I recently interviewed for a job – the first job I’ve pursued since becoming a wife and a mom. Walking into that room, a new kind of pressure followed me in. If I didn’t land this role, it wouldn’t just be my disappointment. I could potentially be letting my family down, too.
The day after the interview, I got the dreaded call: they chose the other applicant.
Gut punch.
I hung up the phone and sat with the answer I didn’t want. It landed hard – heavier than I expected. For a moment, I let self-doubt take the microphone in my mind. I replayed every question. Every response. Why didn’t I say that one thing? What could I have done better? I felt myself shrinking under the weight of all that internal criticism.
Yes, deep down, I knew the familiar truth: if it wasn’t meant for me, something better will come. But sometimes that truth feels like a greeting card message; technically correct, but not at all comforting.
Processing it all, I began to ask myself… What would I tell my kids if they didn’t make the team or get the part they hoped for? How would I help them through this feeling I’m drowning in right now?
And honestly? I realized that I often offer people those same “pet answers” and expect them to be okay. I want them to find peace quickly because it feels better for everyone when the moment passes fast. But now here I was wanting something deeper than “chin up.” How humbling.
I wasn’t sure what would aid the hurt or help me get on the other side of it… I just wanted to get there.
The morning after receiving the news, I was still feeling the weight of my letdown, folding clothes on the floor of our bedroom, when my husband got down on the floor across from me and literally sat with me. He didn’t try to fix anything. He didn’t look at me with judgment. He didn’t rush me to move on. He just sat there and looked at me. His eyes said, I see your disappointment. His presence said, You’re not alone.
And that… that was the piece that finally brought me peace.
I tucked that moment into my heart, because I know disappointment is coming for my kids someday, too. They may not make the team. They may not win the championship. They may not get the job. Or get the girl they thought they wanted. And when their hearts crack a little, I want to remember what helps:
Not skipping the pain.
Not glossing over the feeling.
But sitting in the thick of it with them.
I’m an achievement monster by nature. If you’re familiar with the Enneagram, I’m a 3w2: driven, goal-oriented, motivated to succeed and to help others succeed. But this experience reminded me that failure is not the opposite of success. It’s part of it. And being present with our children (in the joy and in the disappointment,) teaches them that their worth isn’t tied to an outcome. I’m obviously still learning that myself, and I feel like I have a way to go before I master the lesson. But if I can use this letdown for our betterment, then maybe that was the whole point.
I’m humbly learning how to lose sometimes. I’m learning that I’m loved whether I make the cut or not. I’m learning to remember my value even when the answer is no. And I’m learning that sometimes people just need you to lean in so they can lean on you, even when you don’t have the right words to offer.
So, if 2025 wasn’t your year – or your kids’ year – if life redirected you to something you never expected, if doors closed that you really hoped would swing wide open… please hear this:
You are still becoming.
Take the lesson(s) and then keep going.
Here’s to believing there’s goodness in the “no,”
grace in the waiting,
and growth in every setback.
And here’s to sitting with each other on the floor when it hurts,
until hope stands us back up again.
To be continued…
-by Destini McPherson
