Rejection, the Little Girl Inside Me, and the Spaces We Outgrow

When an ordinary moment unexpectedly awakens old wounds, and why rejection is often more about our stories than our worth.

Rejection.

Such a simple word, yet one capable of awakening emotions we thought we had long since outgrown.

This week, I found myself crying over something that, on the surface, might have seemed relatively small. Yet it touched a much deeper place. It awakened little Daniela, as I like to call her. The part of me that still remembers what it feels like to not feel chosen, not feel enough, not feel worthy.

Suddenly, emotions that had been quietly accumulating came rushing to the surface: anger, sadness, inadequacy, self doubt, and the familiar question of “Why not me?”

Perhaps it was not only about this particular situation. Rarely is it.

I am currently preparing for surgery. My pain levels have increased beyond what I would normally tolerate. Anxiety has been keeping me awake at night, my mind racing through possibilities, contingency plans, and every possible outcome. I have been keeping myself busy, filling my days with tasks and projects, some meaningful, some simply distractions.

When life feels uncertain, I notice myself returning to old patterns. Trying to stay in control. Creating backup plans for my backup plans. Believing, somewhere deep down, that if I achieve enough, help enough, or become enough, I will finally feel secure.

The truth is that rejection has a remarkable ability to expose the stories we still carry from childhood.

Stories that whisper:

You are not enough.

You have to prove yourself.

Someone else is more deserving.

I suspect many of us know those stories well.

Is Rejection Actually the Problem?

The older I get, the more I question whether rejection itself is the problem.

I do not think rejection is inherently good or bad.

It is simply part of being human.

Every day we make choices. Every day others make choices. Sometimes those choices include us, and sometimes they do not.

A friend chooses to spend time elsewhere.

An employer hires another candidate.

A relationship ends.

A school says “not yet.”

A door closes.

When we are on the receiving end of those decisions, it can feel deeply personal. Yet often, rejection is simply the consequence of choice.

And choice is one of the most fundamental parts of life.

I was discussing this recently with my fifteen year old niece.

She is standing at that beautiful and terrifying stage of life where possibilities seem endless, yet every decision feels monumental. We talked about opportunities that did not work out exactly as she had hoped and about how disappointing that can feel.

But we also talked about something else.

Sometimes what looks like rejection is actually redirection.

A school that asks you to wait another year may be giving you time to grow in ways that grades cannot measure.

A challenge that pushes you outside your comfort zone may teach you more than success ever could.

A journey across the Atlantic may improve your English, your confidence, your social skills, and your understanding of yourself.

Some experiences shape us not because they are easy, but because they require us to stretch.

Sometimes, to jump forward, we need to take a step back first.

It sounds beautiful when written down.

In real life, it often feels awful.

The Moment That Hurt

A few weeks ago, I was informed that a professional space I had been collaborating with could no longer accommodate me.

At the time, I accepted it.

I was disappointed, certainly, but I understood.

Then today, I walked into the office and saw another professional’s card displayed there.

And something shifted.

The thoughts appeared almost instantly.

What does she have that I do not?

Why was she chosen?

Why was I a good fit a few months ago, but not now?

Have they found someone better?

I wish I could tell you that years of studying psychology have made me immune to these thoughts.

They have not.

Knowledge does not erase our humanity.

Sometimes it simply helps us recognise what is happening while we are experiencing it.

The reality is that there is a lot happening in my life right now. Physical pain. Family concerns. Career uncertainty. Upcoming surgery.

Our minds are extraordinary, but they are not limitless.

Stress accumulates.

Resilience fluctuates.

And what we can normally brush off on a good day may feel overwhelming on a difficult one.

Choosing Yourself

So I came home.

I cried.

I felt angry.

I felt sad.

I hugged my husband.

I allowed myself to feel heard.

I allowed myself to feel seen.

And eventually, I reminded myself of something I often encourage others to remember.

I choose myself every day.

Not in a selfish way.

In a compassionate way.

The kind of choosing that says:

“I am worthy even when I am not selected.”

“I am valuable even when someone chooses differently.”

“My worth is not dependent on external validation.”

I reminded little Daniela of something she still occasionally forgets.

Other people’s choices do not determine our value.

And perhaps more importantly, it is not their responsibility to do so.

I also thought about the people I have worked with over the years. The clients who have trusted me with their stories. The individuals who have told me that they feel stronger, more confident, more hopeful because of the work we have done together.

That impact remains.

No rejection can erase it.

Perhaps rejection is not a verdict on our value.

Perhaps it is simply evidence that life is moving.

That choices are being made.

That paths are diverging.

That some spaces are no longer ours, even when we wish they were.

And perhaps our task is not to avoid rejection altogether.

Perhaps our task is to learn how to meet it with enough compassion that it does not become evidence against ourselves.

I am still learning this lesson.

Truthfully, I suspect I always will be.

But tonight, as I sit with the sting of not being chosen, I am trying to remember something important:

A closed door does not diminish the person standing in front of it.

And neither does rejection.

Sometimes it simply points us toward the spaces where we truly belong.