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Braving Rejection: When “No” Still Stings

Braving Rejection: When “No” Still Stings

Mar 20
2 min read

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.


 
 
 

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