by Heather Plett | May 6, 2014 | Uncategorized
It’s no secret that I love circles in many, many forms. I love to walk labyrinths, make mandalas, and – most of all – gather people in circles. I’ve just spent four days at Aldermarsh on Whidbey Island together with And & Christina (and their lovely dog Gracie) and 25 other openhearted people at the 2nd Fire Gathering for The Circle Way Initiative. Circle was at the heart of EVERYTHING we did. In between gatherings, I processed all that was going on by walking the labyrinth and making mandalas.
Circle keeps swirling around my head, and it won’t leave me alone. All of these patterns are coming together in my heart for a reason, and something new is emerging in my work. So far, I’m not quite sure what form(s) it will take, but I know that I am creating something called The Circular Woman, which will be all about helping women re-connect with themselves, their hearts, their communities, the earth, and the sacred through circle in its many forms.
Stay tuned. Good things are spiraling up out of my heart! (p.s. I just bought the url thecircularwoman.com!)
In the meantime, if you need a circle to help you grow the things spiraling out of your heart, you have until Thursday morning to join Pathfinder Circle. Come into the circle with us!
by Heather Plett | Apr 29, 2014 | Uncategorized
I’m writing to you from beautiful Whidbey Island near Seattle. I have finally arrived here after what feels like a 13 year journey.
Thirteen years ago, I was working as a Director of Communication at a federal lab. It was one of the hardest times in my life. I’d done all the right things to grow my professional career, climbed the corporate ladder successfully, and was in a senior leadership position that afforded me the privilege of traveling a lot and sitting at influential tables. I was running press conferences for Prime Ministers and the like, dealing with media from all over the world… and I was miserable.
I was completely disillusioned with leadership. I’d loved the early days of my leadership journey when I had a great mentor/boss, but now I was stuck at leadership team meetings where everything revolved around science and nobody knew how to speak the language of the heart.
I started to look for inspiration and some hope that there was another way to lead. That’s when I came across the work of Christina Baldwin. I devoured her book Calling the Circle, and everything else I could get my hands on.
Sitting in my office in the lab, I had one of those trembling moments I’ve talked about before. I knew there was something really important about the work Christina was doing with her partner Ann, and I knew I had to be part of it. I set an intention there and then that I would learn all I could about leading from a place in the circle, and that I would study and work with Christina some day. Along with that intention was a little dream of spending time on Whidbey Island with them.
The next ten years were full of lots of darkness, growth, and stretching. I didn’t let go of the dream, but I often doubted that it would come true.
And then, finally, when I quit my job to jump into self employment, it was finally the right time to live out part of that dream. I traveled to Ontario to study with Christina. When I told her, in the opening circle, that her work had lit a candle in a dark place for me ten years earlier, tears filled her eyes.
Over the next three and a half years, circle became central to my work. Christina and I stayed in touch, and I kept dreaming of visiting Whidbey.
Well by now you know the rest of the story. I have come to Whidbey at Christina’s invitation, to sit in circle council with her and others, to sense into how circle can grow in the world and change conversations everywhere.
I feel deeply humbled and blessed by this incredible journey that has brought me here.
It’s the way of the heart, calling us to places we need to go. Sometimes it takes much longer than we want to get to the new place, but the journey is worth it. I wouldn’t have been ready for it thirteen years ago. I needed some seasoning and stretching. I needed to befriend grief in a deeper way. I needed to get lost and then find myself again.
I am ready now.
Are you on a similar journey, doubting whether you’ll ever get through the darkness? Take heart. Your heart will lead you where you’re meant to go.
If you need some guidance and support on that journey, consider joining Pathfinder Circle. It starts May 8th.
If you want to spend a day in circle with me and other amazing women, join us at Create and Connect. It’s happening in Winnipeg on May 24th.
by Heather Plett | Apr 18, 2014 | Uncategorized
“Because we realised that the person who left us did not take the sun with them or leave darkness in their place. They simply left, and with every farewell comes a hidden hope. – Paul Coelho
Three years ago, on Easter weekend, we found out my mom had cancer. It was a sombre Easter meal we shared at my brother’s house that Sunday. Mom did her best to be upbeat, playing with the grandchildren, making sure everyone was well fed and giving us all as much love as she could. We all tried to do the same, to pretend that everything was going to be okay and that we didn’t risk losing the only parent we had left.
