And then, suddenly, it's ok again. Until, of course, something or someone reminds you of that failure. It can be running into a former colleague who asks what happened to you at work, or someone mentioning your former supposed soul mate. Or it can be an anniversary.
Today is one of those days for me. Yes, it's Pearl Harbor Day. And it's the anniversary of a Huge Personal Failure. If the HPF had happened some other, random day, it might not feel quite so bad and I might be farther along the path to healing than I am. It's been seven years, after all, and in most respects I'm in a good place in my life. "Comfortable in my skin" as the French would say (well, ok, they'd say bien dans ma peau). And there are other HPF's that have happened but those were on random days that don't have hoopla or ceremony attached.
So today, while others are remembering the events of 71 years ago (and I have a friend who was there, in Hawaii, near the naval base, back then) I'm remembering my HPF and repeating "I'm not a failure... I'm not a failure... I'm not a failure". And tomorrow, I'll be ok.