I don’t need you to tell me I’m good: On rejection and validation

I’ve experienced a wave of rejection recently – from publishers saying no to my book proposal, to magazines saying no to article ideas, to prize givers not responding to essay submissions and me realising I wasn’t selected by the absence of my name on shortlists.

Where there have been responses, they’ve come with a variation on the feedback that mine was one of many incredible submissions but didn’t make it this time, they enjoyed reading my work, and good luck next time, etc.

I’ve also felt the emotional kickbacks from people in my life who don’t accept me for the entirety of who I am or how I choose to live, through words spoken as much as things not said.

Rejection and discomfort are all par for the course – in life and especially for those of us who put our work out into the world where it is inevitably going to be judged; and for those of us who in some people’s eyes, whether due to cultural or other lifestyle choices, veer from the path we were expected to take in life and so incur the burdensome weight of projected disappointment.

In terms of writing, as an editor and generally in my communications work across the spectrum, I’m familiar with the art and the value of the well-delivered “shit sandwich” – rejection encased in kindness. It’s not personal, but it can definitely feel that way – how can it not?

Personally and professionally, I also know better than to get derailed by being told No, and coach others along the same lines - because rejection is only part of a bigger picture, that speaking from my own experience, includes a fair share of positive feedback from clients, mentees, students, teachers and editors, and the people who see, embrace and appreciate (even if with difference) what and how I am and say.

Does rejection mean I’m not “good” at what I do? No. Does it sting a little? Yes, of course, I’m human after all and I have an ego, like the rest of us, and that’s no bad thing necessarily either (read on). Both questions and both responses are an indication that I care.

No big deal

The point is, the most important thing is, I refuse to care for rejection or conditional relationships as a sign of my worth. Equally, allowing myself to accept praise, acceptance and love is a practice in believing in my own inherent worth. Hence, I’ve been saying this a lot to myself lately, and encouraging the same capacity for self-empowerment with the writers I work with:

“I don’t need you to tell me I’m good.”

After a loooooong time practicing/struggling with/trying to embody this attitude of caring more for my own opinion than that of others when it comes to what I do, how I live, what I write, how I express myself etc, I am in a period of fully embracing the fact of my own worth as separate to the judgements of others.

Yes. we all want validation. Of course I want some of my work to be read. Naturally, I’d appreciate some attention. And yes, I’d like to be accepted for who I am. And crucially, if I don’t get that from others, then that doesn’t have to be a big deal.

Measurements of worth are an external metric I choose not to accept, partly because they’re so often capitalistic, individualistic bullshit, or subjective opinions, or projected delusions, and moreover, because I care enough about myself to not let other people’s judgements destabilise me (for too long).

And to be fair, compassionate and transparent, I used to care too much, more than I cared to admit at the time, but can do so now, with clarity of the fact that experience, unmet needs and unexpressed desires led me to invest more in external measures than internal. Like I'm fond of saying - it's a process, a practice, and yes, that overused but nonetheless apt word, a journey.

Care a little less

In spiritual practices - specifically in terms of what guides me, the teachings of Buddhism, as well as the peaceable tenets of Islam with which I was raised - we’re often told, wisely so, to do the work and make our commitments, our vows, and not think about the results – don’t do it for the outcome or for praise because a) you can’t be sure of the results, and b) your noble efforts may not be acknowledged or see fruition, and so your motivation has to be larger than that, larger than you, in the interests of our common humanity rather than “the small self”.

The small self might be considered the part of us that desperately craves attention, feels embittered and resentful about rejection, maybe because of past experiences, partly because that’s just part of (and crucially, not the whole of our) human nature.

We all feel this way sometimes, we all suffer in different shades of these same ways – and we don’t have to continue to play or feel or be small, in spirit, mind or matter.

As with everything, compassion and tender attention is the way out of the confusion and the clinging, towards clarity and the freedom of letting go of these hang-ups – in the case of rejection and acceptance, getting hung-up on needing others to validate us.

A cautionary word against rigid self-sufficiency here: we are relational beings, we don’t exist in isolation, to say we don’t care at all would be entering into a whole other realm of restriction and self-sabotaging limitation.

The answer is to find the sweet spot of the middle ground – to care just enough, but not too much, and maybe a little less, about one’s self-importance and about the ideas of others.

In other words, I don’t have to cherish or loathe myself or my outputs, nor do I benefit from riling or raving about others’ opinions on the same. My sense of purpose need not be dented when others don’t see it. Nor does it need to get inflated when they do.

Nothing is a big deal or a problem until we allow it become so. And when we do, because we will, because we’re human and it’s all a process, we can practice pausing, letting go, and setting ourselves free of these narratives again and again and again.

Choose (for) yourself

Of course we want results, of course we aspire for goodness (or at least ought to). But life holds no guarantees, and to think otherwise, to pin all our hopes on the desire for what we wish for, is a recipe for mental and emotional anguish. I reckon it’s reasonable to assume we’ve all been there, might still be there – but we don’t have to stay stuck there.

If and when the good times come, when the acceptances come, when the praise comes, that's wonderful, take it. And move on.

And when the rejections come, take them, learn from them if there are lessons to be learned (even if that’s a lesson in equanimity, in resuming stability after taking a little knock from the knock), let them go, and carry on.

Do what you do because you know it to be the right thing. Forget the rest.

It’s a tough and toughening lesson to learn, where tough pertains to boldness and self-empowerment, as opposed to the hard exterior we might build up in defence (been there, done that, cracked it and fell open to the aforesaid embraces of love, which includes loving the parts of myself that hardened and held me when that was what I needed).

I do what I do, say what I say, write what I write, live the life I do, make the choices I do, because I know from my own experience, exploration and experimentation that this is right for me and what matters to me and how I relate to the world, that this is what resources and supports me, and therefore helps me to move through the world in a way that is courageous, caring, curious, kind and true.

That’s enough. That’s all that matters. It, I, will occasionally get called into question, by my own doubting mind when it’s pricked by the words of others. Such is life as a relational being.

The same mind that doubts also contains the wisdom to check me back into the truth of things, which might even be that I’m projecting more worth onto the said words of others. And I'll remember – I don’t need anyone to tell me I’m a good writer, a good person, etc.

Constructive feedback, friendly criticism, a loving word that calls me to account – all are valid and necessary at times. I give all that as much as I receive it, in the spirit of generosity and care.

It’s all a matter of perception, projection and perspective. Ultimately, I get to decide what I feel, how I think, and what matters to me. So I'll add another proclamation:

"I don’t need you to pick me. I pick me."

Now, what about you?