Rejection is a Wake-up Call
Today I did something I’ve been swearing I’d never do. I created a new account on Upwork.
Initially, I went in there to prove to myself they’d followed the lead of their predecessor (whose name I can no longer recall) offering services on the cheap. I was pleasantly surprised to find their pricing has moved a bit closer to reasonable. I’m not thrilled about losing 20% of my first $500 and 10% thereafter to them, nor do I love charging by the hour. But logic tells me if it brings in some work, gets me exposure, and maybe a testimonial or two, it might even pay for itself in the long run.
And yet, the Universe knew it wasn’t the route I wanted or needed to take, and I received a copy of their rejection letter template telling me, essentially that my niche was over saturated. After shaking off my feelings of discouragement and rejection I realized it was a blessing in disguise. Did I really want to fight a bunch of other writers for work, only to have what I could manage to snag through them reduced by 20% for the privilege of using their service? Not really.
Searching for Clarity
I realize I’m still not entirely clear about my ICA (Ideal Client Avatar), USP (Unique Selling Proposition), or 
even my brand. So it really doesn’t matter how many job sites I sign up for, or companies I pitch until I get some clarity as to what and to whom I’m directing my attention.
At this point, I know my purpose is to raise awareness of suicide and mental illness from a layman’s point of view. I have to help clear the stigma so people will ultimately feel safe seeking help without being judged for needing that help. My struggle at this point is how to integrate that into the aforementioned ICA, USP, and Brand.
Thankfully, I am working with some amazing people who aren’t giving me answers, but making me do the work to find them myself. It’s frustrating, and even annoying at times, but it’s also the only real way to figure this out. Having someone tell me what my ICA looks like, or what’s unique about the services I offer isn’t going to make it so. I need to dig down deep inside myself and connect with the person I want to serve. I need to understand them, know how they think, what they like and don’t like, what raises their ire or their passion. In short, I need to start writing in-depth characterizations. That’s not something I can farm out to someone else, or pull from the brain of another. It’s inside me, and I need to pull it out as I pull out the real feelings and stories about my relationship with my parents.
Writing: My Go-To Therapist
Even that is ever-changing. I thought I had it nailed down and packed into a neat little box. But lately, when I do writing prompts and free-writing exercises, I’m learning my relationship with my dad is nothing like the picture I’ve been carrying around most of my life.
I’ve spent countless hours dissecting my relationship with my mom and learning things about myself that weren’t always pretty. But I accepted my relationship with my dad at face value, ignoring the coldness and even cruelty he bestowed upon my doting, accepting head. He was the golden-haired prince I’d created out of fairy dust, and was no more able to live up to my standards than I was to his. The ugly truth is, he wanted his first-born to be a son, so I disappointed him from the very beginning. My klutziness and lack of interest in sports pretty much clinched the deal.
I realized recently, I wasn’t only a disappointment to my mother, but to my father as well, and he showed it in countless subtle, insidious ways I chose to ignore. After all, I needed at least one parent to accept me as I was, right?
My Mother, My Father, and Me
Now that the rosy haze has cleared, I see how hard I worked to gain my father’s approval, how I endured one disappointment after another, always believing I’d find the right formula some day. In that regard, I was no different than my mother who tried futilely to gain the love and acceptance of her family.
Perhaps getting past the latest block I’ve discovered is one of the keys to unlocking the boxes containing those things which will further my career. I feel as if I need to even step back from the re-write of the newly re-named LIfe Torn Asunder: Rebuilding After Suicide. (With a little help from my friends, I found a title without using that dreadful word, “victim”.
It might be that I, once again, write an entirely new chapter in which I compare my failure to find love and the efforts I’ve gone to in my search to my mother’s. As much as I would have hated to admit it, even 10 years ago, I’m more like her than I realized, and perhaps accepting that will break the dam that holds back all I am truly meant to be.