We didn’t do a very good job of lying to ourselves, though. Beneath all of the smiles and the laughter was a river of worry that none of us could deny.
Once you’ve met death and watched it take away a member of your family, you no longer have the luxury of hanging onto the lie that “everything is going to be alright”.
Something else happened that weekend. On the two hour drive home from my brother’s house, my marriage unraveled. We had a big fight (as quietly as possible so as not to alarm the children in the back seat) and I had to speak out loud the unhappiness that was growing in me like my mom’s cancer was growing in her. It was time for drastic measures. We had to either slice out the cancer in our marriage and subject it to months of chemo (in the form of therapy) or it would die.
By now you probably know what happened to my Mom. She had surgery and months of chemo and the doctors thought they had been successful in arresting the cancer. But only three months after she’d gotten the “all-clear” (which happened a year after her diagnosis), they discovered that the cancer was still growing and was now beyond treatment. Three months later, with all of her children gathered around her, she left us to join Dad in eternity.
As for my marriage, a rather similar pattern took place. We went for months of counseling, worked on the baggage we were both carrying, learned to talk to each other with more honesty and less anger, and thought we had the cancer licked. We were happy again.
But then the cancer came back. I realized that the anger that had infected me was growing in deeper places than I’d at first admitted to myself. A deeper excavation was necessary. And so we went under the knife again, followed by more chemo.
Our marriage is still alive. Like doctors, we are using every procedure and medicine we can think of to keep it alive. We are trying – like the Japanese artists who mend broken pots with gold so that the break becomes part of the art and history of the piece and adds to its beauty – to mend our marriage with even stronger and more beautiful material than was there when the break happened.
It seems fitting (and perhaps somewhat ironic) that this year, at Easter, I am feeling hopeful again. There is resurrection, there is transformation, there is hope. The gold is beginning to set deep into the cracks and there is beauty emerging out of our brokenness.
In Pathfinder, I wrote about the value of getting lost, of tearing up the map, and trusting that the path will unfold in front of us as it should. That’s a lesson that I have to learn again and again. I want so badly to control the outcome, to fix the cancer in my mom (and now my brother), to find a simple solution for our marriage, or to, at the very least, feel like I’m holding a map in my hand that will show me the topography that’s up ahead. But I don’t get that. I never get that.
I have to let it go and lean further into trust.
In order for real transformation to happen (as we learn in Theory U, which is also shared in Pathfinder), we have to let go of the outcome and our desire to control it, let go of our preconceived notions, let go of the lens through which we view the world, and learn to sense into that which wants to emerge. Along the journey of letting go, we open our minds, open our hearts, and open our wills. Only once we’ve reached the bottom of the U, when what needed to die has been released, can the new thing emerge and begin to blossom.
My friend Laurie Foley was recently told that her cancer is in remission. As she explores what this means and what she is meant to learn from her long months of struggle, she is re-framing remission as re-mission. She’s wondering how this period of her life – the journey through the valley of the shadow of cancer – has changed her life’s mission and what God is asking of her now.
I wonder the same thing. If the cancer in my marriage is in remission (as I hope it is), then what is our re-mission as a couple? What is emerging for us that we couldn’t see before when we were blinded by the struggle? It is our hope that the three year dive into the bottom of the U has allowed something new and beautiful to grow out of the brokenness.
I share this story with you not for any sympathy or advice. I share it simply that you will know that you are not alone. If your marriage feels broken, if your community is falling apart, if your business is failing, take heart.
There is beauty that grows out of the brokenness. There is hope even in loss.
Yes it’s true that sometimes there is no stopping the cancer and someone or something dies. Your marriage may end, your best friend may die, you may lose your job or your home. We can’t change that, no matter how hard we try.
But that doesn’t mean it’s the end. It doesn’t mean you’re finished. It means that you’re finding yourself at the bottom of the U and someday, when you have let go and opened yourself up to some new possibility, the light will appear again and a new seed, planted into the compost of what has died, will begin to sprout.
In the Easter story, Christ had to give up his life on the cross before he was ready for his own re-mission. Only when his surrender was complete and death had taken him could he rise again and live out his calling to be fully God.
