High-FFs (as I call those with a high fear of failure in What’s Stopping You?) are the opposite to High-AMs (those with high achievement motivation) and they have a major problem when it comes to management. But also a major opportunity.
Their High-FF status is likely to have dogged them all the way up the organisation, so High-FFs that have not dealt with their insecurities will rarely make it to the top. Yet, from sheer longevity, many will make it to management positions that require leadership skills.
The question is – will they exercise those skills based on their faulty reactions to the “neural hijackings” many High-FFs suffer from when their fears are triggered (making them defensive and paranoid)? Or will they “step through the mirror” and develop a strong understanding – based on their experiences on the way up – of the potential insecurities of their team? An understanding, what’s more, that will make them an “inspiring” leader in the modern office.
Certainly, High-FF leadership can seem like a contradiction in terms. Our fears mean we distrust those both above and below us in the hierarchy and we can make poor judgements based on our insecurities. Our creativity (a strong High-FF trait) will be switched towards defensiveness, which will curtail the team’s growth, make us a reactive manager and a suspicious hirer. Unenlightened High-FFs, it seems, cannot take instruction from above or lead the team below.
Yet leadership is possible for the “recovering” (there is no final victory – fear of failure is a hardwired condition from early childhood) High-FF as long as we are prepared to accept who we are – including our faulty wiring – and externalise and depersonalize our experiences.
Leadership is no more than goal achievement for a group of individuals, so if we are fully onboard with those goals – if they are our goals – then leadership is no more than the recruitment of others in pursuit of our goals. Of course, this is a fantastic turnaround for High-FFs more used to being recruited by others to help pursue their goals.
And, luckily, modern leadership is moving the way of the High-FF – as long as they can learn from their experiences. Most people now work in the knowledge economy. This is the world of the office or studio and it involves people who possess both skills and choices. Productivity is the modern economy involves qualitative measurements such as creativity, thought leadership, analysis and mental processing. And this requires workers who are emotionally – as well as intellectually – capable of performing such tasks. It also requires leaders who can motivate workers through emotional awareness and intelligence: traits High-FFs usually have in abundance.
Yet our self-obsession may prevent us from seeing that, as High-FFs, our previous weaknesses – of being too emotional, too sensitive, of being overly concerned with not losing face, of giving too much credence to external opinions – becomes our strengths. To lead, however, we must externalise these experiences and see it from the viewpoint of those we manage.
Our ability to empathise with the emotional needs of others is crucial in the modern world of work – an essential building block in business leadership that underlies our ability to be a mentor and to navigate sometimes conflicting workplace personalities.
A key point is that the people we lead are at least as important as the people we follow, despite their lower position in the hierarchy. And this means that – just for once – our insecurities as High-FFs, where we are so often concerned about what people think of us or how we are being perceived, is on-the-money when it comes to leadership.
Those with achievement motivation (High-AMs), meanwhile, are clueless. In what’s known in management circles as the “paradox of success” problem leadership behaviours can include, ironically, “winning too much”, which makes us trample over others, “adding too much value”, which prevents others getting any credit, “passing judgement”, which means offering opinions rather than listening, “being straight talking” which means making destructive comments and being too critical, and “telling the world how smart we are”, rather than offering praise to others.
These are all traits that High-AMs have used to get to the top. Now there, however, they can alienate the team below and destroy confidence, creativity, optimism and, ultimately, loyalty. Little wonder that so many High-AMs, when made the boss, simply keep going: acquiring companies, becoming corporate raiders, throwing themselves into maniacal deal-doing and even becoming crooks. Anything but nurture the team beneath them.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Edward Stobart: gentleman trucker, High-FF
Edward Stobart died on March 31st, aged just 56. Britain’s become used to lauding the attributes of its famous entrepreneurs – from James Dyson to Richard Branson to Peter Jones. Yet Stobart – despite his ubiquitous trucks on the UK’s motorway network – died as something of an unknown. Even the lorries carry his father’s name – Eddie – although it was Edward that turned it into the country’s most famous trucking brand.
From the excellent obituary of him in a recent Economist, I think I’ve worked out why. Unlike his contemporary entrepreneurs – who effuse the confidence and chutzpah and sheer certainty that the image of the entrepreneur (incorrectly) insists is a requirement for success – Edward Stobart, in my view, appeared to suffer from fear of failure.
I’m only going on the obituary – so this could well be wide of the mark – but here’s my evidence that Edward Stobart was, indeed, a High-FF (as I call those with a high fear of failure in What’s Stopping You?):
• He had a stammer, brought about by a traumatic childhood event – in his case a fall through a roof. As I write in What’s Stopping You? and recently on this blog, traumatic childhood events can induce a mild form of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) that generates a fearful response from tangentially-similar incidents in adulthood. And while a fall through a roof is not the usual public humiliation for triggering fear of failure, the resultant stammer is a classic fear-triggered response.
• No matter how large the business became, the persona of Eddie Stobart Ltd was through the trucks rather than himself. Mostly, he was the man eating egg and chips in the lorry-park café, with his fellow diners oblivious to the fact he was by far the most famous name in UK haulage (non-UK readers may be amazed to learn that “spot the Eddie Stobart truck” is now a more popular children’s travel game than eye-spy, or that there are more than 25,000 registered “spotters”, with many times that number unregistered).
• Stobart was always polite and always smart but he shied away from meeting strangers – a trait which prevented a public flotation of the company until after he sold his majority stake to his brother. My guess (and it is only a guess) was that he distrusted financial advisers and shareholders – perhaps fearing that their intrusion would reveal his personally-perceived (but deeply-held) self-belief in his own inadequacies.
• Trust was certainly an issue. As a child he showed entrepreneurial flair but kept all his savings in his trouser pocket. And he forced upon his drivers a rigid dress and conduct code (including wearing ties – something unheard of in the oil-n-nicotine stained trucking community). In fact his lack of trust in his workforce went as far as washing many of the trucks himself.
• Of course, both the tie wearing and manual truck-washing may suggest – not distrust – but a strong desire to project an upright professional image in a world renowned for sloppiness and poor manners. Such a desire to over-compensate can of course, be based on perceived insecurities regarding how the world might judge him or his brand.
• Indeed, he confessed that a lot of the brand’s power was down to image. He “didn’t hesitate to lie about how many lorries he had,” stated The Economist obituary. Again, this could show chutzpah but could equally reveal deeply-held feelings of inadequacy – as The Economist writes: “With his stammer, it was much easier to say, ‘no problem’ than to start picking difficulties.”
• Stobart’s first job, at 14, was on a JCB – planting roadsigns on the new M6 motorway. Apparently, he preferred spotting these to his own lorries. And he claimed they were both 10-feet high and 10-feet deep, which both The Economist thought and I think an apt analogy for the quiet man of trucking.
From the excellent obituary of him in a recent Economist, I think I’ve worked out why. Unlike his contemporary entrepreneurs – who effuse the confidence and chutzpah and sheer certainty that the image of the entrepreneur (incorrectly) insists is a requirement for success – Edward Stobart, in my view, appeared to suffer from fear of failure.
I’m only going on the obituary – so this could well be wide of the mark – but here’s my evidence that Edward Stobart was, indeed, a High-FF (as I call those with a high fear of failure in What’s Stopping You?):
• He had a stammer, brought about by a traumatic childhood event – in his case a fall through a roof. As I write in What’s Stopping You? and recently on this blog, traumatic childhood events can induce a mild form of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) that generates a fearful response from tangentially-similar incidents in adulthood. And while a fall through a roof is not the usual public humiliation for triggering fear of failure, the resultant stammer is a classic fear-triggered response.
• No matter how large the business became, the persona of Eddie Stobart Ltd was through the trucks rather than himself. Mostly, he was the man eating egg and chips in the lorry-park café, with his fellow diners oblivious to the fact he was by far the most famous name in UK haulage (non-UK readers may be amazed to learn that “spot the Eddie Stobart truck” is now a more popular children’s travel game than eye-spy, or that there are more than 25,000 registered “spotters”, with many times that number unregistered).
• Stobart was always polite and always smart but he shied away from meeting strangers – a trait which prevented a public flotation of the company until after he sold his majority stake to his brother. My guess (and it is only a guess) was that he distrusted financial advisers and shareholders – perhaps fearing that their intrusion would reveal his personally-perceived (but deeply-held) self-belief in his own inadequacies.
• Trust was certainly an issue. As a child he showed entrepreneurial flair but kept all his savings in his trouser pocket. And he forced upon his drivers a rigid dress and conduct code (including wearing ties – something unheard of in the oil-n-nicotine stained trucking community). In fact his lack of trust in his workforce went as far as washing many of the trucks himself.
