A lesson of rejection

As I was listening to the two people sitting opposite to me, I started to wonder. Why would someone, who is rather successful at what they do, invite me to their office, without ever reading the info material I had send them beforehand. I understood they might have questions, or things weren’t explained enough to their liking. I was prepared to answer some question, but I was not prepared to fully explain the concept to them. Why would these people, who said they were interested in working with me, not do their homework, as I had done mine?

Frustration grew in me. I understood I wasn’t the most qualified person for the job, but at least I was sure I wanted it. I knew the two men sitting on the other side of the table, who judging me on very little of who I was, didn’t want to work with me under the circumstances I presented. I was prepared to be rejected, from the second I send in the application. What I wasn’t prepared for was to be facing someone, who thought they know what I should do with my life, better than I did.

I knew, I wanted the job. I also knew, I would be good at the job. I had spent the last one and a half years, trying to figure out just who I was, and how I could do something useful and exciting with my life. I couldn’t understand how someone, who had never previously met me, thought they knew what was best for me? How dare he, tell me I should consider doing something different, simply because there is a lack of young people who want to do it.

Tears started to form in my eyes, my frustration had reached its limits. I didn’t want to cry in front of them, I didn’t want to look weak. I had so many comebacks, things I wanted to argue. Nothing I could have said, would have changed their minds, and I knew that. I, unlike them, did not want to look unprofessional.

Especially I, as a young woman, felt pressured to keep quiet, because I was afraid the older, successful men would judge me, based on my emotions. I was more than my emotions, and I tried my best to control the tears. The older man kept telling me the way I wanted to do things, was wrong, a scam and quite possibly a waste of my time and money. I hated him in that moment, he sounded just like my grandparents.

Rage grew in me. I didn’t feel respected as a potential college, not even as a human. He wanted to push his views and wants on me, someone he didn’t know! I was furious. My fingernail kept digging deeper and deeper into my skin, until I saw a little drop of blood. Instead of worsening the wound, I decided to bite the inside of my mouth. Nobody would be able to see the wounds, nobody would be able to see how I let my frustration out on my own body.

After my opponents finally made it clear the conversation was over, I could feel a tear rolling down my face. I was so mad at myself, for getting so mad at them. When I bend down to pick up my bag, I tried to wipe the tear away. I knew they saw, but I tried to keep the last bit of pride I had.

I almost wanted to laugh in their faces, when they told me to call them, If I had questions or needed their help. As if they would actually help me. They saw me as a young, naïve girl, someone impressionable enough to play with. They didn’t take me serious in a professional field.

As one of them walked me to the door, I kept my eyes on the ground. I didn’t want to listen to what they had to say, to how they were bashing everything, any longer.

Once I reached the stairwell, I took a deep breath. At this point, the tears were rolling all over my face. I quickly made my way to the car, and inside I took the liberty to cry.

Disclamer: this stories has not been edited properly.

Copyright © Author Anne Sophie, All rights reserved