The Softening of Rejection

For years, rejection used to flatten me and acceptance used to send me floating. But somewhere along the way, the swings softened. Not because I’ve become numb, but because I finally understand the part I control and the part I don’t. I can write the truest work I’m capable of. Everything beyond that belongs to someone else’s taste, timing, or mood.

What used to feel like emotional whiplash now feels like weather: sometimes sunny, sometimes stormy, but never a referendum on the work itself. Detachment isn’t apathy; it’s relief. It’s the moment you stop trying to steer what was never yours to steer, and you get to return your attention to the only part that’s real, which is the writing.