Braving the Storm: Owning My Failure and Finding Resilience

Failure isn’t something we like to talk about, much less put into words for the world to see. It feels personal, raw, and exposing, but sometimes, the only way to heal is by facing it head-on. Recently, I’ve had to do just that.

For the past several months, I poured my energy, heart, and a significant amount of money—into a small poultry business. I had plans, hope, and a vision of growing it into something sustainable. But in an unexpected twist, my business was struck by sudden death syndrome, a condition that wiped out most of my chickens. Just like that, everything I’d invested and built was gone. Zero sales. Zero returns. I was left with a painful financial loss, broken dreams, and a heavy heart.

Sudden death syndrome is a condition that can hit poultry farms without warning. It’s one of those uncontrollable factors that, no matter how well-prepared you are, can strike unexpectedly. When it happened, I went through a whirlwind of emotions—frustration, sadness, and even guilt. I questioned what I could’ve done differently, but in truth, there was no way to prevent it. Nature, as we often forget, doesn’t always play fair.

Admitting this failure is challenging. Most of us are taught to celebrate wins and keep quiet about losses. But my experience has taught me that hiding from failure only adds to its power. By acknowledging it openly, I’m learning to take back some control, to say, “Yes, this happened. Yes, I’m hurt. But I’m also determined not to let this define me.”

Losing a little over R10 000 may not sound monumental to some, but for me, it was everything I had. It’s money I worked hard to save from my previous sales, money I invested in the hope of building a future. Now, that future feels uncertain, and I’m left with a financial strain I didn’t foresee. Being broke, hurt, and feeling dry—it’s a reality that’s hard to face and even harder to admit. I constantly find myself praying, searching for the strength to keep going despite feeling utterly drained.

This loss has brought an intense emotional toll. When you put your heart and soul into something, only to see it crumble, the disappointment is almost paralyzing. I’ve felt waves of self-doubt and guilt for not somehow seeing this coming or protecting my investment better. And yet, I know that some things are simply beyond our control. Learning to accept that has been an incredibly painful but necessary lesson.

Talking about failure isn’t easy. Society often praises resilience but leaves little room for the reality of stumbling. Still, I’m learning that admitting when things go wrong doesn’t make me weak; it makes me brave. It’s about owning every part of my journey, not just the highlights. There is strength in honesty, in saying, “This hurts, but it won’t break me.”

Resilience, I’ve discovered, is more than just bouncing back; it’s the choice to keep moving forward even when everything in you wants to stop. This setback, though painful, is forcing me to redefine what success and resilience mean to me. It’s helping me realize that sometimes strength isn’t found in the absence of failure but in our willingness to face it, learn from it, and keep pushing.

Right now, I’m taking it day by day. I’m reflecting on what I can do differently moving forward, trying to find ways to rebuild despite my financial situation. And while it’s tempting to feel defeated, there’s a greater part of me that remains hopeful. I don’t have a clear path forward, but I know that I’m not willing to let this be the end of my story.

For anyone reading this who’s faced a similar setback, know that you’re not alone. There’s a kind of power that comes from owning our failures, even when they’re raw and painful. Talking about them doesn’t diminish who we are; if anything, it gives us a sense of freedom.

So here I am, broken but brave. I’m sharing my story not because I have it all figured out, but because I believe that even in our lowest moments, there’s a chance to rise. Today, I’m picking up the pieces. I’m holding onto hope and resilience, trusting that I can, and will, find a way forward.

One day, when I look back on this chapter, I hope to see it as the moment that taught me the strength of vulnerability and the courage it takes to keep moving forward. Until then, I’m embracing this journey, all of it—the struggles, the failures, and, hopefully, the eventual triumphs.