Finding My Way Took Time And Patience

Like many other fledgling writers fresh out of college, I can remember with perfect clarity just how excited I was to get my career started. I knew it would be hard, sure, but I was also so ready to make my dream of seeing my name in print a reality.

And so, determined to prove myself to potential publishers, I spent countless hours in those first weeks and months after graduation using the skills I’d just spent years learning and honing. I reached out to leads, did research, and worked diligently to craft what I thought were the perfect pitches. I hit send, putting my fate in the hands of complete strangers, and then I waited, and waited … and waited some more.

With each passing day, their silence grew louder and louder.

Until one day, responses started to trickle in and the silence was replaced with something far worse. No, these weren’t the approving acceptance letters I had so craved and spent years dreaming of. Instead, I found myself feeling more and more disappointed as rejection letter after rejection letter poured into my mailbox. Still, I wasn’t ready to let my dreams die just yet.

This happens, I thought. Just. Keep. Trying. So, I continued.

I applied the corrections, studied the feedback, and continued to work on my craft.

Still, the rejections persisted. And as I watched the stack of letters from editors and companies who didn’t want me pile up, I began for the first time to really question if I had what it took to become a writer. It was a painful, sad, and lonely feeling.

Seemingly out of options, an idea bloomed in my mind.

Despite all my rejections, there was still one editor whose opinion I prized above all others—and who, until this point, I had been too afraid to reach out to. I was scared that she would say no—like the rest of them had. But after so many no’s, I finally found myself asking what I had to lose.

So I did it. I clicked send and shut down my laptop for the night.

In my heart, I knew that she might say no. I knew it would sting if she did, but I never imagined how much it would hurt until that rejection came. It was just two days later when I saw her email pop through. The letter was so kind, detailed, and thoughtful—but like the rest, she was passing on my work.

For a while, I just sat there. I knew it, I thought. I knew she might say no, and yet I had let myself hope all the same. That night I lay in bed, my stomach in knots, asking myself over and over again: Why did you send it? Why did you put yourself out there? Because no matter how kind she was, this rejection hurt and I was beyond crushed.

The next day, that pit in my stomach seemed only to be deepening. Normally the sting of a rejection washed away overnight, but this one didn’t. It took time (a lot of time), but like the rest, it eventually got easier. Slowly, I picked myself back up and read through the feedback she’d provided.

With a deep breath I thought, maybe it’s time to try again. And maybe this time, I’d find a light at the end of this long and dark tunnel.

Early one Friday morning, after sending out yet another round of pitches, I opened my email and found a reply from an editor. Quickly, with that same tight knot in my stomach, I scrolled to the bottom, expecting to see kind platitudes letting me down gently. But to my surprise, it was just the opposite.

As I read the email over and over, I felt the knot in my stomach slowly untie itself.

I was finally getting published.

Looking back, I realize no matter how hard I worked, or how much I pushed, to a certain extent it was always going to be a waiting game. Because the more time passed, the more things slowly began to fall into place.

And now, with a bit of distance—and a good measure of perspective—I realize that I’m actually grateful for that time.

Because where I once felt lost and buried beneath piles of rejection, now I look back and see a time of growth. And that waiting period, which once seemed treacherous and long, suddenly seems quite short. What’s more, I’m finally able to see that the rejections and the no’s were never meant to be punishment. Instead, they were preparation for where I was headed next.

Stuck in the thick of a sea of rejections, I had thought I was failing my future self. But now I realize that if I’d received that prized “Yes” on my first try, I wouldn’t be the same person—or writer—that I am now. So to my waiting period—and all my rejections—thank you, you taught me more about myself than any of my wins combined have since.

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