6 Steps for Surviving Rejection as a Writer (or as a Person in General, Really)

A SOP to employ when you've just heard the word 'no' again

As a writer, rejection is the name of the game.

Even if you have just received the world’s kindest ‘no,’ it’s still a ‘no,’ and it still makes you want to curl into a ball or worse, do something drastic—like burn everything you’ve ever written or give yourself bangs.

What do you do when you’ve had your hopes dashed and you’re simply exhausted from waiting to be ‘chosen?’

Here’s my Standard Operating Procedure for Surviving Rejection—something I’ve had ample opportunity to develop.

1. When you learn that someone has not chosen you, you’ll obviously begin to wonder if you’re choose-able. Put your phone away.

I’m serious. Don’t you dare post a selfie. Don’t you dare post a cryptic message with a sad audio clip in the background. That cheap dopamine is not—I repeat, not—the answer. At best, people will hit that little heart and your heart will rise for a nanosecond (before plummeting again). At worst, people will scroll past your cries for help—after all, for them it’s just another day, another doom scroll—and unknowingly reinforce the lie that’s already blossoming like the black plague in your spirit and mind. Put. The. Phone. Down.

2. Go to the place you’ve always been loved.

That is, the altar of Love itself: God’s arms. Oh—you’ve never done this before? Here is what you do, and I promise it’s not as hard or out-there as it sounds: Go to a quiet place where the noisy chaotic world can’t get to you. Say, “God, I need you. Do you love me?” Then listen. You probably won’t hear something with your ears (but you might, and that would be cool). More likely you’ll hear it in your joints, which will become lubricated with warmth and a sense of peace. Or you’ll hear it in a picture that comes into your mind, which might look like a face you’ve never seen—but always somehow known—smiling back at you. Sit there until you become sure of your belovedness. Okay? Now, there. You’re ready to reenter the world.

3. Make jam toast and cheesy eggs.

Or whip cream by hand, beating it in a cold bowl until the sugar dissolves and the vanilla blends in and it begins to form stiff peaks. Bring out the cast iron and chop onions and slide them into sizzling oil and tell Alexa to play the Avett Brothers and pour a glass of pinot noir and light the tapered candles and look around and say, “This is still my life. I get to decide how to use this current hour. And I will say yes to what I have right now and not let the pain of what I don’t take away these tangible moments that I get to hold between my fingers.”