• Of course, both the tie wearing and manual truck-washing may suggest – not distrust – but a strong desire to project an upright professional image in a world renowned for sloppiness and poor manners. Such a desire to over-compensate can of course, be based on perceived insecurities regarding how the world might judge him or his brand.
• Indeed, he confessed that a lot of the brand’s power was down to image. He “didn’t hesitate to lie about how many lorries he had,” stated The Economist obituary. Again, this could show chutzpah but could equally reveal deeply-held feelings of inadequacy – as The Economist writes: “With his stammer, it was much easier to say, ‘no problem’ than to start picking difficulties.”
• Stobart’s first job, at 14, was on a JCB – planting roadsigns on the new M6 motorway. Apparently, he preferred spotting these to his own lorries. And he claimed they were both 10-feet high and 10-feet deep, which both The Economist thought and I think an apt analogy for the quiet man of trucking.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
When it comes to enterprise, take it slow and steady
The following article has appeared in the latest edition (Spring) of the
RSA Journal, the house magazine of the RSA.
Slow and Steady . . .
Robert Kelsey argues that, far from being restricted to the privileged few, entrepreneurial opportunities abound in all walks of life
The coalition government believes that private-sector employment can replace the jobs being lost in the public sector, with start-up businesses being hailed as crucial contributors in this respect. At a time of continued economic uncertainty, however, can we really expect people from all social groups to embrace enterprise? Indeed, couldn’t it be considered socially irresponsible to encourage economically vulnerable people to bet their meagre life savings on a venture?
Yet for those facing social exclusion, entrepreneurship is potentially a liberating career choice. Surveys of UK entrepreneurs, such as recent research by data analysts Experian, show that ethnic minorities (including the Irish) and those with learning difficulties such as dyslexia are over-represented. This suggests that entrepreneurship is a naturally effective equal-opportunities arena, perhaps even counterbalancing ingrained prejudice in more formal working environments.
“The wish to overcome prejudice is a key reason why many people start out on their own,” says RSA Fellowship Council member Emma Jones, head of small-business support initiative Enterprise Nation. “Running your own business is fantastically meritocratic. It is also flexible in ways that employment simply cannot be, hence the large number of young mums starting businesses.”
Exclusion concerns do, of course, exist among budding entrepreneurs but they go beyond ethnic, gender, age and ability divides. This is creating a new kind of social gap: between people with high fear of failure (whom I call ‘High-FFs’) and their opposites, those with high achievement motivation (‘High-AMs’).
Fear of failure is a condition from which millions suffer, irrespective of gender, class, ethnicity or age. High-FFs approach tasks expecting failure and dreading the potential for public humiliation that such failure brings. This leads them to employ avoidance techniques that, ultimately, confirm their negative predictions. While many would love to start a business – often because they feel overlooked or belittled in their current situation – they are afraid of the risks involved, making fear of failure both a debilitating and self-fulfilling affliction.
TV programmes such as BBC’s Dragons’ Den don’t help. This is behind-the-sofa viewing for most High-FF would-be entrepreneurs, whose resolve to start a business is likely to be eroded with every public roasting from a ‘Dragon’. The steely traits that form the public image of the Dragons are a long way from those of the typical High-FF.
Like the Dragons, successful entrepreneurs create their own mythology. For instance, in his book The Beermat Entrepreneur, start-up guru Mike Southon writes: “Entrepreneurs are confident. They are born optimists: they simply know they can do it. Entrepreneurs are also charismatic. They inspire people…they have optimism to spare. Entrepreneurs are also arrogant. They know they are good.”
Yet entrepreneurialism has nothing to do with hardwired personality traits. Like so many other celebrity entrepreneurs, Southon is describing himself, while conveying an image of entrepreneurship that is overly aggressive, short-sighted and unfair, not least because it alienates – and therefore excludes – so many potential entrepreneurs.
A recent survey, presented at the UK launch of Global Entrepreneurship Week, revealed that about 50% of the UK population are considering becoming their own boss, yet only 5% are doing something about it. So what’s stopping the other 45%? Partly fear of the risks and costs associated with starting a new business, and partly fear that they do not fit the stereotype of the ‘maverick’ entrepreneur.
Emma Jones points out that most budding entrepreneurs are simply looking for freedom and flexibility in their working life. The typical small-business owner, she says, is a “mum who starts a business to earn extra money for the household while still being able to do the school run”. She adds: “This is a long way from the defy-all-odds swashbuckling heroes who are most associated with entrepreneurship.”
So what can be done? Support mechanisms such as Enterprise Nation are a start, but what about funding? Fear of the financial consequences of failure is a key barrier, making the reintroduction of the Thatcher-era Enterprise Allowance Scheme for the unemployed a strong move.
Yet many people overestimate the financial requirements for a start-up enterprise. Jones says that the best way to start a business is modestly: through cautious planning and by sticking to a strict budget, perhaps while working from home or, at least at first, continuing with the day job.
This is a crucial message. In some ways, too much funding can actually disadvantage entrepreneurs in the early stages of their venture. Grants, for instance, can create unnecessary and potentially fear-inducing liabilities, such as forcing a start-up to operate at a higher level than its income comfortably allows, thereby saddling it with unaffordable costs once the grant has been spent.
An effective alternative is self-financing, and especially ‘bootstrapping’, which involves entrepreneurs – especially nervous ones – starting small and staying within their means. Fred DeLuca, founder of sandwich chain Subway, began with an investment of US$1,000 (£750) and bootstrapped his way to a fortune. He relied on cash flow to expand and never over-extended himself through debt or equity, both of which bring external obligations that can increase both the risk and the fear.
“Just because it is small doesn’t mean the business can’t grow,” writes DeLuca in his book Start Small, Finish Big. “And, while it is small, you will have the time to learn the lessons that are essential to your future success.”
Such sentiments certainly undermine any notions of inequality when it comes to succeeding as an entrepreneur: quite the opposite. Indeed, fearful people of modest means are just as well suited to entrepreneurship as their bolder, more affluent counterparts. They may even be more so, given the need for start-ups to be grounded and sustainable, rather than overnight sensations.
Entrepreneurship can be isolating, however, which can compound fears, erode resolve and increase the failure rate. At Metrocube (an early noughties incubator for dotcom start-ups where I was CEO), our aim was to get would-be entrepreneurs out of their bedrooms and into a community environment where they could swap ideas and favours with a network of like-minded individuals. Fostering camaraderie is also one of the goals at the heart of Enterprise Nation and other collegiate initiatives such as the Institute of Entrepreneurs, run by RSA chairman Luke Johnson.
Networks offer more than just advice and resources. While these are helpful, it is the shared concerns and sense of fellowship that are vital to the lonely entrepreneur, especially if his or her own socio-economic grouping is under-represented in entrepreneurial circles. Mentoring can also be valuable, although care is needed when trying to impose formal structures on individuals who may just be looking for shared experiences, occasional guidance and – most importantly – a network.
Networks, however, are only part of the answer. More importantly, the image of entrepreneurship needs to change so that it encourages both the cautious and the fearful, proving that this most meritocratic of economic sectors is open to all.
Robert Kelsey FRSA is a businessman and author
Robert Kelsey’s book, What’s Stopping You? Why Smart People Don’t Always Reach Their Potential, and How You Can will be published by Capstone/Wiley in April 2011
[pull quote] Entrepreneurialism has nothing to do with hardwired personality traits
[call to action] The RSA’s Social Entrepreneurs Network provides a source of support and advice to Fellows interested in social enterprise. Join in the discussion at www.RSAfellowship.com/group/socialentrepreneursnetwork
RSA Journal, the house magazine of the RSA.
Slow and Steady . . .
Robert Kelsey argues that, far from being restricted to the privileged few, entrepreneurial opportunities abound in all walks of life
The coalition government believes that private-sector employment can replace the jobs being lost in the public sector, with start-up businesses being hailed as crucial contributors in this respect. At a time of continued economic uncertainty, however, can we really expect people from all social groups to embrace enterprise? Indeed, couldn’t it be considered socially irresponsible to encourage economically vulnerable people to bet their meagre life savings on a venture?
Yet for those facing social exclusion, entrepreneurship is potentially a liberating career choice. Surveys of UK entrepreneurs, such as recent research by data analysts Experian, show that ethnic minorities (including the Irish) and those with learning difficulties such as dyslexia are over-represented. This suggests that entrepreneurship is a naturally effective equal-opportunities arena, perhaps even counterbalancing ingrained prejudice in more formal working environments.
