Sometimes life plays. It plays way too much. Way too much for my liking! Everytime I have been rejected, I have taken it upon myself to question myself and give hard critic. My ego has been bruised each time. And I can tell you, I have been rejected way more times than I could ever count or even remember.
Every rejection has pointed out to me, my faults and short comings. Pointed fingers have reminded me, how I should have been more gentler, I should have not be so confident, I shouldn’t have been way too willing to love or needy. It says it’s always my fault. I should have changed. I should have shrunk myself just a little bit less or perhaps I should have built myself just a little bit more. I should have carried less burdens with me.
Every rejection has left me feeling like I am done for good until the next rejection. Until the next and the next after the next.
However, all the rejection have led me to a place where I have never questioned myself as an individual without judgement. Until this rejection. The last rejection, had me stand infront of the mirror and laugh. And cry. Laugh because the dude was worthless yet I was hurt that he didn’t want me. Cried because I was worthless even to a worthless dude. I took time off, to heal, to cry, to get depressed and drown in my tears. Months later I was ready again. Ready for another rejection yet again. And it did come!
With the worthless dude, I reminded myself of how worthless he was. I felt great about knowing he wasn’t much of a dude anyways. I still cried but shrug my way through it. My ego and I sneering to victory.
This rejection, I wasn’t prepared for. I was happy. I had finally arrived. I had finally come home. Until home wasn’t home and the dude wasn’t worthless. He just didn’t love me enough to stay.
And that wasn’t something I could wrap my fingers around. This time round, I kept reminding myself how great I am, how amazing we could have been together and how sorry he should be for letting an amazing woman as me walk. I will admit, I began playing the old games. I reminded myself of how he wasn’t so great after all mostly for letting me walk and also for the short comings he had. Of course he was a great dude with equally great short comings. Here I was, throwing myself at his feet willing to take him with all his great and not so great being and again I was rejected.
This hit hard. Harder than the last and the last before that. Maybe as hard as the father of my child rejecting us years back. It hit hard because I had tasted what love feels like. I had tasted what friendship means, I had tasted what having someone on your mind feels like and I had ignored some vital signs just because I wanted to feel good. Feel wanted. Avoid rejection.
Eventually, I looked at him and at me. I realize we are all souls, moving in the world at our own pace and destination. Some of us are slow and some are fast. Some run and some come back. I love free souls. Free enough to follow their own roads. Free enough to crush others souls just so they can be free. I admired that. I wanted to be free too. Free to let love come and go. Free to allow other free souls to do what they want. Free to get another opportunity to sample another free soul and perhaps if I am lucky, a free soul might find me and take a liking to me. If I am lucky.
The process of freeing myself has been hard. With many rises and falls. I have made a complete fool of myself sometimes and I have bawled like a baby. I still bawl. There is nothing cute about rejection. Nothing about it is romantic.
More than anything, it has taken me to my own wounds and trauma. It has taken me back to why love hurts and why we crave it of others so much that the thought of others loving us, almost always imprints a feeling of worth better than we could EVER give ourselves. I have to unpack and rebuild what this means. For me, it stems from childhood rejection, loneliness and a culture of silence. And also deal with the genuine emotions of the ego. Those emotions if ignored only gets jealous and screams louder and leads to another rejection and perhaps distructive tendencies. My first urge was to prove to myself that I am not worthless by doing something that I wouldn’t have been really proud of. Ego stroking. I can remind myself how beautiful, amazing, worthy and great I am, without a purposeful need to react from others actions. Or I could do that too if it works. There are really not so many rules when it comes to recovery.
Here I am, confronting my demons, listening to my ego rant, letting it bawl and seeking my old wounds, revisiting and having a seat with them. I wish the process was quick as a finger snap. I wish it didn’t take me to dark alleys and low pits but I can’t ignore it’s incessant voice. I can’t just lie in bed and die. It’s never my fault what people decide to share with me or not.
This cycle must be complete and must be embraced. A new journey of loving myself and seeing others loving me as a gift I am not entitled to but given and withdrawn at will. True freedom and true love is costly and life changing. Who knows how many cycles will touch the hem of my life? Who knows what fruits will come out alive and who knows what lessons will take us through the next rejection or better still through the next love? Nobody knows.
Trust the process.