Why Rejection Hurts Like Hell
You probably know how this story goes—I met a girl, I got rejected, and now I’m writing about it in an attempt to pacify my inner monster. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s exactly how the story goes. If you’ve come to the realization that a lot of my motivations are driven by feminine energy, then you have the perception of a goddess.
I met her the way many men meet the extraordinary—by chance. She happened to sit beside me, and I happened to steal a glance at her Spotify playlist. We struck up a conversation, delving into the intricacies of music and the otherworldliness of the muse. To me, it felt like we had what I would describe as a confluence of energies, a symbiosis of sorts. We flowed together as one in thought and conversation, mirroring mannerisms, laughing fully, and opening up to receive beauty.
This is what I thought was happening. Apparently, the feeling wasn’t mutual.
After pouring forth my enthusiasm and graciously receiving hers, she refused to continue. She flat-out told me no. The conversation went something like this:
“I had a great time with you today and would love to keep in touch. Can I get your number?”
“No,” she replied.
Undeterred, I persisted. “Okay, will you take my number?”
“No.”
“Alright, can we talk again sometime?”
“No.”
Eventually, I realized how needy I sounded and walked away. At first, I felt good about walking away. A few moments later, I felt foolish. Minutes after that, I was angry. She rejected me. She said no.
Every single one of us has had to deal with rejection. My story is a lighter, more palatable version of it. There are deeper levels of rejection—from parents, classmates, or the world itself. Maybe you feel like an outcast, a red figure standing in a blue pond.
Why does rejection hurt so much?
Rejection hurts because it forces us to confront the reality that we might not be good enough. It laughs at our perceived incompetence and delights in our misery. Rejection feels like swallowing nails with a cup of cold water. Every day, we experience micro-rejections. Eventually, we become numb to them, yet they tear at the core of our being, silently ripping the skin off our souls. Rejection feels like hell because we know that without acceptance, we could perish. Our ancestors developed this emotion as a warning not to go against the group. It’s a response to social disapproval, a primal reminder that survival often depended on staying within the pack.
I’m not attempting to answer the question of how to handle rejection. I’m asking why it hurts so much. But I will tell you how I handle rejection, how I’ve always handled it: I laugh.
I replay the scene in my head, turn it into a comedy sketch, and laugh about it. When my dad said words that made me feel rejected, I’d laugh at my actions, laugh at his voice, laugh at the way he stood. I’d drown myself in laughter, brainwashing my mind and altering my memory until the rejection felt almost like a challenge: Find a way to make it funny.
I still do it. Whether or not this is the “correct” response is irrelevant for now. I laugh in the face of rejection, and in doing so, I take its power away.
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