“The wish to overcome prejudice is a key reason why many people start out on their own,” says RSA Fellowship Council member Emma Jones, head of small-business support initiative Enterprise Nation. “Running your own business is fantastically meritocratic. It is also flexible in ways that employment simply cannot be, hence the large number of young mums starting businesses.”
Exclusion concerns do, of course, exist among budding entrepreneurs but they go beyond ethnic, gender, age and ability divides. This is creating a new kind of social gap: between people with high fear of failure (whom I call ‘High-FFs’) and their opposites, those with high achievement motivation (‘High-AMs’).
Fear of failure is a condition from which millions suffer, irrespective of gender, class, ethnicity or age. High-FFs approach tasks expecting failure and dreading the potential for public humiliation that such failure brings. This leads them to employ avoidance techniques that, ultimately, confirm their negative predictions. While many would love to start a business – often because they feel overlooked or belittled in their current situation – they are afraid of the risks involved, making fear of failure both a debilitating and self-fulfilling affliction.
TV programmes such as BBC’s Dragons’ Den don’t help. This is behind-the-sofa viewing for most High-FF would-be entrepreneurs, whose resolve to start a business is likely to be eroded with every public roasting from a ‘Dragon’. The steely traits that form the public image of the Dragons are a long way from those of the typical High-FF.
Like the Dragons, successful entrepreneurs create their own mythology. For instance, in his book The Beermat Entrepreneur, start-up guru Mike Southon writes: “Entrepreneurs are confident. They are born optimists: they simply know they can do it. Entrepreneurs are also charismatic. They inspire people…they have optimism to spare. Entrepreneurs are also arrogant. They know they are good.”
Yet entrepreneurialism has nothing to do with hardwired personality traits. Like so many other celebrity entrepreneurs, Southon is describing himself, while conveying an image of entrepreneurship that is overly aggressive, short-sighted and unfair, not least because it alienates – and therefore excludes – so many potential entrepreneurs.
A recent survey, presented at the UK launch of Global Entrepreneurship Week, revealed that about 50% of the UK population are considering becoming their own boss, yet only 5% are doing something about it. So what’s stopping the other 45%? Partly fear of the risks and costs associated with starting a new business, and partly fear that they do not fit the stereotype of the ‘maverick’ entrepreneur.
Emma Jones points out that most budding entrepreneurs are simply looking for freedom and flexibility in their working life. The typical small-business owner, she says, is a “mum who starts a business to earn extra money for the household while still being able to do the school run”. She adds: “This is a long way from the defy-all-odds swashbuckling heroes who are most associated with entrepreneurship.”
So what can be done? Support mechanisms such as Enterprise Nation are a start, but what about funding? Fear of the financial consequences of failure is a key barrier, making the reintroduction of the Thatcher-era Enterprise Allowance Scheme for the unemployed a strong move.
Yet many people overestimate the financial requirements for a start-up enterprise. Jones says that the best way to start a business is modestly: through cautious planning and by sticking to a strict budget, perhaps while working from home or, at least at first, continuing with the day job.
This is a crucial message. In some ways, too much funding can actually disadvantage entrepreneurs in the early stages of their venture. Grants, for instance, can create unnecessary and potentially fear-inducing liabilities, such as forcing a start-up to operate at a higher level than its income comfortably allows, thereby saddling it with unaffordable costs once the grant has been spent.
An effective alternative is self-financing, and especially ‘bootstrapping’, which involves entrepreneurs – especially nervous ones – starting small and staying within their means. Fred DeLuca, founder of sandwich chain Subway, began with an investment of US$1,000 (£750) and bootstrapped his way to a fortune. He relied on cash flow to expand and never over-extended himself through debt or equity, both of which bring external obligations that can increase both the risk and the fear.
“Just because it is small doesn’t mean the business can’t grow,” writes DeLuca in his book Start Small, Finish Big. “And, while it is small, you will have the time to learn the lessons that are essential to your future success.”
Such sentiments certainly undermine any notions of inequality when it comes to succeeding as an entrepreneur: quite the opposite. Indeed, fearful people of modest means are just as well suited to entrepreneurship as their bolder, more affluent counterparts. They may even be more so, given the need for start-ups to be grounded and sustainable, rather than overnight sensations.
Entrepreneurship can be isolating, however, which can compound fears, erode resolve and increase the failure rate. At Metrocube (an early noughties incubator for dotcom start-ups where I was CEO), our aim was to get would-be entrepreneurs out of their bedrooms and into a community environment where they could swap ideas and favours with a network of like-minded individuals. Fostering camaraderie is also one of the goals at the heart of Enterprise Nation and other collegiate initiatives such as the Institute of Entrepreneurs, run by RSA chairman Luke Johnson.
Networks offer more than just advice and resources. While these are helpful, it is the shared concerns and sense of fellowship that are vital to the lonely entrepreneur, especially if his or her own socio-economic grouping is under-represented in entrepreneurial circles. Mentoring can also be valuable, although care is needed when trying to impose formal structures on individuals who may just be looking for shared experiences, occasional guidance and – most importantly – a network.
Networks, however, are only part of the answer. More importantly, the image of entrepreneurship needs to change so that it encourages both the cautious and the fearful, proving that this most meritocratic of economic sectors is open to all.
Robert Kelsey FRSA is a businessman and author
Robert Kelsey’s book, What’s Stopping You? Why Smart People Don’t Always Reach Their Potential, and How You Can will be published by Capstone/Wiley in April 2011
[pull quote] Entrepreneurialism has nothing to do with hardwired personality traits
[call to action] The RSA’s Social Entrepreneurs Network provides a source of support and advice to Fellows interested in social enterprise. Join in the discussion at www.RSAfellowship.com/group/socialentrepreneursnetwork
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Hating judo – and other fear of failure giveaways
My six year old son achieved something last week that eluded me as a child. He was awarded a red-belt at judo. This meant a presentation in front of the class and a round of applause. He was delighted.
So how come he could manage this rather modest achievement, while I couldn’t? Because I had fear of failure. My mother enrolled me on a judo class because she thought I needed toughening up. It always seemed a bit scary to me – a bit rough – but I played along hoping it may awaken a hitherto untapped talent for mindless violence. In fact I was hoping to develop the sort of attack mentality I was suffering from on the walk to school – though from much older boys – hence this rather 1970s response (I suspect dad had a hand in it somewhere).
Yet this felt like just another dose of the same – except in a sports hall (so officially sanctioned) and with people in white dressing gowns. And the teacher had bad breath and a dismissive “useless boy” way about him. Meanwhile, my son thinks fighting great fun and loves the idea of rolling around on mats and trying to wrestle each other to the ground. The whole thing suits his constant battle fantasies and gives his little brother some respite. And his teacher is a female national champion likely to be in the Great Britain Olympic team. She’s not to be messed with but still oozes warmth and love for her charges, unlike my episode which seemed to bear more of a resemblance to Lord of the Flies.
So there are key differences in teaching and atmosphere that led my six-year old the right way and me down another activity cul-de-sac (football and the Cubs were two others I joined and, immediately sought to avoid). But the key difference was that he approached judo assuming he’d be good at it and saw the setbacks as just temporary: a technique to be learnt (usually a violent one). While I approached judo fearfully – expecting to fail. Pretty soon I was complaining to my mother that I was too tired, or more interested in football, or that Blue Peter had an item our teacher wanted us to watch.
Looking back, my fear of failure was pretty evident. So what are the classic signs that we are High-FFs (as I call those with a high fear of failure in What’s Stopping You?) – both as a child and an adult? Here are a few – some from personal experience, some from the wide body of psychological research on the subject (and all with the caveat that any one of these traits is not evidence in itself of fear of failure – there could be other explanations).
1) Difficulty settling into mainstream activities. As above, this was certainly a major one for me. I just couldn’t settle in any club or formalised non-curricular activity. Partly this was due to an innate rebelliousness (see below) but a core problem was that I secretly feared failure and, therefore, sought to avoid the activity. Occasionally I’d be tempting in – seeing other boys enjoying football or church-hall dramatics or chess – but it would never last. Even as an adult, hobbies are fleeting and soon forgotten – usually after the first humiliation.
2) Rebelliousness. This can include music-based cultures – perhaps punks or (more recently) emos where the “shock” is mainly delivered through inappropriate dress. Yet it could develop into something more serious – perhaps indulging in misdemeanours relevant to the social backdrop of the sufferer. This includes becoming disruptive in class, being a petty vandal, a shop-lifter, car-jack, or even just a smoker. Bullying or, if less confident, becoming one of the bully’s lieutenants is – surprisingly – another trait of the classic High-FF (anything that rejects mainstream behaviour).
