Spare Me the Platitudes

On disappointment, rejection, and empathy

Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash

The subject line told me everything I needed to know.

But I clicked on the email anyway.

Thank you again for your interest in our company! We greatly appreciate the time you took to speak with us and the opportunity we had to hear more about your background and experience!

Unfortunately, at this time we have decided to pursue other candidates. We received an overwhelming response from so many applicants who want to join our team, and this volume of responses makes for an extremely competitive selection process. 

We would love for you to review future job openings on our careers page. We hope you see another position that sparks your interest in the future and wish you the best in your career pursuits!

Translation: Thank you for all the hours you’ve poured into this job application over the last four weeks, but we’ve decided not to hire you after all.

I willed myself not to cry.

The rejection didn’t surprise me. My last interview had not gone the way I hoped. The interviewers’ flat expressions and monotone responses gave me a nagging suspicion that I was out of the running halfway through the Zoom call. Still, after a whole month of investing my heart and soul into that job application, the rejection felt like a bad April Fool’s joke.

It’s not worth it, I told myself, trying to steady the quivering of my chin. It’s just one closed door. They come with the territory, Allana. There will be plenty of other opportunities.

But all my best rationalizations couldn’t stop the tears from welling in my eyes. Despite my efforts to remain impassive, the cuffs of my sleeves were soon stained with mascara-tinted tears as I sunk into my chair and buried my face in my hands.

That evening, I had to relay the news to my writers’ group. Their sympathetic expressions and words of disappointment felt like salt on my wounded ego, though I was somewhat comforted by their sincere declarations of “Well, we’re happy you’re not leaving!”.

I went to bed that night hoping that sleep would obliviate my sorrow. It didn’t. All through the next day, I struggled to keep my tears in check at work. If I paused for even a minute, my chin began to tremble and my breathing grew shallow.

At 5:30 pm, I finally gave vent to my dismay in the privacy of my car, bawling my eyes out in a Walmart parking lot.

What kind of middle-class hot mess am I? I sobbed, lowering my visor to examine my tear-stained face in the mirror. No wonder they didn’t want to hire me.

Wiping the makeup smudges off my cheeks, I dried my eyes, steadied my breathing, and drove downtown for my Tuesday night Bible study, bracing myself for another round of unwanted condolences.

This time, my pride did not bear up so well. With each re-announcement of the rejection, my friends smiled or shrugged, offering me some well-meaning but unhelpful platitude.

“Oh well, I guess it wasn’t meant to be!”

“Obviously, it wasn’t God’s will.”

“Hey, you never know what God’s protecting you from!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry—but don’t worry, there will be other opportunities!”

You don’t know that! I thought bitterly, pursing my lips to keep my pain in check. This was the first job posting I had seen in a year and a half that I had been genuinely excited about—not just interested in, but dancing-around-my-living-room ecstatic about.

A full-time writing gig with a Christian publisher? With paid time off and benefits? Yes, please!!

And now I had ruined my chances of getting it.

Who knew when I would see another job posting like that?

With each trite, “Cheer up!” response, I felt myself retreating further into my shell. I didn’t want platitudes right now. I wanted someone to feel the weight of my disappointment and sit with me in it.

Let Me Grieve, For Goodness Sake

I knew that everything my friends said was true. I knew the pain and disappointment would pass.

But during those first few days, I needed permission to feel all my “negative” emotions. After three good, long ugly cries, I was able to pick myself up again and move on with my life.¹

It probably seems silly that I spent so much time grieving one rejection email, but here’s the thing:

That job opportunity represented more than just a “next step” in my career. For a struggling freelancer and part-time editor, it represented a new beginning. A fresh start. Potentially, a new life.

Just hours before I saw the job posting online, I had been pouring out a laundry list of frustrations to the Lord, begging him for a clean slate. I was so exasperated by several different situations in my personal life that I just wanted to get away from them all.

When this landed in my inbox, I assumed God had answered my prayers.

The job would have required me to move across the continent, leaving behind my friends and family, but I convinced myself I was ready for that. I thought that’s what I wanted. In my excitement, I began to daydream about life in a new city and all the glamorous things that might come with it.

Things progressed so quickly, too. Less than twenty-four hours after I submitted my initial application form, I received an email requesting two writing samples and an introductory video.

The day after I submitted my samples, I was invited to schedule an interview. And it was the best interview of my life.

At that point, I thought I had the job in the bag, so I mentally started packing up and moving out.

But, as my friend Beth gently pointed out after the fact, sometimes I assume God has promised me something when he hasn’t.

(My bad. We’re working on that . . .)

Still, after a month of green lights, this sudden “Road Closed” sign left me slamming my brakes in confusion.

What the heck, God? I thought we were moving forward here! Why did you bring me this far only to slam the door in my face?

It’s a Blessed Life

Once my tears finally dried and my wounded heart stopped aching, I took a good, long look at my life and realized that while there were many things I wanted to change about my circumstances, the “geographical cure” was not the best solution to my problems.

Moreover, I have a lot to be thankful for: I have a home and a community where I’ve finally started to put down roots. I have an abundance of friends who care about me and don’t want me to move to the other corner of the continent. I have a popular weekly blog, lots of freelancing opportunities, and a valuable position as the assistant editor of a small Christian publisher.

Maybe this job opportunity would have opened new doors for me, but maybe it would have cost me more than I bargained for.

And maybe God knew that running away wasn’t the best way to handle my difficulties.

In hindsight, I realized that I didn’t really want to move across the continent. What I truly wanted was to find meaning in my small, ordinary life. I wanted to know that all my education was not going to waste. I wanted to believe that God had not forgotten about my dreams.

I wanted to know that my “for now” is not “forever.”

Some days, I love this little life of mine. Other times, I struggle to embrace contentment as I wait for the next open door. I still don’t know what the future holds, and there are moments when that frustrates me to no end.

In moments of rejection and dejection, what I need most is not a platitude—“God’s got big plans for you!”—but the reassurance that God is at work in the tedious, mundane reality of my here and now.

As hard as it is sometimes, I will choose to believe that He is, even when I can’t see or understand how.

“Even when I don't see it, You're working

Even when I don't feel it, You're working

You never stop, You never stop working

You never stop, You never stop working.”

~ Leeland, “Way Maker”

1. Just for the record, once my friends realized how deeply this rejection had affected me, many of them reached out to me privately to apologize for dismissing my pain or underestimating the impact of their words. One of them (my sweet Beth) even sat with me on the kitchen floor at the end of our Bible study and let me cry for a few minutes.