universe/anything that'll listen please let me make my goal – I broke down in tears in front of the assistant manager and the owner

...

I guess the first thing you need to know about me is that I'm a perfectionist. I know that title gets thrown out a lot, especially as a masked strength/weakness in job interviews. Which a) is pretty much the stupidest way to answer the stupidest interview question and b) trivializes perfectionism as a legit weakness. My personal brand likes to manifest itself in two ways:

1. I never do anything because I'm so terrified of failure. I adopt a 'give-no-shits' attitude and coast through life, taking no chances because chances mean vulnerability and vulnerability means pain and certain failure
2. If I do convince myself to do something, I will do it perfectly. I will swallow the stress and do it. No matter the roadblocks. No matter the crippling anxiety. No matter the festering depression. No matter anything. I will do it and it will be perfect.

Yesterday I didn't do that. Yesterday I failed.

...

And what really killed me is that I did everything right. I was good at this. I learned all the theories and applied them in the field. I made goals and I achieved them. I closed every day. In the week that I worked, I was one of the top performing salespeople, outpacing veterans of the business. I was on the fast track to promotion and accolades were pouring in.
But as I sat in an empty room waiting for that morning meeting, the deep unhappiness I had suppressed all week washed over me. And as I tried to suppress it again - resuppress? - I tried to blame everything else: the week's tragedies in Boston and Texas (both places I have personal ties to), customers cancelling sales – anything that wasn't me.

Because I was doing it all right. I was perfect.

And somewhere in between that and trying to convince my boss that sending a distraught, near hysterical salesperson into the field isn't exactly the greatest business strategy, I realized that this was probably the lowest I'd felt in years.

I'd like to say that in that moment, I suffered an epiphany that immediately refreshed my spirits. I'd like to say I told my boss off for being insensitive and quit on the spot and walked out of that office, eyes bloodshot, mascara smeared, but with my head held high as I jauntily sashayed to my car.

But this isn't a movie and exits are never as justly poetic as you fantasize.

Instead, I crept out of that office, head ducked in shame, and busted out crying as I pulled my car out of the parking lot – only to realize I had a coworker's belongings in the backseat, which meant I had to go back in.

So much for a graceful exit.

And as I cried on my way home – and at home – I debated staying with the job. Even though I knew how emotionally taxing it was and I knew that my commission was tanking by the hour and I'd lost my momentum toward promotion. Surely the vague promise of an easy paycheck was worth the festering depression.

And quitting would mean admitting failure. And I don't fail.

Today, I quit. Today, they said they're disappointed in me. They can't be that disappointed. They've only known me a week. I've known myself 23 years. I've had 23 years to be disappointed in myself. This is nothing

Today they said I failed. Wrong. Yesterday, I failed. Today, I gather the broken pieces and try and shape something new.

All the motivational posters say the only way to go from here is up. I disagree. There's still an awful lot of dirt and shit down here I can bury in. And it's tempting to say here at the bottom of my hole. I'm not ready to go sticking my neck out there again, but I can at least admit the failure.

It may not seem like the biggest step but at least it's forward motion.

So how's that for an introduction?