Why do we hate to make language mistakes?

"Acquire language like you were a child!"  "Don't be afraid of making errors!" "Talk to as many native speakers as you can!"  There is certainly no scarcity of advice nowadays when it comes to how to acquire other languages. But how easy is it to follow that advice?  Why is it so hard to allow yourself  to make errors when learning a foreign language?

Let me say up front that I understand that mistakes are a natural part of the language learning process.  I accepted communication as the main goal of foreign language learning many years ago.

Communication is the goal!

I am familiar with the concept of  interlanguage, a term that linguists use to describe a version of the new language that a learner speaks on the road to becoming a native-like speaker. And every learner's interlanguage is rife with errors. Errors are a good thing, I keep telling myself.

Now let's go from theory to practice.  Making errors in another language (surprisingly more than making errors in my native language, English) embarrasses me to death.  And I have met very few adult learners of other languages who feel differently.  Both my husband Wayne and I have been faithfully completing Duolingo language lessons each day.

Duolingo

Both of us murmur an interjection (or in Wayne's case, more probably an expletive) when the program informs us that we have erred. And to add insult to injury, the program takes away a heart (serious business!), accompanied with a few bars of lugubrious music.

Don't lose all three hearts, or you are dead!

After every conversation I have in a foreign language, even in e-mails or text messages, my mind goes over and over the message long after it is gone, checking to see what errors I may have made.  And if I discover one, I blush.

I try to remember that making errors is a positive step in language learning when I am helping Wayne with his Spanish study.  I don't correct him when we are conversing.  I subscribe to the doctrine that correcting speakers when they are trying to formulate language in their minds is not only counterproductive, but possibly discouraging to them. But he persists in asking me, "Was that right?"  If I respond with, "Do you feel like you communicated what you wanted to say?", he says, "Yes, and was it right?"  

Why do language mistakes loom larger than other mistakes we make in life, like taking a wrong turn, calling a wrong number, or forgetting to lock the back door?  Maybe it's because language is something very personal to humans.  We create it from our minds.  And we hate doing it wrong!