3) Exam stress. This is an obvious one but even mild fear of failure can cause extreme exam stress, with High-FFs potentially taking their avoidance tactics (conscious or otherwise) to extremes. Feigning illness (or even experiencing the illness), panic attacks and even deliberately sabotaging the exam are all avoidance tactics (perhaps feigning an “I don’t care” attitude).
4) “Dream fulfilment” careers. Some of the most outwardly-ambitious people may, in reality, be indulging in High-FF avoidance of sensible but challenging career choices. These can include those focused on “wildest dream” career choices such as pop stardom or TV fame. Crucially, the near-impossibility of achieving the dream means they will be kindly judged for being “a trier”, and it may mask their avoidance of realistic but challenging career choices (usually involving qualifications). Watch the early episodes of the X-Factor or any other reality TV show for examples.
5) Acting the clown. This one can follow us all the way through our lives. High-FFs are often the school, office or shopfloor clown – the joker that everyone likes, despite (and partly because of) their lowly status. On the surface at least, being the popular cheeky-chappie appears to be more important to the office clown that making progress. However, it's usually a mask hiding an inner sense of inadequacy.
6) Avoiding promotion. High-FFs can actively seek to avoid promotion, even when they are the obvious candidate. Excuses may vary (including claiming a “fear of success”) but it is usually based on an inner conviction that failure and – importantly – humiliation will result. Many declare themselves happier among the troops than the officers or show no desire to “fall out with Fred/John/Joan” who may be contesting the promotion.
7) Criticising and feuding. The High-FFs view of his or her workplace (or school, studio, college) is most likely to be a negative one. Indeed, High-FFs are usually highly critical of the way all external life is executed – sometimes publicly and vocally so. They can be part of the moaning canteen gang – perhaps its leader. And they can direct their criticisms at particular individuals – usually those they fear. Inevitably this leads to petty rivalries that can even develop into full-blown and disruptive feuds. Oddly, the other end of the scale – over-enthusiasm – can also be a mask to hide self-perceived inadequacies.
8) Injustice convictions. This was definitely one of my major giveaways – assuming slights or insults were meant and personal, looking (and usually finding) prejudice or favouritism to others (real or otherwise), developing acute paranoia about the intentions of colleagues and managers. Of course, these can turn into self-fulfilling prophesies if we are not careful, and can also lead to a disastrous vengeful attitude. In its extreme, this can lead to pilfering and absenteeism and other misbehaviour based on a “why shouldn’t I?” mentality.
9) Poor luck. High-FFs are convinced they have poor luck. That they are always in the wrong place at the wrong time, especially at those crucial moments. Job interviews are blighted by late trains or random illnesses (food poisoning from a banana was one of mine). New jobs or promotions have unexpected crises or challenges visited upon them only after we arrive – all seemingly beyond our control. Of course, in reality we are searching the horizon for icebergs, and immediately manning the lifeboats, rather than giving them the wide berth the previous captain quietly managed.
10) Choking. This is perhaps an obvious one but one no less harmful for that. Job interviews, presentations, key meetings – those important moments that require a strong performance are the very moments we lose our self-confidence and “choke”. We may even develop physical traits such as the shakes, or sweats, or a wobbly voice. More usually we say stupid things, forget obvious answers and come across as a fool: the usual self-fulfilling results of High-FF behaviour, in other words.
My webpage.
So how come he could manage this rather modest achievement, while I couldn’t? Because I had fear of failure. My mother enrolled me on a judo class because she thought I needed toughening up. It always seemed a bit scary to me – a bit rough – but I played along hoping it may awaken a hitherto untapped talent for mindless violence. In fact I was hoping to develop the sort of attack mentality I was suffering from on the walk to school – though from much older boys – hence this rather 1970s response (I suspect dad had a hand in it somewhere).
Yet this felt like just another dose of the same – except in a sports hall (so officially sanctioned) and with people in white dressing gowns. And the teacher had bad breath and a dismissive “useless boy” way about him. Meanwhile, my son thinks fighting great fun and loves the idea of rolling around on mats and trying to wrestle each other to the ground. The whole thing suits his constant battle fantasies and gives his little brother some respite. And his teacher is a female national champion likely to be in the Great Britain Olympic team. She’s not to be messed with but still oozes warmth and love for her charges, unlike my episode which seemed to bear more of a resemblance to Lord of the Flies.
So there are key differences in teaching and atmosphere that led my six-year old the right way and me down another activity cul-de-sac (football and the Cubs were two others I joined and, immediately sought to avoid). But the key difference was that he approached judo assuming he’d be good at it and saw the setbacks as just temporary: a technique to be learnt (usually a violent one). While I approached judo fearfully – expecting to fail. Pretty soon I was complaining to my mother that I was too tired, or more interested in football, or that Blue Peter had an item our teacher wanted us to watch.
Looking back, my fear of failure was pretty evident. So what are the classic signs that we are High-FFs (as I call those with a high fear of failure in What’s Stopping You?) – both as a child and an adult? Here are a few – some from personal experience, some from the wide body of psychological research on the subject (and all with the caveat that any one of these traits is not evidence in itself of fear of failure – there could be other explanations).
1) Difficulty settling into mainstream activities. As above, this was certainly a major one for me. I just couldn’t settle in any club or formalised non-curricular activity. Partly this was due to an innate rebelliousness (see below) but a core problem was that I secretly feared failure and, therefore, sought to avoid the activity. Occasionally I’d be tempting in – seeing other boys enjoying football or church-hall dramatics or chess – but it would never last. Even as an adult, hobbies are fleeting and soon forgotten – usually after the first humiliation.
2) Rebelliousness. This can include music-based cultures – perhaps punks or (more recently) emos where the “shock” is mainly delivered through inappropriate dress. Yet it could develop into something more serious – perhaps indulging in misdemeanours relevant to the social backdrop of the sufferer. This includes becoming disruptive in class, being a petty vandal, a shop-lifter, car-jack, or even just a smoker. Bullying or, if less confident, becoming one of the bully’s lieutenants is – surprisingly – another trait of the classic High-FF (anything that rejects mainstream behaviour).
3) Exam stress. This is an obvious one but even mild fear of failure can cause extreme exam stress, with High-FFs potentially taking their avoidance tactics (conscious or otherwise) to extremes. Feigning illness (or even experiencing the illness), panic attacks and even deliberately sabotaging the exam are all avoidance tactics (perhaps feigning an “I don’t care” attitude).
4) “Dream fulfilment” careers. Some of the most outwardly-ambitious people may, in reality, be indulging in High-FF avoidance of sensible but challenging career choices. These can include those focused on “wildest dream” career choices such as pop stardom or TV fame. Crucially, the near-impossibility of achieving the dream means they will be kindly judged for being “a trier”, and it may mask their avoidance of realistic but challenging career choices (usually involving qualifications). Watch the early episodes of the X-Factor or any other reality TV show for examples.
5) Acting the clown. This one can follow us all the way through our lives. High-FFs are often the school, office or shopfloor clown – the joker that everyone likes, despite (and partly because of) their lowly status. On the surface at least, being the popular cheeky-chappie appears to be more important to the office clown that making progress. However, it's usually a mask hiding an inner sense of inadequacy.
6) Avoiding promotion. High-FFs can actively seek to avoid promotion, even when they are the obvious candidate. Excuses may vary (including claiming a “fear of success”) but it is usually based on an inner conviction that failure and – importantly – humiliation will result. Many declare themselves happier among the troops than the officers or show no desire to “fall out with Fred/John/Joan” who may be contesting the promotion.
7) Criticising and feuding. The High-FFs view of his or her workplace (or school, studio, college) is most likely to be a negative one. Indeed, High-FFs are usually highly critical of the way all external life is executed – sometimes publicly and vocally so. They can be part of the moaning canteen gang – perhaps its leader. And they can direct their criticisms at particular individuals – usually those they fear. Inevitably this leads to petty rivalries that can even develop into full-blown and disruptive feuds. Oddly, the other end of the scale – over-enthusiasm – can also be a mask to hide self-perceived inadequacies.
