How I cope with rejection

Recently I applied to a fancy writing programme for LGBTQIA+ peeps. I knew it would be a competitive process, but I also felt like my voice was perfect for the programme and that my story would be the ideal fit.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t get in.

And I’m not going to lie: when I got the rejection email, it hurt.

The version of the future that I’d imagined where I got in and I wrote a memoir and it got published, vanished into the aether.

I was really sad, and disappointed.

I felt my heart sink inside the ocean of my own chest.

What I wrote in my notebook while processing my emotions.

Historically, rejection for me has always felt like a pang in my heart, followed by a heavy weight bearing down on my chest.

A couple of years ago, I managed to name this feeling: shame.

Shame tells me that I am not good enough or special enough. That I won’t ever make it.

And the thing is… Not getting in doesn’t mean my story isn’t worth telling, or that a publisher won’t think it could be a good book, or that people wouldn’t like to read it. It also doesn’t take away from my inherent worth, as a person and as a writer.

In the past, I would have let that feeling take the reigns, and it would have discouraged from trying again. Nobody wants my story. I’m not a good enough writer. I’ll be rejected again if I try again.

But years of therapy and parts work and coaching have led me to this point. I know better now. Not just intellectually. Somatically. I know my body is processing emotions that it’s not quite ready to let go of, yet. The pain and the fear and the shame are all valid and I let myself feel them. But I also want to take myself further.

So I worked on shifting the pain and rejection and disappointment into fuel for more courage to keep trying and to keep going.

My process was to write down all my emotions and thoughts, and to take them to their logical conclusion.

It went like this:

• Feeling shame is normal.

• Yes, I didn’t make it this time and it sucks.

• And there are so many more doors for me to push open.

• Maybe there is even a better one!

• And I need to keep trying so I can push enough doors open that I find the right one FOR ME.

Writing this down in my notebook felt so cathartic, like I was giving myself the exact pep talk I needed to hear.

Then I decided to make an illustration capturing how I felt, to turn my loss into a sense of love.

I’ll leave you with the image.

With big feelings, always,

Laurie xx