That story always makes me think of butterfly metamorphosis. A caterpillar must give up its caterpillar-self in the gooey mess of the chrysalis before it can emerge as a butterfly. In the same way, we have to release that which no longer serves us – let it fall broken in a heap at our feet – before we can emerge into the beauty that calls us forward.
It is my hope this Easter (whether or not the Easter story is part of your faith tradition) that you will find beauty in the brokenness, that you will recognize the value of getting lost, and that you will learn to see the light that peeks into your shadows.
And if you find yourself lost, somewhere on the journey through the U, consider joining us in the Pathfinder Circle. Your brokenness, your questions, your growth, your curiosity, and your grief will be held in a circle of grace.
by Heather Plett | Apr 15, 2014 | Uncategorized
This post is not a completely thought-out post that feels clean in my brain like some of my posts do. It’s more like a conversation, a contemplation, a meandering through some questions that are on my heart.
I’m on a quest to understand more deeply what it means to live authentically. Almost all of my work – my coaching, workshops, writing, and teaching – is centered in that quest. I want to live authentically and I want to help other people do the same. I delight in those beautiful moments when someone sitting in front of me – in a circle I’m hosting, in a coaching conversation, etc. – admits something that emerges from deep in the vulnerable recesses of their heart, and in that moment takes a step into authentic living.
But… even though I’ve done so much of my work in this realm, I still find myself wondering what it really means to live authentically, why it’s so hard for many of us to do so, and what conditions best support authentic living.
With those questions (and more) on my mind, here are some of my random thoughts on authenticity…
1. Authenticity is a journey, not a destination.
I don’t think you ever arrive at a city called “authentic” and then set up camp there. All of your life, you’ll be on a quest to discover who you are and how you can live in that truth more fully. You’ll try new things, test out new ways of being in relationship, realize that some of those things work for you and some don’t, and then you’ll try again. At the same time, there will always be forces working against your quest for authenticity. Those forces – your own fear of failure and rejection, the voices of your ancestors, the oppression of your lineage, the judgement intrinsic to your religion, etc. – will try to convince you that it’s much safer living behind a mask.
Carl Jung used the term “individuation” to define “the process by which individual beings are formed and differentiated [from other human beings]; in particular, it is the development of the psychological individual as a being distinct from the general, collective psychology.” Essentially, individuation is our quest for authenticity. As we mature into adulthood, we individuate, separating ourselves from the worldviews of our parents, the teachings of our childhood, the indoctrination of our religion, etc. There is a risk inherent in individuation, and some of us never work up the courage to take that risk. (Living with three teenagers has been an immense opportunity for me to learn about the individuation journey. Each time they disagree with me, I try to remind myself that they are learning who they are apart from me.)
2. The journey to authenticity is not a linear journey.
Sometimes you’ll grow in authenticity and courage, and then something will happen to make you feel unsafe, and you’ll shrink back behind a mask (or behind the safety of the rules of engagement you learned in your youth). It might be a change in a relationship, a big move that finds you in a place where you don’t feel at home, or some kind of trauma that halts your growth. Or sometimes you’ll be part of an authentic community and you’ll feel at home there, but the relationships will change, betrayal will happen, you’ll grow in ways others in your community haven’t, or people who model authentic leadership will move away and the community will cease to show up in an authentic way for each other. This is not failure – it’s simply a detour along the journey and an opportunity to learn new things about yourself and/or your community.
3. Authentic living is supported by spiritual practice.
Authenticity takes a lot of courage, resilience, and self-reflection, and these things are best supported by a spiritual practice of some kind. Spiritual practice helps you peel away the layers of ego to reveal the authentic self underneath. It also helps you stay grounded, letting the waves of self-doubt and fear of rejection pass over you without destroying you. In mindfulness practice, for example, you are taught to simply label your thoughts and feelings as such and let them pass without attachment. They are not wrong, they just are. Let them come and then release them. When I find myself getting lost in an ego-place, with fear of rejection threatening my quest for authenticity, I go for a long walk in the woods and that helps me return to ground zero where the ego has less of a hold on my life.
