I was a serial failure.

Here's how I stopped.

TLDR: I’m taking on two new coaching clients this week, then closing the doors. If you’re ready to finally build your writing business in 2026 - not someday, not eventually, but now - don’t miss out. Spots close Friday. Apply now.

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I failed my driving test four times in a row.

Between 2007 and 2010, I endured four horrific examination sessions in the driver’s seat of an examiner’s car, gripping the steering wheel with sweaty, white-knuckled hands while my examiner gripped his clipboard in much the same way.

It was terrifying every time. The whole thing was brutal.

I came pretty close to passing once or twice. But on every occasion, I’d end up slinking back to my instructor with my tail between my legs, and she’d force a smile and tell me I’d “get it next time for sure”, and neither of us believed it for a second.

I was a serial failure when it came to driving tests.

My friends all passed with flying colours, of course. They’d already been driving for years by the time I failed for the fourth time.

I felt so far behind them.

And after a certain point, I started to believe I’d simply never pass it. I’d get back behind the wheel of that car and think ‘well, here we go again’, and that was that. I’d basically failed before we even left the parking lot of the driving test centre.

Part of me knew I’d never get my licence. It just wasn’t for me.

But then, Auntie A came along.

She’s one of those people who everyone needs in their life, the kind of person who won’t quit on you even when you’ve quit on yourself. The person who’ll haul you back to your feet by your shirt collar, give you a swift kick up the backside and get you moving again. But, yunno, in a nice way.

Auntie A took me back to the town where I’d failed my test four times already, buckled herself into the passenger seat, and told me to drive.

So I drove. Around and around that town, up and down the same streets I’d white-knuckled my way along with a panic-stricken examiner sat next to me, silently praying he’d make it home alive (ok, I wasn’t that bad… I think).

While I drove, Auntie A and I chatted. I have no recollection of what exactly we discussed, and it probably wasn’t especially important.

But it distracted me from what I was doing. I forgot to be nervous.

I just drove.

I gained confidence.

I stopped believing I was destined to fail.

(that’s not me, by the way)

And guess what? When I took my test for the fifth time, I passed!

I’ll never forget that day. Sticking my ‘R’ plates on the rear window of my hatchback. Neighbours coming over to congratulate me. Posting about it on Facey-B and having actual IRL friends comment on it.

Glorious.

The handful of times Auntie A chatted with me in that car helped build me back up to the point where I was mentally resilient enough to pass the test.

There was no secret sauce, no magic pill. No trick or sleight of hand.

Through the simple act of talking to me from that passenger seat and guiding me gently towards my goal, she shifted my mindset from “I will fail” to “I can pass”, and that was enough.

We all need an Auntie A figure in our lives. Someone who’ll stubbornly believe in us when we don’t believe in ourselves, who’ll take the time to move us gently but unwaveringly towards our goal.

That experience taught me about the power of having a belief partner, someone who’ll simply be there for you when you need it most.

And now, that’s what I aim to be for my coaching clients.

I’ll be the person who reminds you of your inherent capability when you feel like a failure.

I’ll be the person who picks you up off the floor, dusts you down and gets you back on the road.

I’ll remind you to celebrate your milestones and learn from your mistakes.

I’ll be your sounding-board. The partner who’ll offer advice and guidance when you’re not sure what to do next. The person who’ll just listen when you need to vent.

Most importantly, I won’t give up on you, especially when you try to give up on yourself.

I’m a good driver now. I learned from my mistakes and got better. I had to damn-well earn that little plastic card with my face on it.

But I couldn’t have done it without Auntie A (she’s my actual aunt by the way, and she rocks). I couldn’t have done it without having someone in my corner. Or, in this case, my passenger seat. I couldn’t have done it alone.

Are you ready to stop going it alone?

If so, let’s talk. 👇

I have two coaching spots available right now. If you’re ready to take the next step, apply today. The door closes on Friday.

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