Rejection is My Cardio (And I’m Tired)

How to Keep Going When You’d Rather Lie Facedown on the Floor

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I am a walking red flag—I eat popcorn like a savage, I buy things to solve my problems (spoiler alert: they don’t), and most damningly, I take rejection as a personal referendum on my worth. It’s irrational, I know, but every “no” feels less like a simple decision and more like confirmation that I was foolish to try in the first place.

Whether it’s a book club I ghosted months ago deciding not to take me back or a literary agent passing on my novel, every “no” hits like a gut punch. It doesn’t matter if it’s small or life-altering—each one sends me spiraling. My chest constricts, folding in on itself, making myself smaller and smaller in the world.

The worst part? I over-personalize them all. Even the ones that have nothing to do with me.

Of course, some rejections cut deeper than others. The ones that linger, that seep into my bones, are the ones tied to the two things I’ve worked the hardest for: Publishing a book and having a child. They are arguably the two biggest, most personal dreams in my life.

The Hope Problem

Hope is the cruelest part of rejection. If you never believed something was possible, the loss wouldn’t hurt so much. But when you’re given reason after reason to believe you’re on the verge of a yes, hope sneaks in like a houseguest who refuses to leave. You start picturing the details: the baby’s name, the book on the shelf with your name on the cover. You let yourself want it. You let yourself believe it. And then—just like that—it’s gone. The email, the phone call, the polite but brutal “We’ve gone in another direction.” You tell yourself it’s fine, that you half-expected it. But the loss of something you never had? Somehow, that still feels like grief.

Dramatic? I think not! Take our surrogacy journey, for example. We were told we would be ideal candidates, we had tried for years, we naturally couldn’t conceive, and we didn’t have previous children yet.

Potential surrogates wanted to help people like us, they said. Before year-end, they said. We have a potential match, they said.

But it wasn’t. At first, multiple surrogates passed over our profile for the inane reason of our location (apparently Orlando is a cooler place to visit?). Then they pulled a profile of a woman who didn’t meet our doctor's parameters. I am not sure I can explain how painful it is, after six years of hoping, of having that hope crest that a match had finally, FINALLY come in, only to realize the agency hadn’t done their due diligence.

“She was not wanted. That was the long and the short of it: she had learned want, briefly and hungrily. A span of a day, two days. She had learned the shape of it, the quick taste of it.” - The Safekeep by Yael van der Wouden

Back to square one.

Back to the questions that follow every rejection: Why? Why? Why? Yes, first world problems. I am aware. But the sting doesn't care. My brain doesn’t care that it isn’t personal. Or that sometimes there is just no good reason. It still hurts. When that itsy bitsy spark of hope is allowed to grow into a flame then abruptly snuffed out—Ouch.

The Chaos of Creative Rejection

Then there’s the rejection of my writing. I’ve poured my heart into a novel that I know is good. My first book? A YA fantasy that probably deserved every rejection it got. But Susie Sweetheart Is Back From the Dead? It’s the best thing I’ve ever written.

And before you think I’m deluding myself, I know this story is good. I know it’s worth telling. Every beta reader has had positive things to say, if varying visions for the literary aspect, romance, violence, and gore.

And yet—agents don’t bite. Or worse, they contradict each other so wildly that I start to question reality.

One tells me it’s too exposition-heavy. Another tells me it needs more exposition. One praises the pacing; another thinks it drags. One says, “It’s so fun and fresh!” Another calls it “too commercial.” What do you do with that feedback?

It’s like being in a funhouse mirror—every response distorts my book into something unrecognizable. One second, I think I’ve cracked the code. The next, I’m convinced I should light the whole manuscript on fire.

“How quickly did the belly of despair turn itself over into hop, the give of the skin of overripe fruit.” - The Safekeep by Yael van der Wouden

Rejection stories often focus on resilience, but what about the moment when you just… don’t have it in you to keep trying? The exhaustion of constant rejection—whether in dating, careers, friendships, or creative pursuits—can feel like a slow erasure of self. How do you rebuild from that?

Readers LOVE a resilience story. The plucky job seeker who finally lands the dream role. The writer who got 100 rejections before landing a book deal (🫠). The entrepreneur who was turned down by every investor but somehow made it work (🤩). Rejection is always framed as a stepping stone to success—as if it’s just a numbers game, and if you keep rolling the dice, eventually, you’ll win.

But what happens when you just don’t have it in you to roll the dice one more time? When every rejection takes a little piece of you, until there’s not much left? What if you’ve sent out 50 job applications, or texted first in every friendship, or tried so hard to make a relationship work, only to end up exactly where you started?

There’s a unique kind of exhaustion that comes from repeated rejection—it makes you doubt not just your work, but your worth. It wears down your motivation, your optimism, your ability to try again. It can turn into self-rejection, where you preemptively take yourself out of the running because you can’t handle another no.

