“I already tried starting a small business in Uganda and it flopped—what makes me think this new thing will be different?”
That voice in your head isn’t just doubt—it’s grief, dressed up as logic. And I get it. It’s easy to look at a past failure and believe it tells the whole story. That maybe it’s not just the idea that flopped. Maybe it was you. Maybe you weren’t cut out for this whole “entrepreneur” thing. You poured your time, your money, your heart into something… and it didn’t go the way you dreamed. It stung. Still does.
There’s a unique kind of shame that comes with a public setback—especially in a place like Uganda, where community ties run deep and news spreads fast. People saw you trying. Maybe they even warned you. Maybe you can still hear someone saying, “You should’ve just stuck to a regular job.” And now, every time you feel a new idea bubbling up, it’s not excitement—it’s fear. A quiet dread whispering, “What if I fail again?”
But here’s the thing. That shame? It’s lying to you.
You’re not starting over from scratch. You’re starting from experience. And no, that’s not just some Pinterest quote people throw around to sound wise—it’s real. You learned things in that first business that no textbook, webinar, or well-meaning mentor could’ve taught you. You learned what not to do. You learned how people actually behave, not just what they say they’ll do. You found out that money doesn’t stretch the way you thought, that marketing takes more than a Facebook post, and that passion, while powerful, needs a strategy to stand on.
So when you say, “What makes me think this new thing will be different?”—well, you do. The you who’s been burned. The you who now knows better. And maybe that version of you is quieter now. Maybe you don’t feel bold or loud or invincible anymore. But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe humility, mixed with hunger, is the strongest fuel there is.
Let me ask you something: What if the first time wasn’t supposed to work?
I know that sounds crazy. But what if it was meant to show you the terrain? Like walking a dark path once just to map out where the rocks are. Would you really call that a failure? Or just the first draft?
Here’s a gentle truth: the best stories usually don’t start with success. They start with a fall… then a long pause… and then the quiet, determined climb back up. Nobody claps at the first stumble. But when someone rises anyway—especially when no one’s watching? That’s where the real power lives.
So if there’s still a spark in you, however small, protect it. Feed it. You don’t need to shout your plans this time. Just move. Quietly. Consistently. Learn from what didn’t work. Keep your eyes open. Build with wisdom, not just enthusiasm.
You may never fully outrun that voice of doubt—but you can outgrow it. And maybe, just maybe, this time won’t just be different… it’ll be right.
