matriarch
Rotund retiree
- Joined
- May 25, 2003
- Posts
- 22,743
I'm not talking specifically about romantic or sexual rejection, but generally.
This thread has been prompted by a comment in a letter to me. Rejection, the prospect of it, and the actuality of it and how it affects our lives.
So I'll start this off with a short rendition of my own 'worst' rejection.
I had been working in a local middle school for around 4 years as a classroom assistant, and was more than ever convinced that I wanted to teach. I applied to a university close to home, to do a B.Ed (Bachelor of Education - you can't teach in UK without one- at least not in state funded schools), under their mature student scheme. This was around 14 years ago. Himself and I (he was totally supportive), had worked out the finances, and how we could just about afford it, losing my income, and mainly using any bursary to cover daily transport, so I could still live at home and not have to stay in halls. The boys were 10 and 14 then, old enough to cope.
I digress...........(a bad habit of mine)......I applied, with a very strong supportive reference from the head teacher of the school, received a form to complete. I had to also write an essay, 2000 words on 'education is for life, not work'. And 1,000 words on myself and why I wanted to teach.
I hadn't written an essay since leaving school, just short article style pieces, for my own pleasure and self-examination on various topics. This was different, but not as hard as I thought. The piece on myself was much harder.
I put my soul into those pieces, opened myself up, and spread it out on the paper for the world to see.
I was invited for interview; apparently (so I was told), if you get an interview, the rest is a formality.
They lied.
The interview was a disaster. I took my turn in a queue of other women (and a few men), being unreasonably irritated by a young woman of around 22, who was announcing - loudly, of course - to all of us, that she'd already been for 3 other interviews and been offered places at all of them..........well fuck off then, girl, and give us oldies a chance here.
I was interviewed by the head of the teacher training faculty, a woman; that went fine, no problems expressing how fulfilling I found it, but then the head of the English faculty took his turn (I had chosen to major in English).
He shredded me.
There was no finesse, no gentle probing, he simply took me apart. It was obvious I was not going to get a place, and went home partly despondent, partly relieved.
Two weeks later I received a letter, explaining how he thought I would be unable to cope with the level of academic thought and response required. He suggested I take time to study for a few A-levels to get back into the studying regime (I had left school at 16 with O levels), and then re-apply.
But attached to the letter was a small slip of paper, a printed form. There were a few words explaining, but it mainly consisted of two boxes. One was filled in with the letter 'R'. REJECT.
Now THAT is rejection, believe me.
I was pissed off with the patronising tone of his letter, but mortified to be classified as a ‘reject’. I’d never been called that in my life. It kind of slaps you in the ego.
Just over year later, with the teaching desire still in my blood, I was selected (one of 20 out of some 300 applicants - smug preen) to take part in a pilot scheme for prospective primary school teachers, run by the local Local Education Authority, and as part of that scheme was enrolled as a student with the Open University (for the non-UK, suggest you go to their website http://www.open.ac.uk/ ).
I loved it.
The way the studying was laid out, the support from a local tutor, the buzz I got from the different use of my brain. I was hooked.
7 years later, after studying 2 or 3 hours a day at home, working full time, running a home, looking after my kids, and the last two commuting 4 hours a day to and from work, I graduated with an honours degree (English, Social history, Education). My graduation day, at the age of 50, was the proudest day of my life.
I have several times been tempted to send a copy of my degree to that English tutor and suggest he roll it up and shove it somewhere.
But I'm a lady, so I didn't.
And that is how I dealt with rejection.
Mat
This thread has been prompted by a comment in a letter to me. Rejection, the prospect of it, and the actuality of it and how it affects our lives.
So I'll start this off with a short rendition of my own 'worst' rejection.
I had been working in a local middle school for around 4 years as a classroom assistant, and was more than ever convinced that I wanted to teach. I applied to a university close to home, to do a B.Ed (Bachelor of Education - you can't teach in UK without one- at least not in state funded schools), under their mature student scheme. This was around 14 years ago. Himself and I (he was totally supportive), had worked out the finances, and how we could just about afford it, losing my income, and mainly using any bursary to cover daily transport, so I could still live at home and not have to stay in halls. The boys were 10 and 14 then, old enough to cope.
I digress...........(a bad habit of mine)......I applied, with a very strong supportive reference from the head teacher of the school, received a form to complete. I had to also write an essay, 2000 words on 'education is for life, not work'. And 1,000 words on myself and why I wanted to teach.
I hadn't written an essay since leaving school, just short article style pieces, for my own pleasure and self-examination on various topics. This was different, but not as hard as I thought. The piece on myself was much harder.
I put my soul into those pieces, opened myself up, and spread it out on the paper for the world to see.
I was invited for interview; apparently (so I was told), if you get an interview, the rest is a formality.
They lied.
The interview was a disaster. I took my turn in a queue of other women (and a few men), being unreasonably irritated by a young woman of around 22, who was announcing - loudly, of course - to all of us, that she'd already been for 3 other interviews and been offered places at all of them..........well fuck off then, girl, and give us oldies a chance here.
I was interviewed by the head of the teacher training faculty, a woman; that went fine, no problems expressing how fulfilling I found it, but then the head of the English faculty took his turn (I had chosen to major in English).
He shredded me.
There was no finesse, no gentle probing, he simply took me apart. It was obvious I was not going to get a place, and went home partly despondent, partly relieved.
Two weeks later I received a letter, explaining how he thought I would be unable to cope with the level of academic thought and response required. He suggested I take time to study for a few A-levels to get back into the studying regime (I had left school at 16 with O levels), and then re-apply.
But attached to the letter was a small slip of paper, a printed form. There were a few words explaining, but it mainly consisted of two boxes. One was filled in with the letter 'R'. REJECT.
Now THAT is rejection, believe me.
I was pissed off with the patronising tone of his letter, but mortified to be classified as a ‘reject’. I’d never been called that in my life. It kind of slaps you in the ego.
Just over year later, with the teaching desire still in my blood, I was selected (one of 20 out of some 300 applicants - smug preen) to take part in a pilot scheme for prospective primary school teachers, run by the local Local Education Authority, and as part of that scheme was enrolled as a student with the Open University (for the non-UK, suggest you go to their website http://www.open.ac.uk/ ).
I loved it.
The way the studying was laid out, the support from a local tutor, the buzz I got from the different use of my brain. I was hooked.
7 years later, after studying 2 or 3 hours a day at home, working full time, running a home, looking after my kids, and the last two commuting 4 hours a day to and from work, I graduated with an honours degree (English, Social history, Education). My graduation day, at the age of 50, was the proudest day of my life.
I have several times been tempted to send a copy of my degree to that English tutor and suggest he roll it up and shove it somewhere.
But I'm a lady, so I didn't.
And that is how I dealt with rejection.
Mat