8) Injustice convictions. This was definitely one of my major giveaways – assuming slights or insults were meant and personal, looking (and usually finding) prejudice or favouritism to others (real or otherwise), developing acute paranoia about the intentions of colleagues and managers. Of course, these can turn into self-fulfilling prophesies if we are not careful, and can also lead to a disastrous vengeful attitude. In its extreme, this can lead to pilfering and absenteeism and other misbehaviour based on a “why shouldn’t I?” mentality.
9) Poor luck. High-FFs are convinced they have poor luck. That they are always in the wrong place at the wrong time, especially at those crucial moments. Job interviews are blighted by late trains or random illnesses (food poisoning from a banana was one of mine). New jobs or promotions have unexpected crises or challenges visited upon them only after we arrive – all seemingly beyond our control. Of course, in reality we are searching the horizon for icebergs, and immediately manning the lifeboats, rather than giving them the wide berth the previous captain quietly managed.
10) Choking. This is perhaps an obvious one but one no less harmful for that. Job interviews, presentations, key meetings – those important moments that require a strong performance are the very moments we lose our self-confidence and “choke”. We may even develop physical traits such as the shakes, or sweats, or a wobbly voice. More usually we say stupid things, forget obvious answers and come across as a fool: the usual self-fulfilling results of High-FF behaviour, in other words.
My webpage.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Even for Kings, the monkey comes too
Another long flight and another chance to catch up on the latest(ish) movies: this time The King’s Speech. I was amazed: the parallels between King George VI’s (Bertie’s) speech impediment and fear of failure – the psychological condition I write about in What’s Stopping You? (out this month, by the way) – are remarkable, as were some of the routes to recovery.
The film hinges on the king’s introduction to Lionel Logue, a maverick Australian speech therapist who flew in the face of conventional thinking when it came to the treatment of impediments. Prior to seeing him, the poor prince (then the Duke of York) had to endure a succession of physicists treating it as a purely physiological problem. They had him chewing marbles and even smoking. Yet it was only Logue who saw the condition as psychological and the actual impediment as its physical impact: a symptom of the underlying mental condition. This was evidenced by the fact the stammer was exacerbated by fear – for instance when talking to his father (George V) or when being confronted by his brother (Edward VIII).
And it’s here where the similarities with fear of failure become compelling.
So while the physiological exercises were ongoing, Logue probed the prince’s mental condition – breaking through after a few whiskies. Once Bertie was willing to divulge his childhood traumas – mainly his nanny’s rejection and humiliation of him – Logue was able to identify this trauma as the root of the future king’s stammer, when previously the assumption was that it was something “he had always had”.
Logue’s experience as a speech therapist was in treating returning Anzacs from the western front during the First World War. Many had such serious shell-shock their speech was majorly affected. These days, we call shell-shock Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and, as I write in What’s Stopping You? it is the key prerequisite for fear of failure – especially cases involving early episodes of public humiliation or rejection.
Of course, the fear of failure version is mild compared to shell-shocked soldiers but the responses are apparent nonetheless – and they include stammering as much as they include fear of failure. High-FFs (as I call those with a high fear of failure) fear rejection and the humiliation of failure, which leads them to pursue avoidance tactics with respect to tasks, careers and even personal life choices: anything that brings the potential for humiliation.
Yet I was further fascinated by Logue’s treatment of Bertie. As the abdication crisis gathered force it became apparent our stammerer was going to end up king and be forced to embrace his biggest fear: of public speaking, including via the new technology of live radio broadcasts. It was obvious to Logue, however, that fear triggered Bertie’s doubts about his abilities to speak fluently, which then became self-fulfilling.
This is identical to those with fear of failure. I call this the monkey on our shoulder, who whispers doubt into our ear at the very moments we need to be brave. Logue could rouse Bertie into angry – but perfectly fluent – outbursts. Swearing and singing were also not a problem. But it was those moments of tension – the very moments he needed fluent speech – that his fluency would elude him. And those moments in front of a live microphone were sheer terror.
This certainly struck a chord. I can remember the first time I was on national radio – on Radio 4’s Broadcasting House. As the presenter turned to me the monkey grabbed my ear and said: “this is it. This is IT. The whole country’s listening and you haven’t a clue what to say: have you? They should never have invited you on. You’re a fraud”.
Incapable of clear thinking, my voice cracked, which caused me to panic and retreat to hackneyed clichés. The presenter looked for a chance to escape my failing performance and rarely came back to me after that. Thanks to the monkey, I’d screwed my moment and was never invited back. My 15 minutes of fame lasted about a minute and a half.
Yet Bertie has to face the whole country – literally – at his coronation (the first to be broadcast live to the empire). So how does Logue keep the monkey quiet? By making light of the whole thing. As they rehearse he talks of the archbishop “poncing up the stairs”, of him talking “rubbish, rubbish, rubbish” – all to try and strip the archbishop of his authority (and Bertie his fear of it).
Another fear-reduction tactic used for direct broadcasts (rather than ceremonies) was for Logue to stand right in front of the king so that the broadcasts felt like no more than just another session with the therapist. Winston Churchill also offered his own wisdom – saying that he made a virtue of his own speech impediment, making his part of a distinct style (in what became probably the most famous speech-making style in history). This helped the king recover from the odd halt – stating that he had to “throw in a few so they knew it was me”. Thus the monkey’s power was neutered.
In What’s Stopping You? I discuss the potential for making a virtue of our fears and insecurities – for instance helping us realize that our sensitivities usually mean we are creative and strong lateral thinkers – traits we should harness as we seek to make progress. And that our sensitivity brings with it problems on our way up that can turn us into effective leaders once we become managers, because we understand the sensitivities of the people we lead. Certainly, I’m keen to ensure we realize that our fears are part of us. That the monkey comes too and that accepting him as a fellow passenger is an important part of our recovery.
Finally, in Logue I saw something of myself (if I’m permitted the vanity). He possessed no qualifications and was simply offering his experiences as he saw them, which allowed him to come at the issue from a different direction, and one that offended establishment figures. I too have no formal qualifications to discuss fear of failure. In fact my main qualification is as a sufferer, and as someone who’d read 100s of books on “failure”, “success”, “confidence” and “self-esteem” and found a major gap between what most psychologists stated was innate and the self-help gurus said was possible (if you follow their advice). I saw a role in researching both deeply and in trying, through writing, to both marry the two and convey this for any reader potentially stymied by their fear of failure, and other insecurities halting their progress.
I wasn’t expecting to like The King’ Speech. I expected a typical Merchant Ivory style offering of the romanticized English upper classes. But – thanks to my research into fear of failure and other fear-based insecurities – I loved it.
The film hinges on the king’s introduction to Lionel Logue, a maverick Australian speech therapist who flew in the face of conventional thinking when it came to the treatment of impediments. Prior to seeing him, the poor prince (then the Duke of York) had to endure a succession of physicists treating it as a purely physiological problem. They had him chewing marbles and even smoking. Yet it was only Logue who saw the condition as psychological and the actual impediment as its physical impact: a symptom of the underlying mental condition. This was evidenced by the fact the stammer was exacerbated by fear – for instance when talking to his father (George V) or when being confronted by his brother (Edward VIII).
And it’s here where the similarities with fear of failure become compelling.
So while the physiological exercises were ongoing, Logue probed the prince’s mental condition – breaking through after a few whiskies. Once Bertie was willing to divulge his childhood traumas – mainly his nanny’s rejection and humiliation of him – Logue was able to identify this trauma as the root of the future king’s stammer, when previously the assumption was that it was something “he had always had”.
Logue’s experience as a speech therapist was in treating returning Anzacs from the western front during the First World War. Many had such serious shell-shock their speech was majorly affected. These days, we call shell-shock Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and, as I write in What’s Stopping You? it is the key prerequisite for fear of failure – especially cases involving early episodes of public humiliation or rejection.
Of course, the fear of failure version is mild compared to shell-shocked soldiers but the responses are apparent nonetheless – and they include stammering as much as they include fear of failure. High-FFs (as I call those with a high fear of failure) fear rejection and the humiliation of failure, which leads them to pursue avoidance tactics with respect to tasks, careers and even personal life choices: anything that brings the potential for humiliation.
Yet I was further fascinated by Logue’s treatment of Bertie. As the abdication crisis gathered force it became apparent our stammerer was going to end up king and be forced to embrace his biggest fear: of public speaking, including via the new technology of live radio broadcasts. It was obvious to Logue, however, that fear triggered Bertie’s doubts about his abilities to speak fluently, which then became self-fulfilling.
This is identical to those with fear of failure. I call this the monkey on our shoulder, who whispers doubt into our ear at the very moments we need to be brave. Logue could rouse Bertie into angry – but perfectly fluent – outbursts. Swearing and singing were also not a problem. But it was those moments of tension – the very moments he needed fluent speech – that his fluency would elude him. And those moments in front of a live microphone were sheer terror.
