Your Approach to Rejection Matters Less Than That you Risk it

It’s often said that moving is one of life’s top stressors—right up there with divorce and death. Having endured a move earlier this year (complete with nightmare movers and chaos in cardboard), I can confirm that’s no exaggeration. But whoever came up with that list clearly wasn’t a writer. Because if they were, “literary rejection” would be right up there too.

There’s something uniquely painful about having a story or essay—something that came from deep within you—rejected. Especially when it’s a piece you treasured, believed in, or were convinced was a perfect fit for the venue. It’s not just a “no”; it can feel like someone has glanced at your heart on the page and said, “Not for us.”

Writers respond to this pain in very different ways. Some cope by going wide. They submit frequently, to many places, often simultaneously. For them, rejection is built into the process—so common and expected that it becomes background noise. Their armor is built on volume: if you have ten submissions out, one rejection doesn’t hit as hard. It’s a numbers game, and the win is just a matter of persistence. This approach can be especially helpful for those who find comfort in momentum. One door closes? Another few are already open.

Others take the opposite approach. They submit more sparingly, and only when they feel a piece is truly ready or the venue truly right. Each rejection, then, carries more weight. These writers often put a lot of emotional investment into a submission—and when it’s turned down, it’s not just disappointing. It can be crushing. For them, submitting is not a numbers game; it’s a vulnerable act. And repeated rejections can lead to long creative silences, or even self-doubt spirals.

Neither approach is wrong. What matters is knowing yourself and protecting your creative energy in ways that keep you writing.

If you’re someone who feels each rejection acutely, consider giving yourself space. You don’t need to submit constantly to be a “real” writer. You can write for yourself, or trusted readers, until your confidence returns. Or create a ritual around rejection: every “no” earns you a treat, a walk, a funny sticker on your tracking sheet. These little things can turn rejection into a data point instead of a wound.

If you’re more prolific and less emotionally affected, use that to your advantage—but stay mindful of burnout. Even if you’re submitting 50 pieces a year, it’s okay to pause and reflect on what’s landing and what isn’t.

And for everyone in between: remember that rejection isn’t a measure of your worth or your work. It’s one editor’s decision on one day. Keep your best pieces close. Let the bruises heal. And trust that somewhere out there is a reader—or an editor—who will see your work and say yes, finally, yes.

Because sometimes, the only thing more stressful than rejection… is looking back and realizing all the opportunities you missed by not putting your work out there at all.

As always, feedback and thoughts welcome in the comments below!