4. Living authentically is easier when you are supported by people who make you feel safe.
When you fear judgement or rejection, it’s very difficult to stand in your truth and live authentically. Your ego will do its best to convince you that your safety is more important than your authenticity. When you’re alone in a crowd of people participating in an activity that runs contrary to your values, for example, it’s hard to find the courage to do otherwise. If you can find at least one person in that crowd who will stand by you when you buck the trend, your chance of success goes up exponentially. Growing up in a religious context that did not support women in leadership, for example, I found it difficult to speak out against what I believed to be oppressive. It was easier to simply go along with it and stay silent. Once I discovered there were other people asking the same questions as I was, however, I was able to find my courage and walk away from (or challenge) those places that did not honour me as a leader. When we create places of safety for each other, we all have the opportunity to live more authentically.
5. Shame is the greatest barrier to authentic living.
When you let shame control you, you hide. You convince yourself that you are unworthy and that nobody will love you. You don’t dare take the risk to reveal your heart to other people because you’re certain that your secrets will scare them away. As Brene Brown teaches, in order to let go of shame, you need to become vulnerable, to dare to share your shame stories with people who make you feel safe.
6. Authenticity doesn’t mean you have to “bear your soul” to everyone.
Sometimes people mistakenly believe that being more authentic means they have to share their deepest, darkest secrets on Facebook for all the world to see, but that’s not the case. You have to be judicious with how and with whom you share your most tender stories. If a relationship doesn’t feel like a safe place to be vulnerable, inquire into that feeling and ask yourself if it’s simply fear holding you back or a true sense that the person cannot be trusted. Sometimes the fear is unrealistic (and the person is ready to wholeheartedly accept you no matter what) and sometimes it’s well-founded (and the person really isn’t ready to see you in a different light). When my mom was dying, for example, I struggled with whether or not I needed to be more authentic with her and share some of the ways my belief-system and worldview had changed. In the end, I decided that the risk of wounding her was too great and I preferred to simply be present for her in the most authentic way that I could be without causing unnecessary pain or a fracture in our relationship.
7. Sometimes what appears as inauthentic is actually about respect.
Just as you don’t need to bear your soul to everyone, it’s not always necessary to offend people for the sake of your own authenticity. When you travel globally, for example, you may find yourself in situations where you’ll need to conform to the culture you’re visiting rather than risk offending people. Just because you cover your head in a Muslim part of the world, for example, does not mean that you’re being inauthentic about your belief that women have the right to choose how they adorn their bodies. Showing respect for people’s culture helps break down barriers that might keep you from meaningful relationships.
8. There’s a fine line between authenticity and over-sharing for the sake of getting attention.
I’m not sure what to say about this one. I don’t want to judge people’s motivation for sharing their stories. I simply want to suggest that sometimes people believe that being an open book is about authenticity when it’s really a cry for attention. (It’s a fine line and it’s hard to know when you’ve crossed it. If you find yourself on Maury Povich talking about your sordid affair, you may have crossed it.) If you’re seeking attention, you need to work on your self-acceptance first and foremost. If your quest for authenticity overpowers the conversation and means that someone else is silenced, then you need to step back and re-examine what it is you’re looking for and why you’re sharing. If you’ve found a loving, supportive community, they may help you recognize what it is you’re seeking and what is the most healthy way of having your needs met.
9. We are all responsible for co-creating Circles of Grace where people can live authentically.
As a citizen of the world, you are responsible for serving those around you and offering them safe places for vulnerability and growth. We do this together, all of us seeking healing, seeking truth, seeking grace, and seeking community. We do this by withholding judgement and allowing others to be fully seen in their weakness and their strength. We do this by holding space for each other’s courage. We do this by showing up in our own authenticity and modeling it for each other.
10. Authentic living is risky but it’s worth it.
You may lose relationships when you choose to live more authentically. You may have to stand up to people who don’t honour your truth or who threaten your safety. You may even need to quit jobs or leave communities in your quest for authenticity. These risks are real and your fear of them is not unrealistic. That’s why many of us choose to stay safe. BUT you won’t feel fully alive unless you take the risk to step more fully into yourself. Your freedom and your happiness depend on your courage to be authentic.
What are your thoughts on authenticity? I’d love to hear them. Be part of the conversation by leaving a comment, or sharing this post (along with your own thoughts) on social media.
