When Falling Flat Teaches You to Rise Taller
There’s a particular brand of humiliation that comes with tripping on a public staircase. You know the one—eyes wide, limbs flailing, maybe one shoe halfway airborne as you crash-land in the middle of a crowded subway station. In that moment, you want nothing more than to be swallowed by the earth, but there’s no hole conveniently opening itself beneath you. All you can do is get up, dust yourself off, and pretend you didn’t just star in your very own slapstick comedy.
My first big life failure was like that fall—except I didn’t stumble over uneven steps; I tripped over my own expectations. Spoiler alert: the fall taught me a thing or two about resilience and turning pain into something beautiful. But first, let me take you back to where this all began.
The Impossible Dream (No, Seriously)
A few years ago, freshly armed with my literature degree and brimming with wild ambition, I decided I was going to become Beijing’s answer to Jane Austen. Not in the “find my Mr. Darcy” way—no, I wanted to pen the kind of sweeping novels that would have readers clutching their chests and sobbing into their hot milk tea. I dreamed of emotionally intricate stories that bridged old-world Chinese romance with the messy reality of modern love.
Sounds exciting, right? Not to my potential publishers. My first manuscript—a historical romance set during the late Qing Dynasty—was rejected so many times, I started memorizing the opening sentences of my rejection emails. There were variations of the same polite subtext: “Thanks, but no thanks.” With every no, I began to feel less like the next literary sensation and more like the human equivalent of a broken pen.
I cried into my dumplings at least three times that year. Some days, I imagined switching careers altogether—dog walker, perhaps? Much less pressure, and plenty of affection guaranteed. But something about giving up felt worse than rejection. Still, the repeated sting of failure left its marks, and I found myself questioning whether I had any talent at all.
From Rejection to Reinvention
Then came the pivotal moment—or more like, a conversation that gently knocked me sideways. A close friend, one of those no-nonsense types who doesn’t sugarcoat the truth, finally said: “Yuan, people don’t connect with your stories because they’re not connecting with you. Who are these perfect heroines with flawless calligraphy and tragic fates? Where’s the messy Yuan I know?”
She might as well have doused me with ice water. I realized I’d been so obsessed with crafting a “literary masterpiece” that I’d forgotten the golden rule of storytelling: authenticity. The Yuan who ate instant noodles at 2 a.m. while debating whether or not to text her ex? She wasn’t in those pages. Neither was the Yuan who grew up squeezed between two worlds, torn between traditional family expectations and her own desires.
So, I did something terrifying: I scrapped everything. I tossed my manuscript into a metaphorical bonfire and started fresh. This time, I wrote about love and failure from the rawest, truest part of myself—the part that had been bruised by rejection but wasn’t ready to quit. And somewhere between rewriting my characters and rewriting myself, I began to fall in love with storytelling all over again.
Lessons From the Flames
As painful as it was, that failure reshaped me. And while I hope your personal “faceplant” moment doesn’t involve as much crying or 3 a.m. self-doubt, here are a few lessons I hope you can take away from my stumble:
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Failure Isn’t Fatal
If you’re scared to fail, think of it as an inevitable step rather than the end of the line. Every great chef burns a dish, every artist paints an ugly canvas, and every dater sends a cringeworthy text or two (guilty!). Failing means you’re trying, and trying is step one toward growth. -
Get Messy With It
People connect with what’s real—whether it’s telling your story, building relationships, or even tackling a project at work. Make space for your flaws, doubts, and quirks instead of hiding them away. The cracks are where the magic happens. -
Find Your Person (or People)
Whether it’s a blunt friend who tells you when you’re off track or a partner who reminds you of your strengths, having a cheerleader in your corner makes resilience so much easier. Sometimes, we need someone to point out that falling down doesn’t mean we can’t get back up.
Rising Taller
After many rewrites and recalibrations, I eventually published my first novel. It wasn’t perfect—readers even pointed out a typo on page 122 (cue mortified laugh)—but it carried pieces of me I’d been too scared to share before. More importantly, it connected. The emails I received from readers, some sharing their own struggles with love and tradition, are still bookmarked in my mind.
Looking back, I don’t regret that year of rejection. If anything, I’m grateful for it. It stripped away the illusions I had about overnight success, forced me to confront my insecurities, and gave me a backbone I didn’t know I had.
The next time life throws me down a metaphorical staircase, I’ll remember: falling flat isn’t the end. It’s a chance to rise taller, wiser, and with maybe just the tiniest smirk ready for the next challenge.
So, here’s to failure—messy, unglamorous, utterly human—and to the resilience we build because of it.
