Amber Ballenger: Becoming Better Than “Not Enough”

There’s not enough design on this and it looks just plain awful.

 I just can’t get this program to work!

 Would this even be functional?

These designs are just simply not good enough; everyone will be so disappointed in me.

I was slumped over my desk, head buried down in my arms among the scattered piles of design sketches. My laptop was whirring dramatically next to my head, just as overworked as I was and ready to give up. The loading symbol circling around on the screen mocked me, taunting me about my hour-long wait for the design program to load. I felt suffocated by the cluster of badly designed sketches surrounding me, threatening to swallow me up. Cane clip-ons, reversible wheelchair covers, and wearable nonverbal cue card accessories stayed within the abandoned design pages, laying dormant as they waited for me to bring them to life.

Earlier that day, I had spoken to Colleen, one of the cosplayers I interviewed for my project. She was overwhelmingly enthusiastic about my research project; she thought the idea of me designing accessories and fashion items for disability/mobility aids was exciting and inclusive, something that she was passionate about portraying in her own adapted costumes as a disabled cosplayer. I thought back to our conversation with a sinking feeling in my gut. Was I disappointing such a big supporter of mine from the disabled community by not producing the designs I wanted? Was I not good enough to succeed in this project?

Guilt settling deep within my chest felt like it was strangling me. The hours researching disabilities, aids, accommodations, and  fashion design construction felt trivial; if I couldn’t use this information to successfully create marvelous designs that were worthwhile, then what good was I to complete the project? Obviously, not enough. Feeling defeated and frustrated, I circled my finger on the laptop’s touchpad aggressively, searching for any sign that it was done tormenting me and was ready to cooperate. It was not. At the time, I thought this was one of the worst, most frustrating things– to be stuck sitting at a desk watching a circle go around and around in silence. However, in the end, the lagging computer wasn’t the biggest or most impactful hurdle of my design process that day.

Still frustrated from my meaningless stalemate with the computer, I swept aside my failed sketch designs, balling up a few of the worst to throw bitterly into the trashcan nearby. What a failure. Failure– that word made a chill prick down my spine.

As a lifelong Honors student and ambitious “go-getter,” failure was not something I was accustomed to. I had the awards to prove it– “best” in this, “first place” in that; it was a representation of all my hard work and dedication to the activities I pursued. I never was one to give up or back down, and it resulted in me always giving 100% of my effort and ending up being successful, no matter the subject or task. The awards felt like molehills beside the mountain that this project placed in my life. The pressure to make inclusive, unique designs that would be functional and stylish was enormous. I thought about all of the people I interviewed to collect testimonies and experiences from; I had gotten their hopes up about my big ideas and unfaltering decision on success. I looked over at the awards on my shelf across the room in disdain, upset that they had lied to me about me being capable or adaptable or good enough at all.

As I sat there glaring at the cold metal of trophies and limp hanging medallions, I decided that I had to push myself back into the project and make it succeed, just like I always did. My awards were a constant reminder of what I had accomplished in the past when I forced myself to achieve and be the best, even if there was frustration or doubt. It wasn’t a matter of “if” I could create my designs successfully; it was a “had to.” I knew I was letting myself down if I didn’t do the project perfectly. If I didn’t, then what on earth did all those awards stand for? Who was I if I wasn’t pushing myself to be the best at everything I did?

I knew that if I worked hard, then I would create designs my interviewees could celebrate and would impress everyone with my victory over the project. The thought lifted my spirits and I set to work, sketching and researching and waiting for an annoyingly difficult laptop to behave properly (spoiler alert: it never really did and most of my designs looked perfectly fine on paper). By the end of the project weeks later, I had created successful designs that I was proud of. However, I couldn’t celebrate this accomplishment because I was too drained to even enjoy it. I pushed myself to the limit because I believed that everyone I had interviewed was counting on me, the whole disabled community was counting on me, and that I had to be the one to get it done right.

Looking back on my project now, I wish I could tell that stressed and overly perfectionistic version of myself differently, that the only person putting pressure on me to do perfectly was myself. I was so used to always performing well and being successful when I worked diligently that when I worked hard with very lackluster results at first, I hit a metaphorical wall. It was baffling. The idea of failure was so foreign that I forced myself into a position to do better yet still remained miserable and burnt out from the self-induced expectations.

My project showed me that I could be my own worst enemy when it came to expectations, whether academically or personally, and that failure is a natural and often expected part of living. There will always be something that you work hard towards and still come away empty handed– and that's okay! It’s okay to fail as long as you learn from it and keep going! I realized afterwards how differently the results could have been if I just focused on the fun aspects of the project rather than the impending doom of being “not enough” the whole time.

Now, I take life in stride, allowing myself time to reevaluate how I handle tasks and how the result makes me feel about myself and my accomplishments. For example, when I become frustrated or stressed with a task, I take a breather and step away for a bit in order to regain my clarity rather than forcing myself to keep working.

Completing this project challenged me and made me fail in a few areas, but I feel as though I learned more from failing rather than succeeding, an important way of thinking that I carry with me to this day. I no longer fear failing and rather view it as a learning experience that will help shape me in some way. I understand now that I will always want to push myself and be perfect in everything I do, but by accepting the ups and downs in life rather than fixating on the daily pressures and self-doubt, being “enough” and “not enough” become obsolete.

Amber Ballenger is an English-Professional Writing major, also pursuing a minor in Visual Art, who will graduate in May 2022. Her Breakaway experience consisted of a research project, from Summer 2021 to Fall 2021, that focused on implementing Japanese fashion and cosplay into disability/mobility aids. After graduating from Lander, she will be completing an internship at Walt Disney World and then pursuing her future career goals.