Rejection: Let’s Talk About It

Rejection is a quiet assassin.

It doesn’t always come with shouting or slamming doors. Sometimes it’s silence that cuts the deepest. Especially when it comes from the very people you thought would love you most, family by blood and family by bond. To be cast out or misunderstood for something you didn’t do, to wear the scars of someone else’s misdeeds, that kind of pain doesn’t fade. It settles in the soul like dust that never quite clears.

When everyone sees you as the strong one, the achiever, the survivor, the one who “always bounces back,” they forget that strength doesn’t mean immunity. They forget that the weight of being unbreakable still bends the spine. So you learn to smile through it, bottle it up, and build walls tall enough to touch heaven. Those walls become your fortress and your prison. Behind them, the air gets thin, filled with anxiety, with depression, with unspoken prayers that no one seems to hear.

Church folk say, “We’re praying for you,”

but sometimes those prayers come with expiration dates.

Friends grow quiet. Family withdraws. And when you finally choose distance for your own peace, they call you cold, bitter, or dramatic, as if protecting your sanity is an act of betrayal.

But let me tell you this truth, it is serious.

Depression laced with rejection is not something you can just “shake off.” It burrows deep, waiting for the moment your guard slips, waiting to take center stage again. Left unchecked, it becomes a sickness, not of the body, but of the soul. It’s a slow-moving cancer that eats away at confidence, joy, and hope.

Yet even in that darkness, there is power.

You can speak life into yourself. You can remind the mirror that you are not defined by who left or who misunderstood you. You are not broken, you are becoming. Every wound has taught you something about endurance, empathy, and the art of rebuilding from ashes.

Rejection may visit, but it cannot stay unless you give it keys to your spirit.

You have the right, no, the duty, to protect your peace.

To build, to heal, to breathe again.

So pause. Speak life.

Look rejection in the face and say,

“You may have touched me, but you will not own me.”

Then walk on, not as the rejected, but as the refined.

Esyntrek