Can we take a moment for rejection?

An address to my fellow creatives

I remember only a few thoughts from the hours of unmedicated labor with my first baby. One was the repeated recitation of a prayer that started "Oh, God..." and never went any further as rhythmic contraction pains overwhelmed my body.

The other is a curious dialog with myself, a very lucid call and response. “Why would I ever do this again?” And a beat later: “Now is a terrible time to make conclusions.”

I’ve birthed five children (with and without pain medication), and it’s true every time: there’s no way of getting around the pain. Gestating and birthing a child brings ache. No one told me about lifelong hemorrhoids. The anxieties over what was going right or wrong in my uterus. The painful helplessness to guarantee good for my infants. Breastfeeding can hurt. Baby cries can be incomprehensible. Sleep deprivation is grueling.

There’s beauty too. Absolutely — for sure — undoubtedly — there’s beauty.

But, right now, I need to acknowledge the pain.

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Having my novel on sub is a new level of creative discomfort. Maybe the worst I’ve yet met.

I know rejection is a part of the process. The risk of sending your words, art, and ideas out there. The risk of hope. What about when a certain rejection cuts deeper than others? Or comes at a time when you were already vulnerable because of life and everything?

How do you not cower and curl up and quit? How do you gently and kindly tend that wound while telling yourself over and over again that this isn't the moment to make conclusions about your creative value?

Today, I’m feeling all the places of rejection, dismissal, and crickets.

My husband and kids are off to the park, and I have hours to myself. Hours to create my worlds and stories. Part of me wants to keep working on the next book, but I can’t bring myself to do it. The latest dismissal still hurts.

Why would I ever do this again?

So I’m lighting a candle. Journaling. Cleaning off my desktop. Vacuuming. Trying not to think.

Because now is a terrible time to make conclusions about my stories.

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Send me an emoji if you know the ache. I’ll send you hearts back, and it’ll be the online equivalent of a group hug.

And then do something kind to yourself today.

Warmly,

Rachael

Photo by After Exposure Studio on Unsplash