Rejection, rejection. ReFREAKINGjection. What is it about rejection that draws us like moths to flame?
What is it about “I don’t want you,” that makes us bury our heads into the issue and settle in for the long haul? What is it about “no,” that invites us to fill in that gaping space of silence that follows the haunting one syllable word with all of the most detailed, self-deprecating banter we can come up with? What is it about rejection that is so damn beguiling?
I was rejected in what most would consider the kindest possible way. Yes, I’m referring to my past relationship about which I write ad nauseaum. Not to worry, one day I’ll have another relationship and write about that one until we all puke 😉
I mean it, though. We parted ways amicably, as amicably as two people could after three years as partners. We stayed friends. Heck, we were still in love. So how could things have ended negatively, when love was still present? We went our separate ways because he “couldn’t give [me] what I need[ed]” and because I had grown tired of waiting around and keeping quiet about the things that weren’t good enough. I had grown tired of pretending the one-sided relationship was something I was happy being a part of anymore.
The truth is I walked away from that relationship feeling okay because he wasn’t ready for the big commitment. The big commitment. I believed him when he said that, when he was ready, he’d only ever want it with me. I believed that he would never get more committed than he’d been with me. I believed he really would take the time to be by himself and “do him” like he subconsciously wanted so desperately to do whilst dutifully making me a happy girlfriend for the last year of our relationship.
Then February hit. He broke the news to me, via awkward text (never my favorite means of communication for even good news breaking), that he had a new girlfriend. The text part was accidental, as I’d suggested we get together and catch up and he’d responded awkwardly. Which was followed by the “I didn’t want to say this over text but…” conversation. The “I wish I could have had this conversation in person” conversation (I had just suggested we get together, therefore offering said face-to-face, but I digress…).
That made me the old girlfriend. The fiercely trusting and believing old girlfriend. The shunted one, the dreaded ex-girlfriend. The ex part felt far heavier knowing there was now a “current girlfriend” in the picture. Gross.
Upon receiving that text, the flood gates were unlatched and propped open for the heroine-esque drug rejection to come pouring in. It flooded my veins. My eyes grew bloodshot. I rubbed at my face willing the images of this faceless new girlfriend to get out of my head.
I wrestled with ugly emotions. Possessiveness, jealousy, guilt, rejection, anxiety, sadness, denial, self-pity, anger, judgement…seriously ew. I yearned for answers and pretty solutions. He thought he couldn’t get me back so he went for her…maybe she forced him into it (a sweet and loyal girlfriend of mine even offered this suggestion with a convincing shake of her head and a solemn expression of certainty)…maybe he’ll be with her and realize it doesn’t compare to what we had.
My thoughts raced on and on. But the mental road trip was fueled by nothing but ugly emotions. It was running on fumes and destroying the engine. The truth was I didn’t want him back. It was the rejection poisoning my bloodstream with doubt and jealousy, fooling me into thinking I’d become a duped, abandoned damsel in distress.
I felt this way because he’d moved on before me. He had a new, sparkly relationship and I was alone. I am alone. I love it this way and I’m in no way ready for a relationship, but still the circumstances stung like a slap in the face. I’m alone and he’s with her.
Naturally, thanks to the social media world we live in, and my common sense, I know who this new girlfriend is. I remember her commenting on his facebook before this all unfolded. The masochist in me looked, the effect of their “couple’s picture” not even penetrating the exterior of my Awareness, as I know what would happen if it I’d let it. I just saw it and closed safari. Gross. Puke. The end.
I may be alone but I’m alone so I can become the person I want to be the next time I enter into a sacred union with another human being. Not that rejection asked me why I was alone before invading my mind space.
I had been the one to leave the relationship and sprout wings. I completed a yoga teacher training that I would never have done had I still been his girlfriend. I am pursuing holistic nutrition school, I am pursuing writing with the fury of a passionate woman, I am chasing my dreams unapologetically and dancing all the way. It is I who have grown immensely in this past year. So what does rejection have to say about that?
Yes, it positively sucks that he said he couldn’t handle a serious relationship and now he’s in one with someone else. But it is what it is. It doesn’t make me any less amazing or our relationship any less special to him. It simply is. There are cosmic reasons why it’s unfolding the way it is and I trust them. Rejection questions cosmic events. Rejection challenges intuition. Rejection strangles self-esteem.
So I’m kicking rejection out of the car. I’m revoking rejections party invitation. Don’t let the screen door hit ya on the way out!
Rejection is a nasty, addictive, masochistic, irresistibly tempting plague. So I’m building up an immunity. I’m drinking the “anti-rejection” kool aid. I’m redefining rejection.
From this day forward rejection has the following meaning:
A gift from the Universe; the altering of one’s path or paths for
a higher and better reason; a Divine blessing in disguise.
So, Universe, I’ve spent the past four months in a tennis match of rejection, but I’m letting that hitchhiker out of the car. I am alone for but an instant, though, because as I stop on the side of the road to bid farewell to my ‘ol pal rejection, I welcome in its place a new, bright-eyed passenger: gratitude.