“Complete disaster” doesn’t even begin to cover it. Picture this: I’m 19, wide-eyed and slightly overconfident, walking into my first major journalism internship at a Spanish-language media outlet. I have the determination of an underdog in a telenovela but none of the finesse. It’s as if life handed me the mic, and instead of delivering a killer monologue, I tripped over the wires. Spoiler alert: My first big professional failure would arrive before the printer ink on my college transcript was dry.
But let’s rewind and set the scene properly.
When Hustle Meets Humble Pie
The summer after my sophomore year of college, I landed my dream gig: an internship at a major media company covering the heartbeat of Houston’s Latinx culture. I had hardcore imposter syndrome, sure, but I also had my secret weapon—an upbringing filled with storytelling. My abuelo spinning tales about Cuban politics, my mom recalling her cross-border adventures between Tamaulipas and Texas—it all prepared me for this moment. Or so I thought.
On my first big assignment, I interviewed local vendors at a beloved East End festival. I showed up armed with a spiral notebook, my dad’s hand-me-down digital recorder, and a mountain of enthusiasm. What I didn’t have? Experience. Rookie mistakes came at me like cumbia beats at a quinceañera—fast and relentless.
That Time I Forgot to Hit Record
Yes, dear reader, it happened. I committed the cardinal sin of journalism: I forgot to hit record during the interview. Twice. I was mid-conversation with a truly fascinating florist who had turned her garage into a full-blown flower studio. She told me about her dusty journey through border towns, how she built her business despite navigating cultural differences, and how floral arrangements became her love language.
I nodded along, scribbled some notes in my trusty spiral, and walked away feeling like Christiane Amanpour. The problem? My recorder was off the entire time. So, I had two options: admit my mistake or try and cobble together a half-baked article from memory. Being young and stubborn, I chose the latter. Let me tell you, the butchered version of her story I turned in was about as satisfying as stale pan dulce—and my editor let me know it, in the most soul-crushingly polite way.
The Fall-Out
When the piece ran, it lacked the magic woven into my florist’s narrative. The article fell flat, and I knew it. So did the florist, who kindly pointed out (via an email that will forever haunt me) that I misquoted her in multiple places. My editor noticed too. Cue the dreaded "we need to talk" meeting.
Sitting across a desk lined with plaques and photos of award-winning articles, I braced myself for the professional chewing-out I obviously deserved. Instead, my editor cut straight to the point:
“Journalism isn’t just about writing, Ileana. It’s about trust. Mess up the facts, and you lose that.”
Ouch. I left her office with my confidence bruised and my mascara smudged from trying not to cry. I spent the rest of the day on a shaky chair in the breakroom, questioning my life choices while eating a concha I didn’t even taste. If this was resilience, it sure wasn’t Instagram-worthy.
Rebuilding from the Rubble
But here’s the plot twist—what felt like failure was really just the beginning of my bounce-back era. I had to ask myself some hard questions: Why was I so afraid to admit I’d screwed up? Was I even cut out for this? And most importantly, why hadn’t I double-checked that recorder button?
Soon enough, I figured out that failure is like a dance partner who steps on your toes—it’s awkward, painful, and entirely necessary if you plan to waltz your way to success. Once I worked through the sting of my mistakes, I came away with some crucial lessons that shaped me not just as a writer, but as a human being.
What I Learned and How It Applies to Basically Everything
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Own Your Screw-Ups
Look, we’re human. Whether it’s fumbling an interview or picking the wrong person on date three (been there), admitting your mess-ups is the first step to getting better. The florist deserved my honesty, and if I had been upfront, I bet she’d have let me re-interview her with empathy rather than side-eye. -
Preparation > Improvisation
Thinking you can wing it sounds fun until it isn’t. Now, I triple-check my equipment and meticulously outline my interview questions. In dating terms, it’s like putting thought into what you’ll say when “So, what’re you looking for?” comes up—not scripting it, but not leaving it to chance either. -
Bounce Back with Intention
Resilience isn’t about blindly pushing forward; it’s about learning, refining, and showing up better next time. Forget ghosting—address what went wrong, whether it’s a botched work project or a tense conversation with your boo, and find ways to rebuild. -
Be Kind to Yourself
Cutting yourself some slack after a major flop isn’t self-indulgent—it’s survival. After my florist fiasco, I spent days beating myself up. Now I know that reflection without unnecessary self-criticism is key to turning failure into growth.
Zooming Out: Failure in the Big Picture
If you stayed up all night rehashing a breakup text thread or misinterpreted your partner’s intentions on this week’s date night, take heart: failure isn’t the end. It’s the middle. That internship debacle didn’t just teach me the importance of humility and professionalism—it also gave me the grit to tell stories from the heart. The same grit I needed to pen my short story collection or nurture my relationships.
And here’s the kicker: That editor? We stayed in touch, and years later, she recommended me for a freelance gig. What I thought would be the final chapter of my media journey turned out to be just the rough drafts.
The Encouraging Takeaway
Messing up means you’re trying—and trying means you’re growing. Whether you’re figuring out how to balance vulnerability with confidence in a relationship or rebuilding after a professional setback, remember, failure isn’t a full stop. It’s a comma. A chance to pause, breathe, and continue the story, just a little wiser than before.
Oh, and if you’re still wondering: I now double-check all my recording devices. Every. Single. Time.
