Another rejection email arrived in my inbox this year, and before I even opened it, I knew its rhythm. A gracious greeting, gratitude for my interest, appreciation for my qualifications, and then the sentence that mattered: We have decided not to move forward with your candidacy.

This year I was turned down by two chaplaincy residency programs. For most people, that sentence probably needs some explanation. A chaplaincy residency is an intensive year of clinical and spiritual formation in a hospital. Residents accompany patients and families through illness, trauma, dying, and grief while receiving rigorous supervision and training. The programs are small and highly competitive, and completing one often opens the door to board certification.

I’ve spent years carefully preparing for a residency. These years included an educational foundation, ordination, and previous training. Therefore, the rejection wasn’t simply the loss of a job. It felt as though the path I had been walking had suddenly narrowed before me.

The emails were thoughtful and professional. They still hurt, and I have been wondering why. The obvious answer is that rejection is painful. But lately I’ve begun to realize that something else is happening: Every rejection I’ve ever experienced as an adult has had to pass through the child who was bullied.

During upper elementary school and middle school, I was the child who rarely had anyone to play with at recess. I learned what it felt like to stand on the edges of conversations that continued without me, to watch friendships form around me while I remained outside them. I was left out of birthday parties, left out of plans, left out of the easy belonging that seemed to come so naturally to everyone else.

Children rarely have the language to explain what bullying does to them. They simply absorb its lessons. At times I thought that maybe I was too much, or maybe I wasn’t enough, or........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)