Not My Father’s Child After All
Writing is my life, my sanity, my therapist, and my problem solver, so it should come as no surprise I’ll be spending a few days with notebook and pen writing out the thoughts and feelings which are suddenly bubbling to the surface. Nor should it be a news flash that an entirely new chapter of my memoir will likely come out of it. It will probably contain the many incidents I chose to ignore when my father essentially rejected me. Even typing those words is difficult to do and more, to accept right now. But I realize, though it makes my heart feel heavy in my chest, it’s a truth I never wanted to see or believe.
The clues were always there. I knew from a young age my dad wanted a son, and would have preferred it to be his first-born. I never shared his interests. In fact, to be honest, I never saw that he had any, or at least any I recognized. He worked, he came home, maybe worked some more, or maybe sat down in front of the television, a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other. He watched sports and maybe the news. I only remember the endless football games. He sat down at the dinner table, shared the evening meal, then returned to the television or his office to work on a set of plans while mom or my sister and I cleaned up from dinner.
He never even learned to cook or do laundry until Mom died and he was forced to take care of himself for a change. He was the convivial host to all Mom’s elaborately executed parties, but other than moving this or that, he did practically nothing to pull those parties off. Perhaps he also made the run to Costco to stock up on liquor. That was certainly in his skill set.
Swinging the Pendulum to Find Balance
I know I’m going 100% in the opposite direction, painting the man I loved unconditionally as an ogre. I did the same with Mom when I turned my anger and disgust into compassion. I think we need to swing the other way to an extreme before we can swing the pendulum back and find the happy medium. Right now, I feel I need to be angry with my dad, even hate him for a little while. I know in time I’ll realize he loved me as best he could. I tell my daughters the same about their dad, and believe in my heart it’s the truth.
We all learn to love from our parents, and for both of mine, it’s a broken and twisted link. Neither of them got the love and connection I tried to give my daughters, with mixed success. Neither of them were ever accepted for who they were instead of who their parents thought they should be. At least one of my daughters has finally realized I love her regardless of her choices, and accept her because she’s a strong woman who is able to make her own choices. Even when she was afraid I’d disapprove, she went her own way, and I couldn’t be prouder. I’m happy she’s finally realized she had my approval all along, no matter what she chose. That’s something my parents were unable to give me.
Broken Family Values
I lived in a household where judgement was their version of love. After all, if you cared enough to judge someone’s actions, that was love, right? I learned to connect verbal abuse and criticism with caring, and was unable to see it for what it was. I accepted that I’d never hear a word of praise or congratulations for anything I did, and assumed that’s how it was for everyone.
Some family patterns are screaming to be broken, and I’ve learned my family has more than it’s share. Though I’m sorry it took me so long to realize I could and would make some changes, looking back, I see I changed some without even realizing it. I have a relationship with one of my daughters I would have given anything to have with my mom. But being able to give my own daughter a gift I never received is a joy and a blessing in and of itself.
This post, like most things I write, has taken on a life of its own, going to an entirely different place than I’d planned. The point I’m really trying to make is that we need to recognize when and where we’ve been rejected, then use those rejections to create our own unique path where we accept those rejections as no more than someone else’s opinion. We know deep in our hearts where we want to go, and we even know how to get there once we learn to clear away the rubble and brush and create a path where none might seem to appear.
I can, will, and have created a new generation that’s stronger and more self-aware than previous ones. My family line though the name might end with me, is stronger for the changes I’ve made, and will be even stronger as I learn to face the lingering demons head on and tell them in no uncertain terms they can’t stand in my way any longer!
About the Author
Sheri Conaway is a writer, blogger, Virtual Assistant and advocate for cats. Sheri believes in the Laws 
of Attraction, but only if you are a participant rather than just an observer. She specializes in creating content that helps entrepreneurs touch the souls of their readers and clients so they can increase their impact and their income. If you’d like to have her write for you, please visit her Hire Me page for more information. You can also find her on Facebook Sheri Levenstein-Conaway Author.
Be sure to watch this space for news of the upcoming release of “Life Torn Assunder: Rebuilding After Suicide”.
