Herts Mindset Series: Reframing Rejection by Rebecca Matanda
Reading
that email for the 10,000th time always feels like a kick to the stomach. You
already know what it says before you even open it. The line alone carries
emotional damage.
You
stare at the screen anyway, hoping irrationally that this time it might end
differently. Maybe they’ve changed their mind. Maybe it’s actually an offer.
Maybe they accidentally started with rejection energy and will dramatically
redeem themselves in paragraph two.
They
never do.
After
all the networking fairs, perfectly curated work experience, LinkedIn profile
glow-ups, and trying to “stand out,” all you get is:
“You have
not been chosen on this occasion.”
Not
this occasion. Not the last occasion. Not any occasion, apparently.
University
tells you to put yourself out there. Apply for everything. Be proactive. So you
do. You attend events where everyone pretends they’re not silently competing.
You perfect your elevator pitch until you sound like a motivational podcast.
You rewrite your CV so many times that even you don’t
recognise who this impressive, hyper-productive person is anymore.
And
then rejection.
Again.
At
some point, rejection emails start to feel oddly personal. Like recruiters
across the country have formed a secret group chat dedicated exclusively to
saying no to you.
“Should
we give them a chance?”
“Absolutely not. Send Template B.”
The
worst part? The politeness.
“We
were impressed by your application…”
Oh?
Were you?
“…however…”
There
it is. The academic equivalent of “it’s not you, it’s me.”
Rejection
has a funny way of making you question everything. Suddenly you’re analysing
sentences you wrote three weeks ago like they’re evidence in a criminal trial.
Was
it the font?
Too confident? Not confident enough?
Did I accidentally sound employable but not employable
enough?
But
here’s the thing nobody really tells you:
rejection
at university is practically a compulsory module. No credits awarded, but
maximum character development.
Behind
every “no” is proof that you actually tried. You showed up, applied, risked
embarrassing yourself and pressed submit anyway which is already more than the
version of you who almost didn’t apply because they were scared.
And
eventually, rejection stops meaning “you’re not good enough” and starts meaning
“you’re still in the game.”
Because
somewhere between the rejection emails, awkward networking conversations, and
applications submitted at 11:59 pm, you realise something important:
You’re
not failing, you’re participating.
And
one day, hopefully soon, the email will start differently.
“We
are delighted to inform you…”
When
that day comes, you’ll probably reread it ten times too just to make sure it
isn’t another rejection disguised in polite corporate language.
This
post isn’t about how not to get rejected, but to let you know it’s part of this
whole post university package deal.
Alongside
deadlines, group projects where one person disappears, and the constant
question of what you’re doing after graduation, rejection quietly becomes one
of your most consistent experiences.
Some
people might win the magic lottery early the first application, the first
interview, the effortless success story we all pretend doesn’t intimidate us.
But for most of us, rejection shows up more often than acceptance.
I
myself received another email the other day. Yes, another “unfortunately we regret to inform you.”
But
every application teaches you something. Every interview is training. Every
awkward answer, every nervous introduction, every “tell us about yourself” is
practice for the moment it finally clicks.