It’s Okay to Feel Sad When Your Work Is Rejected
Stop pretending you’re okay when you’re not.

Though I was nervous and a part of me didn’t believe my work was good enough, I pressed the Submit button. I leaned back against my chair and sighed in relief. It was done. I’d pitched my first article to Better Humans. A chill of excitement went through me, and I felt confident they would accept the piece.
I’d worked on it for nearly two weeks — wrote about 2,500 words, edited and added research for hours, and finally, sent it to my mastermind group for feedback. I received such great edits I was sure I had it in the bag.
I thought I’d done everything Better Humans was looking for and then, five days later, I got the email. Thanks very much for your article proposal. We took a look and unfortunately it’s not a good fit for Better Humans.
My heart broke immediately. I re-read that line about five times before it sunk in. But before I could feel deeply disappointed I thought, “You shouldn’t feel sad.” Because don’t people say you should celebrate rejection?
My mind automatically went to how I could find the good in this situation.
I tried to smile, to feel good, but it wasn’t working. All I could think about was the hours of work I’d put in that had gone to waste. Why would I be happy about that? At that moment I decided that I wasn’t. I wasn’t going to pretend that I felt fine. I was genuinely disappointed.
Rejection is common for writers. We don’t have a choice but to learn to accept and deal with it if we want to succeed in this industry — and I have. Years ago all rejection felt like a blow, but now that I get rejected by publications often, I’m more irked than hurt. I’ve built up a sort of resistance to it after lots of “practice.” But this rejection got through that resistance and hit me straight in the heart.
Is that so bad? Was I being dramatic? Am I less strong because it hurt? Or am I what I am — a human with lots of feelings that are really freaking hard to control sometimes?
I wasn’t going to pretend that I was fine because I don’t like pretending.
We all do it. Not all the time, but there are some people we pretend with. We can’t pretend with ourselves. We can’t convince ourselves that we’re people who need to feel happy all the time — even when they get their hearts broken.
Yes, I can deal with rejection most of the time, but this one wasn’t easy to accept. There’s nothing wrong with letting yourself be heartbroken or disappointed or pessimistic once in a while when you really need to feel it. Don’t cheer yourself up. Unapologetically feel what you feel.
The only thing I ask of you is this: don’t feel discouraged.
I spilled my truth about feeling hurt, now I’ll spill another: despite how sad I was by the rejection, never once did I feel discouraged. I didn’t question my worth or work as a writer. I never thought, “I’m not going to try again. I’m not good enough for a publication like this. For a commission like this.” Because it’s not true.
I got it wrong — that’s it. The problem wasn’t that it wasn’t good enough (another publication accepted the article) but it wasn’t what Better Humans was looking for. Even though it hurts, an editor’s rejection has nothing to do with you personally.
It takes a while to really understand that, to change your mindset, but once you realize that editors aren’t trying to attack you, then you can learn to move on. Your work may be a huge part of you, but your work isn’t you and you are not your work.
If you let the rejection of your work define you as a person, that’s when you start feeling like you’re never going to succeed.
Feel it enough times, feel it hard enough, and eventually, you’ll quit. Let your problematic thoughts get strong enough, and you’ll start believing them.
Lots of writers doubt themselves often. “Well, if I’m not good enough, there’s no point in trying. Maybe I should quit,” or “This is too hard, and I’m not smart enough to figure it out.” People don’t quit because they don’t have any time or because their project is too difficult — they quit because they don’t believe in themselves.
So, feel sad. Feel disappointed. Cry. Throw a pity party. But never, ever believe the thoughts that say you can’t figure this out. Because you can.
You can’t avoid these insecurities, of course. You can’t just stop them, but you can choose to ignore them. The point isn’t to become a robot. You’re a writer — you’re supposed to feel. How else are you going to write?
Feel everything, but don’t give in to those pessimistic feelings. Be stronger than your doubts, and fight to write another day.





