Ink and Vein

“It seems like the theme of my life lately is rejection.”

I said these words to a friend as we took a walk and I shared news of recent rejections for publication and writer’s residencies. I know it’s part of the process, and that rejection just means I’ve been trying. Each rejection stings a bit, makes me question what I’m doing, and wakes the desire to retreat.

I’ve heard rejection is just saving us from opportunities that weren’t meant for us, that would have made us unavailable for other, better opportunities.

I don’t know that this bit of wisdom has ever helped me feel better about the experience.

I’m not devastated over the publication rejections, over not getting the writing residencies. I’m disappointed, because I was excited about the possibilities, but rejection really is part of the agreement we make when we try to get published, try to get a residency or fellowship. I’ll keep trying, and someday, I’ll get a yes instead of a no. It may be a bit before I get something out there again, but I will try, and try again.

This outlook isn’t as easy to find when it comes to rejection in other parts of my life. The past couple of years, I’ve experienced rejection in small and not-so-small ways – some that I’m not sure the other person even recognized as such, but that registered that way for me.

A series of events, connected and not, have made me retreat inside myself, have made me question places I thought were safe, people I thought were safe for me to be myself with, and to pay closer attention to what meaning I give things, when, apparently, little or no meaning was there at all.

Rejection wears on you, after a while, and there’s a confusing mix of cultural messaging that wants us to develop self-love, that says it doesn’t matter what others think of us as long as we love ourselves, but that also encourages us to constantly improve, to make a project of ourselves and continually work on ourselves so that we can be ready for love and other opportunities when they find us.

I don’t disagree with the need for self-improvement or the need for self-love, but it’s a tricky balance, and for me, comes with the question, when have I improved enough for it to be okay to love myself?

And then that comes with some other questions:
When can I rest, and just be? When will I have improved enough, and love myself enough, to be loved by others and to be able to accept love?

And, maybe, the question at the heart of it all: When will I have worked hard enough to earn love?

Perhaps that’s what really doesn’t sit well in my gut, is this language of earning, the language of capitalism, that is so deeply rooted in so much of our thinking, and that I struggle with, daily.

Rejection is a curious thing. On so many levels, I know it isn’t a condemnation. My writing not being accepted for publication doesn’t mean it isn’t good, it just means it wasn’t a fit for the places I sent it (sometimes, it might be because the writing isn’t good, too). People not reciprocating feelings is more about them, their needs and preferences, their emotional state, than it is about me.

It still, stings, though, and it still wears on me, and it still makes me hesitate, and, after repeated rejections and misunderstandings and miscommunications, the doubt creeps in. The rejection starts to come from myself, too.

I’ll try, and try again, when it comes to my writing, when it comes to building relationships. I just might need to retreat for a while, first.