Logic does not erase feelings.
I received two rejections today within the timeframe of an hour. Rejection always hurts, but this one held a special sting. Maybe it was how much of myself I had poured into the applications, or maybe it was the simultaneity with which they reached my inbox; one just after the other, giving me neither space nor the time to process my disappointment. I have read countless stories of how normal rejection is, especially as a writer. I know how unrealistic to expect that every pitch or application leads to an offer, or for every editor to love your work. Every submission is a gamble, you either get it or you do not. The knowledge of this, however, does not insulate you from the hurt of rejection. In the middle of hurting there’s a dissonance between my head and heart. One feels hurt, and the other analyzes why the hurt is unnecessary. This does not stop the hurt.
Separating the art from the artist
Someone said, “reading is inhaling. writing is exhaling.” I agree. Whenever people say, “teach me how to become a writer,” I smile. There are things you cannot teach. Inhaling, exhaling, writing. I like to think of words like water in the way that it pours. Every word, every metaphor, comes from me. Is me. You’ll say, “show me your work.” What you don’t know is that it’s not just “work”, it’s me. My words are me. My thoughts, my experiences, my knowledge. Me. Writing is me stripping myself and putting myself on display. For you to see. This is why when I do not agree with a writer’s politics or ideas, I do not read their work. I am reading them. Their work is not work, it is an extension of them. It is them. This is why rejection stings, it is me. This is why taking my words without credit hurts. It is not my words, it is me. Maybe you see words, but sometimes I cried before learning the lessons that moved me to write. Look, I’m the one dealing with hurt while you get to only read the lovely words. Stop. My words are not just content for you. They are me. Laughter, the advice I got from family, resolutions reached with friends, hours of meditation, bursts of inspiration while sitting on the toilet, even now; a way to take my mind off my feelings. They’re not yours to take, they’re mine.
On letting love take care of you
Love is patient, love is kind…
I have come to discover this to be true. Not just love for others, but love for yourself. Loving yourself pushes you to come through for yourself, and on days such as these, it has been my saving grace. Love means honoring my sadness and sitting with it for as long as it takes to move through me. Love means being kind to my soft soft heart. Love means holding my hands, wrapping them around myself, all the while whispering affirmations and consolations. Love means reminding myself that I will have other offers and opportunities, as many times as I need to hear it. Not being frustrated when I forget, or when I doubt.