If you are seeking a more authentic life, consider joining Pathfinder Circle, starting May 8, 2014.
by Heather Plett | Apr 10, 2014 | Uncategorized
I teach Creative Writing for Self-Discovery to help people discover themselves, but once in awhile, the tables are turned, and they help me discover myself. Last night was one such night. Krista dela Rosa, a participant, coaching client, and friend, gave me a rare gift. She gave me the gift of witnessing. This is what she wrote about me.
Shaman in the Woods
by Krista dela Rosa
Heather is a shaman in the woods.
It’s funny how everyone believes they will be able to find their way through the forest and everyone finds themselves lost before they’re even 100 yards in.
It was no different with me. I entered the forest of self-employment sure I would be able to stay on the path. It couldn’t be that hard to follow, could it? But by the time the curtain of trees closed in on me, I was tripping over roots, circling the same boulder and feeling incredibly panicked about my situation.
I stumbled into her glade pretty tossed around and torn up. Her tent is eclectic, patched together from bits of canvas, leather and fabric left behind from other travellers who have found her before. There’s a small group of people crashed on makeshift cots beside the tent and a few more are gathered around the fire, comfortably quiet and each meditating on their own far-off thoughts.
She smiled, brushed me off and gave me a cup of tea. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she tells me.
“How did you know I was coming?” I wonder.
She shrugs. “I collect wanderers. They seem to find me, anyhow.”
“Do you live here?” I ask.
“For now. Until I move again.”
We sit by the fire. The other people smile at me, but they don’t speak just yet.
“I need to get to the other side of this forest,” I tell her. “Do you know the way?”
“Nope,” she answers.
“But I’m lost. Can’t you help me?”
“Sure, I can help you. But you’re not really lost.”
“I’m not?”
“Of course not! Because wherever you go, well, there you are!”
I find it hard to laugh at her humor.
“But don’t you eventually want to leave the woods? Make it to the other side?” I press.
“I used to, once upon a time. When I first came in here, my goal was to get out as fast as possible. I got lost, like everyone does, but strangely, I felt more and more at home in the woods and less and less inclined to get out. And even though the forest seemed intent on beating me up – I managed to find all the swamps, cliffs, poison ivy and hornets’ nests in here – I felt such a kinship with this place, I had to seriously rethink my ‘end goals’.
“And then I met the deer.”
“The deer?”
She nods, taking a sip of her steaming tea.
“She and I stared at each other for what felt like hours. And then she turned and walked away. I don’t know why, but I felt compelled to go after her. I followed her for days – it might have been weeks, actually, and when I finally lost her, I found myself in a glade much like this one. I decided to stay for a bit – I had nothing better to do – fashioned a tent out of the supplies I had and the things I’d scavenged along the way. Almost immediately, the first wanderer found me.
“We talked a while, laughed, cried, created. I gave her a few of my tools and eventually she found the courage to leave and forge a new path for herself.
“The same thing happened with four or five more people and then the deer came back. I packed up and followed her again and found myself in a new glade. More people found me. We exchanged stories and tools. I had tools they seemed to need and they had tools or other items that I needed, so we would trade and they would move on.”
“And everyone who finds you wants your help?”
She chuckles wryly. “Of course not. Some people tear through, rip things apart, insult and defame me and spit in my tea. Not every wanderer is able to admit that they’re lost.”
“I thought you said I wasn’t really lost,” I challenge.
“You’re not – if by ‘lost’ you mean hopeless, weak, insecure, unable, unsuccessful or any other negative adjective you want to come up with. Lost just is. It has no intrinsic value. It’s simply a state of being in which you are given the opportunity to see yourself and your circumstances more clearly and possibly make new choices.”
The people around the fire nod thoughtfully at that. Perhaps this is what they have each been mulling over. I chew on that thought a bit, cupping my tea cup close and letting the steam waft over my face. Finally I ask, “Is it okay if I stay for a bit?”
She grins. “I’m pretty sure we can find some space for you.”
Over the next few days, I linger, at times crashed on a cot beside the tent, at times thinking quietly by the fire, at times in deep conversation with the other wanderers or Heather herself. Several nights I wake screaming from nightmares, but there always seems to be a hand nearby to touch my shoulder and ground me back into the earth.
