top of page
Search

Braving Rejection: When “No” Still Stings

Updated: Mar 22

When I was young, I was ambitious in that uncomplicated way children are, before the world teaches them caution. I had big dreams and chased them without fear.


Then came the hardest years, my dark night of the soul. 


Religious loss. Psychosis. A stretch of drinking that felt, at the time, like the only way to survive the weather of my own mind. 


By the time I found sobriety, I had stopped reaching. I wanted a life that was small and quiet: a sanctuary of coffee, dogs, and a garden.


A life that asked very little of me, and in return, promised not to break me again.


That was enough for a long time. Sometimes survival is the only work.


But trauma peels back in layers, and lately, I’ve found myself standing on ground steady enough to remember the girl I was before the storm. The one who made plans and carried them like torches. The one who wanted things out loud.


So, I decided to try again.


It began with a children’s book. A chorus of no’s. A long, ringing silence. A couple dozen copies sold, mostly to people who love me. 


I had an incredible gallery showing. Then came the art markets. First Fridays. A microphone, my voice, and my story offered up in a room full of strangers.


And I signed a contract for my memoir. I am going to be a published author. A big yes.


And yet, today, a farmers market rejected my vendor application. And it crushed me.

The scale of the rejection doesn’t matter. A small no can land with the same sting as a large one.


I am learning to be grateful and gutted in the same breath. I can be proud of the horizon unfolding before me and still feel pierced by something minor and fleeting. Both are true.


I am trying not to rush past the sting or polish it into perspective before it’s ready. I am simply letting it ache.


I have a sensitive heart. It bruises easily, but it is that same tenderness that keeps me open and willing to try once more.


I am sharing my story at last. And if it meets someone else in that same fragile place, then the ache was worthwhile.


 
 
 

Recent Posts

See All
Growing up Mormon

The air in the Salt Lake Valley has a specific weight to it: dry, sage-scented, and heavy with the shadow of the Wasatch Front. As a child, those mountains weren't just geography; they were the walls

 
 
 
Richard & Rooster: A Love Letter to My Weenie Dogs

My husband and I have two mini dachshunds. Their names are Richard and Rooster. Yes, we did that on purpose. It was my husband’s idea, which is something I say both to give credit where it’s due and t

 
 
 
From crying to laughing (gas) at the OB-GYN

I had been bleeding for nearly a week — the low-grade, inconvenient kind that serves as a constant, pulsing reminder that something isn’t right. My Mirena removal two weeks prior had been unsuccessful

 
 
 

Comments


bottom of page