This certainly struck a chord. I can remember the first time I was on national radio – on Radio 4’s Broadcasting House. As the presenter turned to me the monkey grabbed my ear and said: “this is it. This is IT. The whole country’s listening and you haven’t a clue what to say: have you? They should never have invited you on. You’re a fraud”.
Incapable of clear thinking, my voice cracked, which caused me to panic and retreat to hackneyed clichés. The presenter looked for a chance to escape my failing performance and rarely came back to me after that. Thanks to the monkey, I’d screwed my moment and was never invited back. My 15 minutes of fame lasted about a minute and a half.
Yet Bertie has to face the whole country – literally – at his coronation (the first to be broadcast live to the empire). So how does Logue keep the monkey quiet? By making light of the whole thing. As they rehearse he talks of the archbishop “poncing up the stairs”, of him talking “rubbish, rubbish, rubbish” – all to try and strip the archbishop of his authority (and Bertie his fear of it).
Another fear-reduction tactic used for direct broadcasts (rather than ceremonies) was for Logue to stand right in front of the king so that the broadcasts felt like no more than just another session with the therapist. Winston Churchill also offered his own wisdom – saying that he made a virtue of his own speech impediment, making his part of a distinct style (in what became probably the most famous speech-making style in history). This helped the king recover from the odd halt – stating that he had to “throw in a few so they knew it was me”. Thus the monkey’s power was neutered.
In What’s Stopping You? I discuss the potential for making a virtue of our fears and insecurities – for instance helping us realize that our sensitivities usually mean we are creative and strong lateral thinkers – traits we should harness as we seek to make progress. And that our sensitivity brings with it problems on our way up that can turn us into effective leaders once we become managers, because we understand the sensitivities of the people we lead. Certainly, I’m keen to ensure we realize that our fears are part of us. That the monkey comes too and that accepting him as a fellow passenger is an important part of our recovery.
Finally, in Logue I saw something of myself (if I’m permitted the vanity). He possessed no qualifications and was simply offering his experiences as he saw them, which allowed him to come at the issue from a different direction, and one that offended establishment figures. I too have no formal qualifications to discuss fear of failure. In fact my main qualification is as a sufferer, and as someone who’d read 100s of books on “failure”, “success”, “confidence” and “self-esteem” and found a major gap between what most psychologists stated was innate and the self-help gurus said was possible (if you follow their advice). I saw a role in researching both deeply and in trying, through writing, to both marry the two and convey this for any reader potentially stymied by their fear of failure, and other insecurities halting their progress.
I wasn’t expecting to like The King’ Speech. I expected a typical Merchant Ivory style offering of the romanticized English upper classes. But – thanks to my research into fear of failure and other fear-based insecurities – I loved it.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Feel the fear – and fully understand it before doing anything
“What’s that other book – err – oh yes, Feel the fear and do it anyway. That’s the one. Is your book the same as that one?”
I keep hearing it, so I’d better address it head on. What’s so different about What’s Stopping You? (due out next month, by the way) and Susan Jeffers’s well-known and best-selling book dealing with the fears that can prevent us from taking action?
On the surface, of course, they are similar. Both are focused on those that may have fear of failure, or other fear-based insecurities that are preventing them for achieving their potential. Both set out a course of action in order to help navigate those fears. Yet that’s where the similarity ends. In both style and content they are very different, as they are in both message and structure, and in the description of our condition and – perhaps most importantly – the journey required to prevent it disabling our progress.
A crucial aspect is the style. Jeffers invokes many case studies that feel fictional (although she states they are from her “fear classes”). They are of people such as Mary Alice, Patti, Teddy and Janet. Some want a better job. Some more respect from their partners. Others are keen to become artists or to overcome their fear of aging. These are feel-good tales of suburban redemption in which Janet goes back to college and Kevin summons up the courage to ask that girl for a date – all after a pep-talk from Susan.
Many people will be engaged by such a saccharin style, although it leaves me unmoved. I’m now in my 40s and have had plenty of encouraging chats from well-meaning people full of home-spun wisdom. Sure, the book gets more technical later (though not that much more technical), but another pep-talk from mum isn’t what’s needed in my opinion. I’d rather know why my brain reacts as it does when faced with major (and even minor) challenges. What process creates such reactions, and why are they so disabling? So I’m more of the persuasion that the sound reasoning of a psychologist (or even neurologist) is what’s required – telling me about post-traumatic stress disorder and its link, via traumatic childhood events and “fear conditioning”, to fear of failure.
I’d rather write about the permanent damage this can cause to the brain’s amygdale (a key cluster of components in the limbic system dealing with emotions such as anxiety, distress and fear). And the fact incidents of public humiliation as a young child can create an imprint generating a lifelong resetting of the brain’s default (i.e. instant) responses to potentially-humiliating situations. The fact it is this faulty wiring that leads sufferers to respond with fear is, in my view, crucial – especially as, in many cases, they don’t even realise why they are so fearful. Only from such awareness can sufferers, in my opinion, develop an appropriate strategy for progress. Yet none of this is explained in Susan Jeffers’s book.
I’m not saying there’s no room for the Jeffers approach. What I’m saying is that there’s also room for the more analytical approach. For instance, Feel the fear. . ..chapter one ends with giant and bold capitals shouting I’LL HANDLE IT! In fact, the entire chapter and much of the book is peppered with these capitalised “ra-ra” messages and this “go girl (or boy), you can do it” tone runs right through the book. This places Feel the fear…within the classic self-help genre that I’m somewhat critical of in What’s Stopping You? because, ultimately, they are asking you to become somebody you are not. In my opinion, such rousing prose soon fades. Without fully understanding our insecurities and fears they will soon resurface – usually at the first major setback.
This style of self-help book angers some psychologists because it deals with only the symptoms of the condition. They see it as an injection of foreign ideas and methodology into vulnerable people without offering any understanding of why their fears and insecurities have developed or retained such a grip on their behaviour. The assumption is that all fearful people can adopt somebody else’s personality traits. Traits that potentially go against the grain of their default and hardwired personalities. Yet “reframing” the brain of insecure people with helpful phrases that have to be repeated in front of the bathroom mirror (a Jeffers favourite) is a form of self-denial in my opinion (and the opinion of many psychologists). It is the adoption of a mask that, after the inevitable slip, can lead to a damaging reckoning.
I’ll give one (of many) examples:
“For the women reading this book,” says Jeffers, “a good antidote to any inner conflict between power and femininity is to repeat to yourself a least twenty-five times each morning, noon and night:
I AM POWERFUL AND I AM LOVED and I AM POWERFUL AND I AM LOVING.”
This has to be done aloud to allow the “pain-to-power concept” to really take hold. In fact, there is a helpful chart plotting this concept that has the word PAIN at one end, then an arrow pointing towards the word POWER. This is called the Pain-to-Power Chart and we are invited to draw it and place it on a convenient wall.
Ignoring the over-simplification of a complex mental condition for a moment, my own view of this chart if that, during my worst years with fear of failure, it would not have survived the first setback. In fact, as I was reading this I could visualise the moment it would have been ripped off the wall in anger as the pain of yet another rejection or dead-end or fear-induced self-fulfilling emotional reaction hit home. We are almost in the same territory as the hypnotisers and acupuncturists here – the world that promises “instance and transformative change” without any analysis or reflection or hard-fought re-evaluation.
Apologies. This is starting to sound like a trashing of Jeffers’s book. It isn’t meant to be. Any book that has sold so well will have helped many people take that all-important next step. And that’s a powerful thing that I’m in no position to criticise. I guess I’m simply stating that my target is the slightly more intelligent reader – someone looking deeply, as I did, at the root causes of their hardwired but disabling personality traits. Someone that wants to fully understand what is stopping them, before accepting it as part of them – a mental limb that is coming too, no matter what we say and do to remove it. But somebody determined to make progress despite the mental obstacles – through navigating the barriers thrown in our path (both externally and internally).
Which brings me to the title of Jeffers’s book – and my deepest criticism (sorry!). Having quoted over 100 books in What’s Stopping You? the only line I found worth quoting in Feel the fear and do it anyway was the title. And that was to refute its premise – at least the “do it anyway” proposition. Of course, we attack the same condition – fear of failure – but we differ fundamentally on the prescription because we have taken a different route from the diagnosis. Jeffers starts with the fear and works her way forwards, injecting helpful thoughts and tips as we pursue the goals that are triggering those fearful moments. What’s Stopping You? also starts with the fear. But it then works its way backwards, to how we got ourselves in this position. And this has a profound impact on how we should move forward from our current, stuck, status – re-evaluating our goals and seriously questioning the “do it anyway” element of Jeffers’s premise.