Heather lets me rummage through her tent to try see if there’s anything she has that feels right to me – a backpack, an axe, a tinder box, a shawl. She speaks to me in the language of story – and it feels so achingly familiar. It draws me deep into myself and resonates profoundly with the child in me who loved story more than anything else in the world. Ego can’t compete and begins to thrash wildly in what I hope are throes of death.
And then one day I see it – the hawk perched on the lower-most branch of a giant oak at the edge of the glade. I recognize him. He hung around a lot when I was pregnant with my sons. We stare at each other for a while and I know that it’s time to move on from this place.
“I think I have to go,” I tell Heather.
“Of course,” she says. “Did you get what you need?”
“I think so. For now anyway.” I clutch the journal I found in her tent – the one that managed to deconstruct my brain and recall the storyteller in me.
She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be surprised if you find yourself returning to the centre of the woods again. The path is rarely a straight line. It’s more like a labyrinth – you have to circle back several times to make your way out.”
“Will I find you again?” I ask, suddenly unsure whether I was truly ready to leave this safe haven.
“If you need me, just follow the deer. And there will be others along the way.” She leans in close and gives me a sly smile. “I’m not the only one in here.”
We embrace for a while and I turn towards the hawk on the tree. He’s flapping his wings, anxious to be going. I nod to him – to myself – and take a single step forward. He screeches loudly and takes off, alighting at the top of a tree about 50 yards further into the forest.
I look back at Heather for assurance. She hands me a travel mug full of hot tea and a warm biscuit.
“You’ll be just fine,” she says.
“I’ll bring this back when I find you again,” I tell her, holding up the mug.
She laughs. “You know, that is the one thing that never seems to run out around here.”
I do laugh at that. I have also found travel mugs to have the strange ability to reproduce when you aren’t looking.
I take another step forward. And then another. And then one more and before I know it, the forest has closed around me again, the camp swallowed up in its foliage, and all I can see is the hawk, waiting for me at the top of the tree just ahead.
I have no idea where I am going or what the path will look like or how I may have to forge it, but I’m less afraid now. I marvel a little at how it’s not thirst or hunger or even pain that will cripple a traveler – it’s loneliness. And now that I know that shamen like Heather, and even other wanderers like me, are in these woods, I feel a lot more confident in my ability to stick with this journey.
I fix my eyes on the hawk and carry on.
by Heather Plett | Apr 9, 2014 | Uncategorized
You’ve taken a big plunge, stepped into something scary, followed your heart, and made a big sacrifice. Now you desperately want to believe what Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams lead you to believe… “if you build it, they will come.”
But… when you put yourself out there and do that BIG SCARY THING (promote a workshop you’ve been longing to teach, apply for the job you are convinced is right for you, launch a new website, create a work of art, etc., etc.), well…
They don’t come.
Nobody registers for your workshop. The job is offered to someone else. The story you sent to a magazine is rejected. And your mom is the only one who watches your new Youtube video. (Twice, because she didn’t understand it the first time.)
What do you do next? Exactly what every other human being on the planet has done in the face of rejection… You second-guess yourself. Maybe you followed the wrong dream. Maybe you built the wrong “it”. Maybe you’re delusional. Maybe you’re not as talented as your mom thinks you are. Maybe you wasted all of your money on art classes that were useless. Maybe you’re just destined for failure. Maybe you should just be satisfied with a job at MacDonalds because you’ll never amount to anything else.
Let me tell you a little secret that the “success in ten easy steps” motivational speakers might not tell you…
Rejection is part of the journey.
You know all those “overnight success” stories you’ve been reading on the internet that have convinced you that following your dream should be easy and your path to riches should be smooth? They’re not telling you a story that’s worth paying attention to.
The stories you need to pay attention to are the ones where people poured their blood, sweat, and tears into something, stumbled repeatedly, learned a lot of valuable lessons in the stumbling, got back up and tried again, had a small success, stumbled again, had a bit more success, stumbled some more, and finally got to a place where their herculean effort paid off and there was a little ease. Then, just when things got easy, it was time for them to step into something bigger, and… guess what? They stumbled again.
