When Rejection Knocks
No Thank You
The room gets narrow.
I can’t see so well. I’m hungry. Or maybe I have to poop. I am ‘totally ok’ and I am going to ‘do this well’ and you will ‘be proud of me’. I am very ‘mature’. I have great character. Such great character and such a stellar constitution, that I will stand here and not run and I will push my personhood back into the box at the end of the well at the base of my brain.
In there, she will be oh so quiet no one will hear a peep and anger will never be able to find her while she waits, eye open and tear free forever without needing any attention at all.
She’s completely OK.
And, later, she will tell this story, a bit more compassionately with the edges of the details all blurred and hazy so it will inspire someone else who is upset. I will not, but I will actually yes, when they share that they were shut down and told ‘no’, ‘not you’, ‘we’ve chosen to go with another candidate or lover or tenant or friend’, feel like it is all too bad and that, honestly, they are somewhat faulted in feeling so, well, sad. And showing it. Oh, Lord, showing the rage and pain and frustration right there on their face and in their tone.
Some part of myself will feel disgust for their candor. The ease and authenticity with which they are able to, well, express themselves and stay in that space? My God. Is that folly or courage?
I do hope the answer is clear…
I have this weird kind of notch in my professional bedpost - I’m really good at firing people.
Not like ‘ruthless’ good, but like lovingly good. Many people I’ve fired have later sought my mentorship, we remain in contact, and I’ve done all I can to move them on to more appropriate spots.
I have no fear. I don’t shy from it. It is like a weird kind of field medicine. I sternly slay the limbs of casualty after casualty. I’m looked to by other more squeamish types to do their dirty work. Stand against the arrows and do the work that must be done and work a full day afterwards, never daring, or even occurring that I perhaps should, talk about the dirty assignment’s impact on me - the executioner.
Uncomfortable, huh?
Wanna hear something else?
When I worked in service (every job is service work, given, but here I mean hospitality, food service, and retail specifically) the worst, meanest, more tricky, and, even, combative customers - they love me.
Oh, too, ‘bad bosses’... Bad bosses are CRAZY about me too. I’m the trusted favorite of the most evil executive in the room. We find each other - toxic in our fondness for being at our various ends of the inappropriate and impolite spectrum.
This is my secret ‘ouchy’ power. These abilities scream out and/or make people who should be cruel, rightfully even, feel like it is OK with me, that I will guide the group to success and never, ever say - it hurts me too and/or I don't anymore.
One thing that coaching and counseling has taught me (OK, one of the very many things all of YOU have schooled me in) is in the powerful righteousness of pain. It scares me, disappointment does.
And, that is not so unreasonable is it? No, right? If you’ve ever have the experience of either one massive trauma coming down upon you, and/or being the victim of a series of unfortunate occurrences causing you to be keenly aware that if you open your mouth you’ll only have to share a laundry list of incidence and experiences that are ‘too bad’, you know what it’s like when people drift away.
They talk to others at the party. They don’t text so often. You become as alone as you feel and it’s Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday - all days - and the isolation is so loud it is hard not to think that (‘Oh yes’) it is actually YOU. Misfortune is not catching, but go ahead, be the bummer and tell me if you don’t feel contagious.
More storytime:
Seventeen years ago (you got it, I am old enough I can refer to something nearly two decades go that did not happened in my adolescence, or even young adulthood), I was the victim of a violent attack that I (duh) survived, but (also duh) fucked my life royally. (I like to say ‘changed it’, but ‘fucked’ is most accurate.)
The recovery, internally and external, upon my flesh, inside my bones, and in my brain took a good deal of time. I looked weird for a long time during the physical healing and subsequent surgeries, and acted very odd and pretty extra for a solid while too, probably still do.
Everyone, everyone, was concerned and sorry and they meant it, but they were also, of course, uncomfortable. There are no skills or training, outside of academia or emergencies, to manage companionship with one struggling as I was. I understand. The vantage point of distance helps, but too it is awful. Really awful.
To be busted and low and lonely, within the world as well as within yourself.
Was the fall that of petty crime or interview bomb? A break up, rent increase, death of a beloved? Or, say, did you get laid off or sill? Or perhaps you’re just getting the wrong end of everything ? (Been there!)
Whatever the pickle - ya look about and there is no one in the bad-news room but you.
Fools! All Fools I say for (no joke) it is an honor, a toughie, but an honor to stand beside a hard-time casualty in honesty, patience, and affection.
Awareness, experience, and training, as well as the many marvelous people who’ve shown up and continue to do in their own hard times in my Zoom room gift me - self aware as we all are - with a greater kind of kinship to my own coping and fear about failure.
That there is the most and best health and bankable, earnest vibrancy and resilience in getting pissed. Crying. Standing at the forefront of your forehead with exactly what it is like, feels like, to be shut down. Not to manipulate or distract with histrionics nor to position oneself as some kind of emotional time bomb but, rather, stand true to - you.
Our minds, souls if you wanna go there (?), do their own kind of dance when told ‘nada’. If you have the displeasure of letting a body down, watch their eyes - the waters beyond really - and you’ll see them double down in their own manner.
Normal, but in all that self-protection know, regardless of what your audience tries to sell you, being an advocate to unfussy ire is the most righteous way to be real in the rough ride of rejection.