To explain, many fear of failure sufferers harbour inner dreams that occupy the highest-shelves of achievement. Many want to become famous via music, sport or broadcasting. Few will, because the dream is a nonsense conjured from our fear-based avoidance of challenging but realistic career choices that may involve exams and qualifications or other dreaded evaluations. In reality most fear of failure sufferers have yet to explore their real goals because their goals have all been motivated by the fear of public humiliation which, extraordinarily, can manifest itself in a willingness to pursue impossible dreams while eschewing challenging but obtainable career paths. And many sufferers may not even realise that this is where they stand – nurturing avoidance-based but inappropriate “wildest dreams” that are not goals at all. They are fantasies.
Yet Jeffers – and many other self-help writers – are focused on offering those with fear of failure the chance to, indeed, be a popstar. They are not decrying the dream as inappropriate or driven by avoidance of realistic but difficult challenges, as I am. Instead, they are saying: “go on – you can be a popstar” – despite the fact the desire to be a popstar may be yet another symptom or their fear of failure. Given this, my book is a million miles from “that other book” on the same subject.
That said, I want to end on a positive note. One thing Jeffers emphasises throughout is the need to take responsibility. And this means never “blaming anyone else for anything you are being, doing, having or feeling”. Yet it is also not blaming yourself – because that too is avoiding responsibility. “There I am messing up my life again. I’m hopeless,” is – again – not taking responsibility (other writers such as Stephen Covey support this). In fact, Jeffers is so strong on this vital requirement for recovery that she dedicates a whole chapter on it. It’s called “Whether You Want It or Not…It’s Yours” and it’s her best – even with the cuddly tales of Jean, Kevin and Tanya.
I keep hearing it, so I’d better address it head on. What’s so different about What’s Stopping You? (due out next month, by the way) and Susan Jeffers’s well-known and best-selling book dealing with the fears that can prevent us from taking action?
On the surface, of course, they are similar. Both are focused on those that may have fear of failure, or other fear-based insecurities that are preventing them for achieving their potential. Both set out a course of action in order to help navigate those fears. Yet that’s where the similarity ends. In both style and content they are very different, as they are in both message and structure, and in the description of our condition and – perhaps most importantly – the journey required to prevent it disabling our progress.
A crucial aspect is the style. Jeffers invokes many case studies that feel fictional (although she states they are from her “fear classes”). They are of people such as Mary Alice, Patti, Teddy and Janet. Some want a better job. Some more respect from their partners. Others are keen to become artists or to overcome their fear of aging. These are feel-good tales of suburban redemption in which Janet goes back to college and Kevin summons up the courage to ask that girl for a date – all after a pep-talk from Susan.
Many people will be engaged by such a saccharin style, although it leaves me unmoved. I’m now in my 40s and have had plenty of encouraging chats from well-meaning people full of home-spun wisdom. Sure, the book gets more technical later (though not that much more technical), but another pep-talk from mum isn’t what’s needed in my opinion. I’d rather know why my brain reacts as it does when faced with major (and even minor) challenges. What process creates such reactions, and why are they so disabling? So I’m more of the persuasion that the sound reasoning of a psychologist (or even neurologist) is what’s required – telling me about post-traumatic stress disorder and its link, via traumatic childhood events and “fear conditioning”, to fear of failure.
I’d rather write about the permanent damage this can cause to the brain’s amygdale (a key cluster of components in the limbic system dealing with emotions such as anxiety, distress and fear). And the fact incidents of public humiliation as a young child can create an imprint generating a lifelong resetting of the brain’s default (i.e. instant) responses to potentially-humiliating situations. The fact it is this faulty wiring that leads sufferers to respond with fear is, in my view, crucial – especially as, in many cases, they don’t even realise why they are so fearful. Only from such awareness can sufferers, in my opinion, develop an appropriate strategy for progress. Yet none of this is explained in Susan Jeffers’s book.
I’m not saying there’s no room for the Jeffers approach. What I’m saying is that there’s also room for the more analytical approach. For instance, Feel the fear. . ..chapter one ends with giant and bold capitals shouting I’LL HANDLE IT! In fact, the entire chapter and much of the book is peppered with these capitalised “ra-ra” messages and this “go girl (or boy), you can do it” tone runs right through the book. This places Feel the fear…within the classic self-help genre that I’m somewhat critical of in What’s Stopping You? because, ultimately, they are asking you to become somebody you are not. In my opinion, such rousing prose soon fades. Without fully understanding our insecurities and fears they will soon resurface – usually at the first major setback.
This style of self-help book angers some psychologists because it deals with only the symptoms of the condition. They see it as an injection of foreign ideas and methodology into vulnerable people without offering any understanding of why their fears and insecurities have developed or retained such a grip on their behaviour. The assumption is that all fearful people can adopt somebody else’s personality traits. Traits that potentially go against the grain of their default and hardwired personalities. Yet “reframing” the brain of insecure people with helpful phrases that have to be repeated in front of the bathroom mirror (a Jeffers favourite) is a form of self-denial in my opinion (and the opinion of many psychologists). It is the adoption of a mask that, after the inevitable slip, can lead to a damaging reckoning.
I’ll give one (of many) examples:
“For the women reading this book,” says Jeffers, “a good antidote to any inner conflict between power and femininity is to repeat to yourself a least twenty-five times each morning, noon and night:
I AM POWERFUL AND I AM LOVED and I AM POWERFUL AND I AM LOVING.”
This has to be done aloud to allow the “pain-to-power concept” to really take hold. In fact, there is a helpful chart plotting this concept that has the word PAIN at one end, then an arrow pointing towards the word POWER. This is called the Pain-to-Power Chart and we are invited to draw it and place it on a convenient wall.
Ignoring the over-simplification of a complex mental condition for a moment, my own view of this chart if that, during my worst years with fear of failure, it would not have survived the first setback. In fact, as I was reading this I could visualise the moment it would have been ripped off the wall in anger as the pain of yet another rejection or dead-end or fear-induced self-fulfilling emotional reaction hit home. We are almost in the same territory as the hypnotisers and acupuncturists here – the world that promises “instance and transformative change” without any analysis or reflection or hard-fought re-evaluation.
Apologies. This is starting to sound like a trashing of Jeffers’s book. It isn’t meant to be. Any book that has sold so well will have helped many people take that all-important next step. And that’s a powerful thing that I’m in no position to criticise. I guess I’m simply stating that my target is the slightly more intelligent reader – someone looking deeply, as I did, at the root causes of their hardwired but disabling personality traits. Someone that wants to fully understand what is stopping them, before accepting it as part of them – a mental limb that is coming too, no matter what we say and do to remove it. But somebody determined to make progress despite the mental obstacles – through navigating the barriers thrown in our path (both externally and internally).
Which brings me to the title of Jeffers’s book – and my deepest criticism (sorry!). Having quoted over 100 books in What’s Stopping You? the only line I found worth quoting in Feel the fear and do it anyway was the title. And that was to refute its premise – at least the “do it anyway” proposition. Of course, we attack the same condition – fear of failure – but we differ fundamentally on the prescription because we have taken a different route from the diagnosis. Jeffers starts with the fear and works her way forwards, injecting helpful thoughts and tips as we pursue the goals that are triggering those fearful moments. What’s Stopping You? also starts with the fear. But it then works its way backwards, to how we got ourselves in this position. And this has a profound impact on how we should move forward from our current, stuck, status – re-evaluating our goals and seriously questioning the “do it anyway” element of Jeffers’s premise.
To explain, many fear of failure sufferers harbour inner dreams that occupy the highest-shelves of achievement. Many want to become famous via music, sport or broadcasting. Few will, because the dream is a nonsense conjured from our fear-based avoidance of challenging but realistic career choices that may involve exams and qualifications or other dreaded evaluations. In reality most fear of failure sufferers have yet to explore their real goals because their goals have all been motivated by the fear of public humiliation which, extraordinarily, can manifest itself in a willingness to pursue impossible dreams while eschewing challenging but obtainable career paths. And many sufferers may not even realise that this is where they stand – nurturing avoidance-based but inappropriate “wildest dreams” that are not goals at all. They are fantasies.
