I got my first official rejection today. Honestly, it was a really nice stock letter.

Supportive.

Kind.

No, I don’t need ice cream. Not to sort through my feelings, but I’ll let you know if that changes.

Right now I’m just…surprised.

Not that I received a rejection letter. Rufus knows I expected that. I actually expect it will be the first of many.

No, I’m surprised that…

it hasn’t affected my feelings of being a writer.

Does that mean I’m kicked out of the club?

I almost feel bad that I don’t feel bad. I don’t know what this lack of negative feeling means.

The internet told that I would be devastated. That rejections would kill my confidence. That I’d be tempted to let these letters strangle the dream. That I’d be tempted to *gasp* quit.

But that isn’t what I’m feeling. Am I a robot?

Maybe, just maybe, I’ve spent years being fearful about this very thing that I’ve already experienced those emotions before I even pressed “submit”, and now…I’ve found I’m rather over it.

Maybe I’m stronger than I thought I was. Is this confirmation that I actually have confidence? Or that I’m just so completely abnormal?

Maybe the fact that I finished the project was enough of an achievement for me. I felt so much more about that moment than I’m feeling about this rejection.

I’m swimming in a pool of questions right this moment.

Here’s what I DO know:

I’m glad I submitted. The act of choosing to click that button made me realize that I’m ready to take this into my own hands. No more standing in the shadows waiting to be “discovered” by someone who thinks I’m something special. No more growing fungi in dark corners. I believe in the effort, emotion, and care behind each of my stories. I don’t think I knew that until my anti-climactic response to my first rejection letter.

Today, I’m…okay.

Hopefully, I’ll still be tomorrow.