I listened to the audiobook Failing Forward by John Maxwell. I’m staring down consequences — legal, professional, personal — for choices I made, and it feels like I’ve wrecked so much. But Maxwell’s central idea was right on: “The difference between average people and achieving people is their perception of, and response to, failure.”
For the past several years, failure felt like my whole story. But what this book confirmed to me that maybe this failure isn’t the end. Maybe it’s a turning point — not something to hide from, but something I can walk through, and come out better on the other side.
Maxwell doesn’t pretend that failure doesn’t hurt. He talks about it plainly. But what he drives home over and over is this: failure isn’t falling down. It’s staying down and not coming back. Exactly my mindset recently. For too long, I had been sitting in a kind of shame coma — just stuck in toxic shame. Immobilized by regret, guilt, fear about what’s next, and hiding from the truth of what I had done. But if I take this seriously, if I believe that failure is a process, not a person… then maybe I’m not done. Maybe I’m just getting started. Yes, I messed up, but I am not a failure!
One part of the book that stood out was when Maxwell talks about people who bounce forward instead of breaking down. He lists seven qualities they share, and one of them is this: they reject rejection. I believe this now. But before, as much as I had said I believe in grace and redemption, I hadn’t actually let myself off the hook. I had been living like I was disqualified — like I forfeited my right to hope. But what I have been doing more recently isn’t to just face what I’ve done… but I stopped defining myself by it.
Another part that felt tailor-made for me was the idea that failure is an inside job. That failure becomes toxic not when it happens, but when it gets in you. I’ve been letting it eat away at my identity. I’ve looked at the broken trust with my kids, my license being at risk, the criminal case, and I’ve internalized it as I am a failure. But the truth is: I failed. And now I get to decide what comes next.
He writes, “If you’re not failing, you’re probably not really moving forward.” I love that. Because I’ve been trying to live safe lately — scared to dream again, scared to try something new, scared I’ll mess it all up again. But growth requires risk. Rebuilding my life, relationships, and career means stepping into spaces where I might stumble again. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. That’s why I went to the Life Coach Training Workshop all weekend!
One story from the book that really stuck with me was about Beck Weathers, who was left for dead on Mt. Everest and somehow found his way back down. He lost parts of his body. But he survived. And he rebuilt his life. That’s the kind of perseverance I want. Not superhuman. Just one decision at a time to keep walking, even when it feels impossible.
I really appreciated how many of the principles in this book connect to my faith. Like when Maxwell talks about the hardest person to forgive being yourself. That’s me. I believe God has forgiven me. I even believe others already have or eventually might. But I’m still in the cage I built for myself. And that’s the next step in “failing forward” — not just learning from the fall, but letting go of the shame that’s keeping me from rising, keeps me from fully forgiving myself.
My Takeaways:
Failing is part of the process — not a sign that I’m a failure.
Forgiving myself is probably the biggest hurdle I face right now.
I don’t need to have it all figured out to move forward — I just need to act, even while I’m still afraid, and take positive action.
I need to be teachable. Not defensive. Not stuck. But willing to learn from anyone and anything — especially my own mistakes.
Legacy isn’t about perfection. It’s about whether I kept going, whether I changed, whether I did the work to be and do better.
Maxwell challenges readers at the end to pick one principle and live it out today. For me, that principle is: I am not my worst failure. That might sound simple, but I had been living like I was. I’ve let it define my worth and my future. But if I believe what I say I believe — about grace, about healing, about God redeeming all things — then I need to fully live that out.
So here I am. Broken, yes. But also, still in the game. Still showing up, growing, changing, building. Still writing the story. And definitely, failing forward.