Reframing Rejection

I’ve tried to reframe this in two ways: First, rejection—at its core—is a privilege. And second, rejection physically hurts, which means maybe there’s a way to dull the pain.

Rejection hurts, but at its core, it’s also a sign of access. You can’t be rejected from a job you never had the qualifications to apply for. You can’t be turned down for a date if no one even sees you as a viable romantic option. You can’t lose a friend who didn’t value you in the first place. There’s a certain privilege baked into rejection—it means you got far enough to even be considered.

This shifts rejection from a personal failure to a threshold—an indicator that you’ve put yourself out there, that you’ve tried, that you’re in the running. It makes you wonder: Are there people who don’t even get close enough to be rejected? If rejection is the cost of ambition, what does it mean for people who don’t have the luxury of even getting to the door, much less having it slammed in their face?

This perspective doesn’t erase the sting of rejection, but it does reframe it. It forces us (me!) to acknowledge that being in the room, even if we’re asked to leave, is a step that not everyone gets. And sometimes, realizing this can take the edge off the rejection itself—because it means you’re still in the game.

And if that perspective shift doesn’t help? There’s always science.

Studies show that rejection activates the same brain regions as physical pain. LIKE I SAID! Rejection hurts. Your brain processes being turned down, left out, or dismissed the same way it processes breaking a bone. I’m not being dramatic. It actually is that bad.

In my very scientific research (Google) for this essay, I found something wild—the same painkillers that work on physical pain can actually dull the pain of rejection. In studies,¹ people who took Tylenol reported feeling less hurt by social exclusion. (Not that you should start popping Tylenol every time you get ghosted, but… interesting.)

Where Do We Go From Here?

So, what now? When is the right time to step back and let yourself not try for a while? And how do you know the difference between needing a break and giving up?

I don’t have a neat, satisfying answer. But maybe that’s the point. For a feeling so universal, there has to be a comfort that everyone has been rejected… and we all keep going. Maybe rejection isn’t always a stepping stone to success. Maybe sometimes, it’s just rejection, and that’s okay. Maybe it’s about sitting with the hurt, acknowledging it, and deciding—on your own timeline—whether you’re ready to roll the dice again.

If rejection means we were in the running, then trying at all is proof that we’re not giving up. And maybe, for today, that’s enough.

And in the meantime, there’s always popcorn.

Book and wine pairing

Put down whatever book you’re reading and pick this baby up. Blood Over Bright Haven by M.L. Wang is perfection. This dark academia meets gaslamp fantasy (I promise, you may think you’re over it, but you’re not) explores themes of power, morality, and the cost of ambition. The characters are flawed but draw you in, the setting is atmospheric and believable, the intrigue is suuuch a good slow burn, but it’s really the commentary on society that make this elegant novel sing. Did I lose you there? I hope not. It’s not done in a way that is proselytizing, and it’s integral to both the plot and character development. The ending will have me thinking WTF for a lifetime.

This is incredibly hard to pair because I could go with something heavy to fit the vibes, or something elegant to match the prose and the plot, or perhaps something different altogether, like, lets say, a drink strong enough to get me through that ending?!

I think we’ll go with Chateau Monbousquet St Emilion, a Bordeaux this is at once rich and elegant, but hardy enough to stand on its own. There are fruitier notes on the front that settle into the darker and more subtle base layer.

Writing Update

McMurder, A Molly McFadden Mystery: I finally made progress!!! Many thanks to

Beth Morris

for scheduling zoom writing sprints. The accountability has been incredible for my productivity. Now we’re also at the Save the Cat moment of the book - WOO! Also, big thanks to my beta readers Bianca & Allie (who apparently don’t have substacks 🤨) for the feedback on making Chapter 1 more cohesive. You’re the best!

Querying Susie Sweetheart: No real news except a ‘no’ with feedback that didn’t sit well with me. You probably put that together given the essay above… but felt I should reiterate for those scanners. I still have several full manuscripts out in the world so fingers crossed 🤞.

What I’ve been enjoying recently

Pitch Perfect soundtrack - it’s been getting me through this McMurder first draft (are you now picturing how ridiculous this book is?) | Blood Over Bright Haven by M.L. Wang - serious just so stupid good | The Safekeep by Yael van der Wouden - clearly just finished, considering I used two quotes for the essay 😅 - pretty good for litfic! | Little Weirds by Jenny Slate - I’ve heard Jenny is wonderfully weird and funny. I can’t wait to go through this book of essays, hopefully learn a thing or two for my own writing | Metal Slinger by Rachel Schneider has made some rounds on bookstagram… consider my interest piqued… but also I need something lighter next.

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Please consider clicking the little heart on this essay - your engagement helps more than you! I’d love to hear from you if this essay made you ~feel~ something, have read a book I recommended, or think I’m wildly off about my wine pairings.

xx,
bb

1. UCLA study - it’s real!