Yet Jeffers – and many other self-help writers – are focused on offering those with fear of failure the chance to, indeed, be a popstar. They are not decrying the dream as inappropriate or driven by avoidance of realistic but difficult challenges, as I am. Instead, they are saying: “go on – you can be a popstar” – despite the fact the desire to be a popstar may be yet another symptom or their fear of failure. Given this, my book is a million miles from “that other book” on the same subject.
That said, I want to end on a positive note. One thing Jeffers emphasises throughout is the need to take responsibility. And this means never “blaming anyone else for anything you are being, doing, having or feeling”. Yet it is also not blaming yourself – because that too is avoiding responsibility. “There I am messing up my life again. I’m hopeless,” is – again – not taking responsibility (other writers such as Stephen Covey support this). In fact, Jeffers is so strong on this vital requirement for recovery that she dedicates a whole chapter on it. It’s called “Whether You Want It or Not…It’s Yours” and it’s her best – even with the cuddly tales of Jean, Kevin and Tanya.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Entrepreneurial myths - busted
I rarely pass on other people’s blog posts but thought I would in this case – from Chicago entrepreneur Jay Goltz. His New York Times blog on the eight fallacies of entrepreneurship struck a chord with me – not least because I’m currently writing and researching a follow-up to What’s Stopping You? called What’s Stopping You – Starting a Business?
One of the conclusions I come to in What’s Stopping You? is that entrepreneurship could be a strong route for a recovering High-FF (someone with high fear of failure) because it removes many of the barriers (real and perceived) to making progress in our lives: other people. While we will have to persuade our customers to buy our goods or services, we will no longer have to navigate a boss that may be blocking our path for all manner of reasons, or colleagues (otherwise known as rivals).
I also suggest that a crucial need for High-FFs is to depersonalise their progress, perhaps making them view themselves as a company – Me Inc or Me Ltd – rather than an emotional being with confidence and self-esteem issues. Crucially, this allows people to view setbacks as just that: setbacks. They are not final and irreversible confirmations of our innate inabilities but wrinkles in a continuing project. They can be navigated (though not if we are convinced they are part of an inevitable journey towards ultimate failure). And starting a company is no more than taking depersonalisation to its rational conclusion – making our progress and the progress of our company one and the same pursuit.
Yet entrepreneurship brings its own myths, and Goltz does a fine job in busting a few. For me, his best-targeted thoughts are regarding control and freedom – two oft-cited objectives for starting a business. Indeed, starting a company is probably the least controlled project you will ever undertake (with the possible exception of parenting). A spark of an idea and bags of enthusiasm may help you make the leap – but it is a leap into the unknown, no matter how long and detailed your business plan. It is impossible to second-guess what is going to happen the moment you let go of the handrail of employment: sales certainties dry up, promised partners disappear, warm leads turn icy cold in just a phone call, costs escalate, projected income melts away.
If people want control they should stay working for a large corporation or public-sector body where yearly targets are made with some degree of knowledge and optimism, and our dealings with others are regulated by the fact it is a recognised name on the door.
As for freedom – forget it! I have often mused that, in reality, I have simply built my own prison. Who’s got the key? The clients, the team, the landlord, the creditors (and the debtors come to that). No matter where I am or what I’m doing my business has me trapped. I’ve spent days on the beach with the phone clutched to my ear, negotiated contracts while on a ski-lift and dealt with staff-disputes while trying to persuade my three-year old to eat his breakfast. No matter how well you delegate, the minute the pottery’s broken, you’re the owner.
This brings me to the third Goltz fallacy I want to emphasise – “do what you do well and delegate the rest”. In fact he was a bit gentle here, saying it was “nice in theory”. In my view its suicide, even in theory. In fact, this isn’t just my view – it comes from Michael Gerber – writer of The E-Myth Revisited, which is an important book for any would-be entrepreneur. The “e-myth” he talks of is the entrepreneurial legend of swashbuckling heroism and daring-do that leads the entrepreneur towards inevitable glory, fame and riches.
And one of the crucial elements of this myth, according to Gerber, is the notion that we go into business as a “technician” – keen to exploit our technical talents for our own account (rather than the big corporation we used to work for). Yet Gerber states there are two other equally-crucial roles that we cannot ignore if our business is to be sustainable: that of the “entrepreneur” with the vision and power to drive the business forward, and that of the “manager”, making the business actually meet its obligations (to all its obligees).
Business start-ups need to be able to cope with all three roles – or find someone (quickly) who can fulfil the needs of the roles the founder dislikes. Yet, while we can delegate the role of the manager – we may find that this leads to crucial balls being dropped in execution that eventually erode our reputation. And while we can delegate the role of the entrepreneur, we may find that person soon wondering why their vision and drive is for your benefit and not theirs.
So the only role we can successfully delegate and remain a viable and growing business is that of the technician – the executioner of the product or service we are employed to do. This is the very role that we love and probably our impetus for starting the business in the first place. Yet it’s the very role we have to give up to make our company succeed.
Welcome to the world of the entrepreneur!
One of the conclusions I come to in What’s Stopping You? is that entrepreneurship could be a strong route for a recovering High-FF (someone with high fear of failure) because it removes many of the barriers (real and perceived) to making progress in our lives: other people. While we will have to persuade our customers to buy our goods or services, we will no longer have to navigate a boss that may be blocking our path for all manner of reasons, or colleagues (otherwise known as rivals).
I also suggest that a crucial need for High-FFs is to depersonalise their progress, perhaps making them view themselves as a company – Me Inc or Me Ltd – rather than an emotional being with confidence and self-esteem issues. Crucially, this allows people to view setbacks as just that: setbacks. They are not final and irreversible confirmations of our innate inabilities but wrinkles in a continuing project. They can be navigated (though not if we are convinced they are part of an inevitable journey towards ultimate failure). And starting a company is no more than taking depersonalisation to its rational conclusion – making our progress and the progress of our company one and the same pursuit.
Yet entrepreneurship brings its own myths, and Goltz does a fine job in busting a few. For me, his best-targeted thoughts are regarding control and freedom – two oft-cited objectives for starting a business. Indeed, starting a company is probably the least controlled project you will ever undertake (with the possible exception of parenting). A spark of an idea and bags of enthusiasm may help you make the leap – but it is a leap into the unknown, no matter how long and detailed your business plan. It is impossible to second-guess what is going to happen the moment you let go of the handrail of employment: sales certainties dry up, promised partners disappear, warm leads turn icy cold in just a phone call, costs escalate, projected income melts away.
If people want control they should stay working for a large corporation or public-sector body where yearly targets are made with some degree of knowledge and optimism, and our dealings with others are regulated by the fact it is a recognised name on the door.
As for freedom – forget it! I have often mused that, in reality, I have simply built my own prison. Who’s got the key? The clients, the team, the landlord, the creditors (and the debtors come to that). No matter where I am or what I’m doing my business has me trapped. I’ve spent days on the beach with the phone clutched to my ear, negotiated contracts while on a ski-lift and dealt with staff-disputes while trying to persuade my three-year old to eat his breakfast. No matter how well you delegate, the minute the pottery’s broken, you’re the owner.
This brings me to the third Goltz fallacy I want to emphasise – “do what you do well and delegate the rest”. In fact he was a bit gentle here, saying it was “nice in theory”. In my view its suicide, even in theory. In fact, this isn’t just my view – it comes from Michael Gerber – writer of The E-Myth Revisited, which is an important book for any would-be entrepreneur. The “e-myth” he talks of is the entrepreneurial legend of swashbuckling heroism and daring-do that leads the entrepreneur towards inevitable glory, fame and riches.
And one of the crucial elements of this myth, according to Gerber, is the notion that we go into business as a “technician” – keen to exploit our technical talents for our own account (rather than the big corporation we used to work for). Yet Gerber states there are two other equally-crucial roles that we cannot ignore if our business is to be sustainable: that of the “entrepreneur” with the vision and power to drive the business forward, and that of the “manager”, making the business actually meet its obligations (to all its obligees).
Business start-ups need to be able to cope with all three roles – or find someone (quickly) who can fulfil the needs of the roles the founder dislikes. Yet, while we can delegate the role of the manager – we may find that this leads to crucial balls being dropped in execution that eventually erode our reputation. And while we can delegate the role of the entrepreneur, we may find that person soon wondering why their vision and drive is for your benefit and not theirs.
So the only role we can successfully delegate and remain a viable and growing business is that of the technician – the executioner of the product or service we are employed to do. This is the very role that we love and probably our impetus for starting the business in the first place. Yet it’s the very role we have to give up to make our company succeed.
Welcome to the world of the entrepreneur!
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