The Incredible Pain Of Not Getting Rejected
Somewhere deep in the squishy, squiggly, rubbery folds of my brain, rejection got mixed up with things that needed to be avoided — at all costs.
The perils of rejection were clear. Intermingling with other no-nos like scorpions, black widow spiders, drugs, and toddlers having temper tantrums. Ok fine…kids in general. “Stay away from these things,” my brain warned, “they’re not for you. They can make you uncomfortable and hurt you.”
My brain loosened restrictions somewhat when it wasn’t just me getting rejected — it was easier to stomach going down if I was part of a group. So, when my rock and roll band was chosen to open instead of headline, I decided it was because of the guitarist, and her inability to play anything other than power chords.
Years later, the band split and I moved away from the city up into the woods. There were incredible aspects to this, and I fell head over heels in love with nature. The sweet vanilla scent of pine greeted me when I arrived home from a day at the office, tires crunching down the long gravel driveway after my hour-long commute. The car door shut with that sort of echoey snap of warped sound you get when you’re tucked deep amidst towering trees.
Sometimes I’d pull out my banjo. Seated on the wooden deck with its bouncy rotting boards, I’d sing softly. Strum my tunes, and the deer passing through stopped dead in their tracks. The wide-eyed worried look on their face similar to that most creatures get after an up-close deep woods banjo encounter.
In the heat of summer, I sipped beer. The relentless dry California sun reduced me to an ant under a magnifying glass, and the luxury of a chilled afternoon can — after raking piles of a dry assortment of needles and leaves cluttering my 3 acres — was heaven. I’d press the cold can of beer against my sweaty red face before finding a seat in the shade and cracking the lid.
Slowly, the social aspects of my life fell away. Things that kept me engaged disappeared in the rearview. I existed in a rudderless state.
The scariest part is, I wasn’t conscious — wasn’t fully aware of what was happening. I’d become so disengaged, but was unable to understand or articulate why. And without being able to see it for what it was, I stayed — did nothing. Unwittingly captive.
Since I wasn’t putting myself out there, I felt safe. You can’t get rejected if you’re not trying. But man. Looking back, I was lonely. Deeply unfulfilled, and lost.
I did what I thought I should. I did what everyone around me was doing.
I watched TV.
Directed focus towards a career.
What career? Pretending.
I pretended I knew what I was doing.
Perhaps the weight of “adult” was settling in, and with that a belief that in order to succeed, I had to reject the impractical. Things I valued and loved. I cut off communication with the part of myself that always delighted in the sheer magic of life, swapped it out for what I thought I was supposed to do.
I had experience working in an office, that was something. I had the uniform: loose flowing blouses, slacks, skirts, and patent leather pointy toed shoes with a sensible heels.
I applied for jobs locally, got interviewed and was rejected. I excused the rejection by making things up. “They’re hiring internally,” I said, because I couldn’t psychologically handle the thought that it was me, that I somehow wasn’t good enough or right.
As with any story that delves into the past — reducing years to a few sentences — it’s a lot more complicated. There’s a lot more life. Fragments and other themes weave themselves through, adjacent. But we’re here to follow the thread of rejection, and there was more. Things like unreturned texts, or texts that didn’t contain the hope — longing, desperation — that I felt.
Six years passed. It wasn’t until I got so sick of showing up to an office — done, nothing left — that I realized something had to change.
My old punk rebellion stirred.
I found myself coming back to life, re-engaging by reaching hungrily for the unknown. I understood I had a choice: If I was ever going to be an author, if I was ever going to do something exciting, I’d have to risk rejection and actually put myself out there. A necessary component in order to realize a dream, in order to actually live.
So, I flipped everything on its head. Uprooted, reexamined, cross-examined, and made a decision. I saw my aversion to rejection for what it is, a disempowering belief that rejection diminishes my self-worth, akin to:
Kat trying something + Kat getting rejected = Kat is a human failure.
So effing dramatic, as things tend to be when they’ve been granted tyrannical rule over your life.
As a freelancer, you can imagine. Rejection is the name of the game. It’s a big part of my to-do list now, and I’m getting so much better at handling it. Some may even call my encounters with rejection graceful.
“Fuck you, I don’t want to be part of your elitist pretentious publication anyway!” has been replaced with, “thank you for the opportunity.” And I mean it…mostly.
If rejection tells us anything, it’s that we’re actively engaged in life.
We’re trying; participating and learning. Actively living.
People with a strong sense of self (and a healthy understanding of their inherent worth) don’t require endless validation. They’re the people who can shoulder rejection without cowering in shame. These heroic humans don’t lie to themselves — or anyone else — about why they were rejected. There’s accountability.
This is what I strive for, what I try to remember. No, it doesn’t make rejection any less painful, and it requires a lot more presence, diligence, and care than things that come easy.
Yet, I still think rejection is worth celebrating. More doors open because of it. More lessons, growth, and opportunities reveal themselves through it.
We’re so outcome based, and that strips away the best part: it robs us of the journey, the substance, the life.
Not fearing rejection is incredibly freeing, and it’s simple: just make the decision. Your life, your choice.
And here’s a secret: something beautiful happens when you stand up to rejection. You realize, ha! It’s nowhere near as powerful as you.
