An important lesson in failing well

Between taking the exam and receiving the result, I had to navigate a gush of emotions, so many threads of previous emotions that had to be rewoven. Representation pic/istock

Does the body store the remnants of unprocessed emotion in one site or are they distributed unequally across its expanse, tucked between pores, nudged in the interstices between bone and flesh, wedged between rib and lung, stomach and intestine? Do they lie submerged in blood only to rise like tidal waves when the moon is full? Watching a clip from a promo for a Reality TV show, Couples Therapy (2019), I related with an Asian man, one half of a couple that had chosen to wash their laundry in public, guided by the lead therapist, Dr Orna Guralnik. It would seem his biggest problem was the absence of feeling - the inability for him to register emotion. Orna asked him if he could remember ‘the thread' of a feeling. This term endeared itself to me. Maybe this is how the remnants sit inside us, as threads of feeling, frayed and loose, like an overworn T-shirt whose hem has long since come undone but the fabric still somehow holds.

As I was trying to process my anxiety around taking the B2 level bilingual exam, even though I had, in theory, made my peace with failing, I realised that the whole situation was bringing up unresolved trauma around the desire to overperform - an extension of people pleasing. When I was in school, failing was met with severe disapproval from everyone - from parents to teachers to other students. I remember distinctly a moment in the sixth standard when I was told I failed a Math exam. I felt so ashamed - even though I knew I hadn't done well in the test. The result wasn't surprising to me, but the reality of it, and having to share the news with my family, was enough to crush me. I remember even the first time I got a B grade during my post-graduation studies at JNU. It felt like a shock to my system because I was otherwise accustomed to getting some variation of an A-plus or minus on my assignments and exams. Even though there was no one around me to admonish me, I had internalised my past admonishers. I felt answerable to them, even though they were only spectres within my brain.

Preparing for the B2 level bilingual exam unravelled all of these memories. I had chosen to take this exam, and it is not mandated in any way. After my hospitalisation in November, I felt like I was forgetting all the Italian I had learned. I frequently felt that with this particular language, I kept going in loops… achieving some degree of proficiency, then losing it because I wasn't practising the language. Registering to take the exam was a way to motivate myself to study. I was under the illusion that it would take months before I would get a date. Unfortunately, that was not the case. I could only defer the date once, which I had to do anyway because it interfered with my teaching schedule at the university. This meant that on Tuesday, I had to give this exam. If I didn't show up, I would be banned from registering for another six months.

It was a silly enterprise to have begun with. Our tiniest is just three months old, and this ‘fourth trimester' period is the hardest, because it's impossible to find the time to focus. Despite that, I started work three weeks postpartum and the whole of May was teaching at the university. A week before the test, I was on vacation, which, if you are a toddler mum with an infant, is both relaxing and exhausting at the same time. On the morning of the exam, I managed to get into a zen-enough headspace. It was not easy, the test, and I felt quite unsure about passing. But when I walked out of the room and met my partner, who was taking care of our infant, I told him I was proud of myself, no matter what the outcome.

Yesterday, just as I was arriving at the Tramin swimming pool to catch up with him and our toddler, a notification appeared with the result. I had indeed failed. I was neither surprised nor disappointed. Instead, I felt relieved. I was happy this was behind me, and that, despite having failed, I had, once again, made many strides with both languages. It's more than most people here accomplish within a five-year span. I went through the result and found I had failed by seven points. I could be disappointed that I didn't scrape through, but I felt instinctively that if I were to pass, I would like for it to be like during the B1 level - passing with flying colours and not barely making it. Still, between taking the exam and receiving the result, I had to navigate a gush of emotions, so many threads of previous emotions that had to be rewoven.

I've no regrets about taking it, but I will confess, I am still learning how to own this failure without retreating into shame… to see it as something to be proud of. It helped that seconds after I had seen the result, I saw my toddler looking at me arriving at the pool. His face lit up. Suddenly, the only emotion I felt was deep maternal pride. It's true what they say, being around children really puts life into perspective.

Deliberating on the life and times of every woman, Rosalyn D'Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She posts @rosad1985 on Instagram
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