Painful rejection from a dream job
It’s the role you were perfect for – just not perfect enough, writes Emma Hardy.
There was nothing tangible for me to take away, either – nothing to go and improve on – just the feeling of rejection and my heart jumping to my throat.
When you miss out on a job you desperately want, it’s not just the rejection that stings. It’s the loss of a dream.
Like flirting with a budding romance, I’d fantasised about that job. I’d imagined our lives together.
I’d picked out my favourite nearby coffee spot, daydreamed about how I’d approach our first project together.
I’d figured out the best cycling route to work and where I’d take my lunch dates. I’d even started friendly banter with other staff members.
As the news sunk in, I had to let the fantasy go.
Searching for work is a nerveracking, soul-destroying experience – especially when you’re trying to establish yourself in your chosen field.
Every stage of the recruitment process brings peaks and troughs of anxiety, self-doubt and adrenaline. Every rejection is felt personally and painfully.
The first time I missed out on a job I really wanted, I cried more than I have over any partner. More than any romantic rejection, missing out on my dream job has challenged my very sense of self. It’s deeply personal.
While the fear of being alone is manageable – there’s nothing wrong with being single – but the fear of never finding fulfilling work is crippling.
When it comes to applying, the care and effort involved takes a mental and emotional toll.
And, like scoring a date with your crush, getting an interview is a kind of bliss that’s quickly replaced with anxiety. It’s thrilling, but the stakes are so high.
I had planned my outfit days in advance – neat pants and an interview-appropriate shirt that was just fun enough to demonstrate ‘‘personality’’.
I’d spent hours googling sample interview questions and driven my friends up the wall with endless chatter about what to bring, how to stand and which questions to ask (spoiler: I asked some killer questions). But all of that thought and effort was for nothing. It didn’t matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t good enough.
We all have stories like this, but we don’t talk about them. We don’t talk about them because it seems petty to grieve the loss of something we never really had.
Mostly, however, our culture doesn’t like talking about failure. Failure is sticky and uncomfortable.
We can appreciate failure once someone has overcome it and achieved an enviable amount of success, but steer clear when we’re in the messy throws of it.
But failure shouldn’t be something we only talk about in hindsight. It’s a process. If we don’t try to understand it while we’re in it, how are we supposed to learn, and find our way out?
I wish I knew what I needed to learn from this, that I could find some nice way to tie the strings of this experience together and end with a neat piece of advice.
I wish I could tell other heartbroken job hunters to get back on their feet and put themselves out there. But putting yourself out there is hard. It can hurt. Failure and rejection suck. Letting go of a dream is painful.
When it comes to dream jobs, the odds just aren’t stacked in our favour; every rejection makes you wonder whether it’s time to give up and, at the end of the day, being ‘‘almost there’’ doesn’t cut it.
I’m sick of hearing ‘‘You’ll get it next time’’. I’m sick of optimistic attempts to cheer me up.
‘‘You came so close last time, you’re sure to get it!’’ just feels like false hope.
Comforting someone is awkward and uncomfortable, but false cheer is strangely reductive. It’s the ‘‘plenty of fish in the sea’’ excuse. When you’re heartbroken the other fish don’t matter.
And when it comes to decent jobs, are there really that many more fish?
I’m not giving up just yet. One day I’ll land that dream job, but right now I need to grieve the one I lost. –Sydney Morning Herald