Life will hand every one of us disappointments. A door closes. A proposal is turned down. A plan we poured ourselves into falls apart. Someone we trusted lets us down, or we let ourselves down. I have been in leadership for a long time, and I can tell you that none of this means something has gone wrong with your life. It is simply part of living. What matters is what we do next.
When failure comes, we have a choice. We can let it define us, sit in the disappointment, replay it again and again, and slowly decide that we are not capable of more. Or we can acknowledge the loss, feel it honestly, and then rise and start looking for a way forward. Resilience is not pretending it did not hurt. Ecclesiastes 3:4 says, “A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” Grief is not weakness. If you were disappointed, it is because you cared. If you cried, it is because you were invested. Give yourself permission to feel it.
But notice that the Scripture says there is a time to weep. The danger is not in grieving. The danger is in moving in and unpacking our bags. I believe in setting a season for sorrow. Take a day, a week, or whatever the loss honestly requires, and let yourself feel it fully. Talk to someone you trust. Pray about it. Write it out. Then decide that the grieving has a limit, because your purpose does not. The longer we linger in disappointment, the louder it gets, until it starts to speak over our calling. A failure is an event. It becomes destructive only when we turn it into an identity.
I know something about this from my own life. I spent almost thirty years in federal service, and I am grateful for every one of them. Those years gave me wonderful colleagues, meaningful work, and the chance to grow as a leader. That career also opened the world to me. It gave me the opportunity to live internationally and to engage with cultures I would never have encountered otherwise. Living among people whose customs, languages, and ways of seeing life were different from my own widened my perspective and deepened my appreciation for diversity, and I carry those lessons with me every day. I had real successes during those years, and I even completed my doctoral degree along the way. I would never want anyone to read my story and think those years were wasted, because they were the foundation for everything that came after.
Like every career, though, mine had its share of disappointments. There were seasons, especially in the later years, when I hoped for the next opportunity and found myself passed over. If you have ever given your best to an organization and watched the recognition go somewhere else, you know how heavy that can feel. I did not pretend it did not sting. I let myself feel it, and then I chose to keep doing my best work, keep learning, and keep trusting that my value was not determined by any one decision made about me.
When I retired in 2011, I did not leave in defeat. I left with gratitude and with a sense that a new chapter was calling. Stepping into higher education lit a fire in me. I was noticed, I was seen as an expert, I was not dismissed, and my voice was valued. That season taught me something I want to pass on to you: a disappointment in one chapter does not cancel the successes of that chapter, and it certainly does not write the next one. You can honor where you have been, hold both the victories and the letdowns with an honest heart, and still walk boldly into what is next.
That window on the world only grew wider once I began taking students to places like India, Sri Lanka, Ukraine, and Romania. I have had the privilege of walking alongside communities that face challenges most of us can hardly imagine, and I saw people rebuild, replant, and start over with a kind of faith and determination that humbled me. Today, in my work at Lutheran Social Services of Southern California, I meet families who have lost jobs, homes, and hope, and who are still choosing to take the next step. They remind me that resilience is not reserved for the strong or the fortunate. It is a decision available to all of us.
Once you have grieved, the practical work begins, and it starts with asking better questions. Instead of asking why this happened to you, ask what you can learn from it. Every setback carries information about what worked, what did not, and what you would do differently next time. Then ask what is still within your control, because we cannot change what happened, but we can always choose our next step. Ask who can help you, since resilient people do not go it alone. They seek wisdom, mentors, and community. And finally, ask what one small step you can take today, because momentum matters more than perfection, and one step forward breaks the paralysis.
The people who succeed over the long run are rarely the ones who never fell. They are the ones who kept getting up, adjusting, and trying again with more understanding than before. Proverbs 24:16 tells us, “For a just man falleth seven times, and riseth up again.” Notice that the verse expects the falling. It does not say if you fall. It celebrates the rising. And Galatians 6:9 encourages us with these words: “And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” So often, the harvest arrives right after the point where quitting felt most tempting.
So if you are in a season of disappointment right now, hear this: you are not finished. What you are facing is real, and it may be painful, but it is not the end of your story. Take the time to grieve, then lift your head, dust yourself off, and ask, “Where do we go from here?” There are solutions you have not found yet, people you have not met yet, and doors you have not walked through yet. Your resilience is not just for you. Someone is watching how you handle this, and your getting up will give them permission to get up too.
Keep going. Your breakthrough may be closer than you think.
~Dr. LaSharnda