The most important lesson I’ve learned since I took the big risk to quit my job and follow my dream is this…
A dream won’t get you where you want to go without resilience as its companion.
A dream is only half the story.
Dealing with rejection is not the kind of expertise I was planning to develop when I started this journey, but it happened anyway. For every article I’ve had published, I’ve received half a dozen rejection letters. For every workshop I’ve successfully hosted, I’ve canceled two because of low registration. For every e-course I’ve taught, I’ve dropped at least one that few people showed interest in. For every public speaking gig I’ve gotten, I’ve been turned down for two proposals I submitted.
Is it getting easier? Yes it is. I don’t face nearly as much rejection anymore and people are beginning to seek me out now more and more often. But that didn’t happen until I’d put in my time building relationships, taking chances, and picking myself up after failure.
If you’re not prepared to fail, then you’d better not take a risk. Stay safe. Tuck your dreams away. And live a mediocre life.
If – on the other hand – you can’t live with yourself unless you follow the nudging that’s keeping you awake at night, then get ready to fail, and get ready to pick yourself up off the ground and try again.
Here’s what I’ve learned about how to get through the rejection.
1. First, let yourself feel the sting of it. There’s no point in denying that rejection hurts. Even after years of it, it still stings when it happens. You’re better off letting yourself feel it now than stuffing it down deep and then having it resurface in less healthy ways later on. Grab some tissue, soak in a hot tub, and let yourself cry if you need to.
2. Next, do something that makes you feel good about the world. This is not about avoidance, it’s about finding a healthy way to transform the hurt. I usually go for a walk after the sting of rejection. The combination of nature and body movement helps me work through the hurt to a healthier place.
3. Remind yourself of all the successful people who failed before becoming famous. Stephen King’s first novel was rejected 30 times. Thomas Edison failed 1000 times before creating the light bulb. Van Gogh only sold one painting in his lifetime. For more inspiration, read the website 100 Famous Rejections. You’re in good company!
4. Ask yourself “is there something I could have done differently?” Do this only when you’re feeling better about yourself so that your answer is not about beating yourself up. This is an honest reflection of how you could tweak whatever you’re creating or offering to bring it closer to what people might be looking for. For example, the first couple of times I offered Mandala Discovery, I included conference calls and a more collective learning environment. Only a half dozen people showed up each time. I put it on hold for awhile and contemplated whether to quit offering it, or change it. Once I tweaked it and made it more of a personal journey through 30 prompts, with the option of sharing on a Facebook page, registration jumped considerably and 50-75 people signed up each time I offered it.
5. Remind yourself that you’re being faithful to your calling and the outcome is not your responsibility. This is not a cop-out (because you do need to take responsibility for your effort) but it’s a practice in trust. If you trust that you are meant to be doing this work, then the right people will show up at the right time. It might only be after you’ve invested a few years in building relationships with the right people, but consider all of the valuable groundwork you’re laying while you’re doing this work. It’s not wasted effort.
6. Trust that there are sometimes reasons why you’re not meant to succeed right now. I was once turned down for a job I was sure I’d get and was devastated. A few months later, however, I was offered a much better job that was even more suited for me. A year and a half ago, I put a lot of effort into developing a one-day retreat, and only one person registered. With great disappointment, I canceled it. Then my Mom’s health took a turn for the worse, and on the day I would have been facilitating the workshop, I was planning her funeral. The timing wasn’t right and it was much better that I’d canceled it early rather than having to reach everyone and refund their money in the middle of my huge loss.
7. Try, try again. Dreams can be hard task masters. They won’t leave you alone easily. If you give up, you’ll live with the regret for the rest of your life. Sometimes the right choice is to put a dream on hold and wait for better timing, but at least be faithful in showing up again and again with your best effort. Each time you try, take the lessons from the last failure with you. Each failure adds to your wisdom.
8. Find people to support you. Rejection is much easier to get through if you’re surrounded by people who believe in you no matter what. Look for places where you can connect with other people who are also pursuing their dreams. Create a circle of support. Consider joining a mastermind that will keep you accountable.
If you build it, they might not come. But keep building it anyway. Eventually, they’ll come.
Note: If you’re looking for support as you grow your dream, Pathfinder Circle can offer you that.
