Rejection. It takes on many forms, and lately, it’s become a constant presence in our home, and at the forefront of our lives. I’ve been reflecting on rejection and the striking parallels between myself and my teenage daughter. Now in my mid-forties and she, an official teenager, we both find ourselves grappling with rejection on so many levels.
I feel as though my body is rejecting me. Control is slipping away, no longer mine to grasp. This sense of loss isn’t just in my physical appearance (acne, weight around the middle section – no matter how many miles I run or how many sweaty yoga sessions I practice weekly), but it’s in my emotional self too. There is RAGE. So much rage. It starts quietly, contained. But then it builds, swelling like a storm. It’s a force that takes every ounce for me to control. Sometimes, it feels like something foreign has been planted inside me, growing in response to things I don’t understand, and things I can’t change. I’ve learned enough to distance myself from certain people and situations that act as triggers. It all comes with growing, with age. Lessons learned, heartbreak endured. The rejection of my child-bearing years, as I myself step into the next phase of my perimenopausal life.
My teen is also battling rejection, on some level reflecting the changes I’m going through. I’ve watched her body change so quickly—almost too fast for her to fully adjust. She’s trying to find her place at school, with her friends, navigating through an uncertain world. There are moments when she might even feel rejected by me, as I hold her to high standards when it comes to her education – as much as she fights me on it. And then there’s the rejection of her childhood, as she steps into her role of a teenager with expectations and immense pressure. Her sense of identity may feel conflicted, torn between the comfort of holding on to her childhood with a life preserver while plunging into the dark waters of adolescence.
She’s processing rejection daily at school, while I face my own in the form of constant rejection with my writing. Letters (sometimes daily) from literary publications and magazines. And as I am nearing the end of writing my novel, every word I type is met with a quiet reminder from that voice in the back of my mind that rejection is part of this journey. It’s part of the writing process. I must prepare myself to face it.
And, ultimately, rejection is a part of life. But what I’ve learned is that with rejection, there is growth. In the absence of acceptance, there is a chance to learn and evolve. Perhaps into something even better. And it takes courage to break the barriers held in front of us and to continue moving forward, no matter how many times we hear the word “no.”
And I have to remember to show her grace, even on the hardest days. And always, always, unconditional love. And most of all, to practice acceptance in a world where it’s not so easy to come by. I have to remind myself that I was once in her shoes, and one day, she will be in mine, too.
Runs Through Life 