By Jo

I always seem to mention that failure is one of my biggest fears.

But here's the funny part...

When I actually experience failure, I don't quit.

I lock in.

Failure gives me perspective. It forces me to look at the bigger picture, think more critically, appreciate how far I've come, and figure out what needs to change.

It's almost like a video game.

You can spend hours leveling up, collecting experience, upgrading your skills, and doing everything you can to become the best player possible. Then you hit a boss you can't beat.

That's not the end of the game.

That's reconnaissance.

Now you know what you're up against.

You know what doesn't work.

You know what needs to improve.

And maybe you discover that the path you were taking wasn't even the best path to begin with.

Should it take failure to make me slow down and appreciate the journey?

Probably not.

But based on how I was raised and what was instilled in me, sometimes that's what it takes.

And I'm not saying that's healthy or necessary for everybody. I'm saying that's what I've learned about myself.

One of my mentors has a mindset that has stuck with me:

If you're going to fail, fail fast.

Don't spend years protecting yourself from failure only to discover that you never gave yourself a chance to learn from it.

Think about learning how to swim.

Someone can explain breathing techniques, kicking, and how to move your arms, but eventually you have to get in the water.

You might panic.

You might struggle.

You might need a lifeline.

But eventually, you learn how to stay afloat.

Driving is the same way.

Someone can explain how to operate a vehicle, but experience teaches you things instructions simply can't.

Riding a bike?

Same thing.

I can explain balance to you all day, but eventually you have to get on the bike.

Experience is the teacher.

Failure is no different.

Every setback gives you information that success sometimes refuses to provide.

So don't be afraid to fail.

Be afraid of never trying because you were too concerned about what failure might look like.

The real question isn't whether you will fail.

You probably will.

The real question is:

When failure knocks you down, will you say, "I'm good" or will you get back up and keep going?

Because failure isn't the finish line.

Sometimes it's the checkpoint you needed to reach the next level.

Keep going.

If you’ve ever played an RPG or role-playing game, there’s usually a character called “the tank.” The tank absorbs most of the damage, so the rest of the party doesn’t have to.

That role lets the less durable characters focus on their skills and actually win the fights. When the team works well together, the tank is essential. But when the tank gets left hanging without support, everyone dies.

Although “the tank” started as a gaming idea, real-life tanks are everywhere. They’re the friend or family member people go to with their problems. The ones who always seem to be there. The people you rely on daily just to get through.

These real-life tanks are real. They are not indestructible.

People can carry the weight of those around them for years—sometimes a lifetime—without fully seeing how it wears on them. The constant pressure of being the reliable one builds up. Over time it can turn into quiet resentment, the kind that surfaces in the worst moments when communication has already broken down.

That resentment isn’t a character flaw. It’s a reflection of being human, not superhuman—the version of yourself you wish you could be, or the one others have decided you are.

If you often feel like you’re carrying the load for the people around you, it’s worth taking inventory of that. Eventually even the “tankiest” of us hits the wall. The old question finally gets answered: What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? There’s always a final boss out there somewhere.

Being the tank in someone’s life means you care. Just don’t forget you can’t keep helping others if you’re no longer able to help yourself.