The fear of failure is almost always more damaging than actual failure. The fear stops you from trying. Actual failure — the real thing, when it happens — is usually survivable, often instructive, and occasionally the specific thing that was needed to get to the next level.
The problem is not failure. The problem is the meaning we attach to it.
When something doesn't work, there are two ways to process it. You can treat it as information — data about what didn't work, about what to adjust, about where the assumption was wrong — and use it to go again with more knowledge than you had before. Or you can treat it as a statement about who you are: evidence that you were foolish to try, proof that you're not good enough, confirmation of the critical voice.
The first approach is how successful people actually work. Not because they feel less bad about failing — they often feel just as bad. But because they have learned, usually through experience, that the meaning of a failure is not fixed. It is chosen. And choosing to make it useful rather than definitive is a habit that, like all habits, gets easier the more you practice it.
What went wrong? What does that tell you? What would you do differently? Those are the only questions that matter after a failure. Everything else is just noise.