Pondering Prejection

Prejection is the art of rejecting myself before someone else has a chance to.

Take a rejection scenario oft-repeated in our culture — captains choosing teams during P.E. class at school. The best athletes and most popular kids are chosen first; as more and more people are chosen to join a team, the children in the dwindling pool from which the captains are choosing can become painfully aware that they are less desirable to the group than the other children. Every time a captain opens their mouth, the remaining children hope to hear their name and end their torment. Every time they don’t hear their name, it’s an affirmation that they are less desirable to the group than someone else. If a child has had the experience of being chosen last for a team at school over and over, they may choose to preject themselves before the captains have a chance to reject them by dropping the P.E. class, pretending to be sick, convincing the teacher to let them participate in the game by being a referee instead of a player, or otherwise completely removing themselves from a situation in which someone else’s assessment of them affects their life.

I first noticed I was prejecting myself in romantic situations. For example, once I invited someone I loved to come visit me some morning when he felt like it or had time. We were living in the same neighborhood, we used to date, he was seeing someone else, and I missed him. I woke up the first morning after I had extended the invitation and after ten minutes of him not being there, I texted him and told him I was rescinding my standing invitation. I may have even told him why: I didn’t want to start every morning feeling rejected that he hadn’t accepted my invitation. I didn’t want to be tortured by the truth that he could have shown up if he had wanted to, which meant he didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to have hopes that could be dashed. So I prejected myself by taking away his option to come visit me.

One thing I find fascinating about prejection is that it shows me how much of my emotional reality is based on the story about a situation rather than the situation itself. In the last example, clearly I could handle the physical reality of spending mornings alone while my ex-boyfriend spent them with his new interest. I may not have preferred it, yet it was a reality with which I could deal. That physical reality remained unchanged from when I had invited him to come visit to when I took away the invitation. The only thing that changed was my internal story — when he had the invitation, I felt acutely rejected and emotionally unstable; when he didn’t have the invitation, I felt a more low-lying chronic rejection that was easier to deal with. The reason it was easier for me to deal with was pride. My ego felt more supported when I had more control, when I wasn’t chasing someone who didn’t want me. I think it also helped to have one overall rejection that I could count on, rather than thousands of rejections (one per second while the invitation was extended) that I couldn’t count on. (This reminds me of how it’s easier to decide not to buy cookies once in the store, rather than bringing them home to my cupboard and having to choose not to eat them many times throughout the week). Despite recognizing that I would be getting less of the physical reality I craved (time with the ex) if I took away the invitation, I did it to support my emotional reality (feeling less rejected).

I used to consider my tendency to preject myself a weakness. Going back to the first example, it doesn’t really matter if I get chosen first or last for the team — I still get to exercise, which is good for me. If the pain of rejection becomes so unbearable that I drop P.E., it may be good for my emotional body, yet it’s not good for my physical body. If I were chosen last because the teams were chosen alphabetically, I wouldn’t be feeling the same way, so why do I care? When I first noticed myself prejecting myself, I saw all the ways it was unhealthy, and judged myself pretty harshly for being so sensitive to rejection.

I’m starting to think prejection has its merits, though. If I can get enough physical exercise outside of P.E. class, then figuring out a way to avoid being part of a team that doesn’t want me seems pretty smart. Moving on rather than clinging to a relationship with my ex seems pretty smart too. The emotions associated with those choices may make me feel weak, yet they’re not poor choices in and of themselves.

Humans have the bodies of social mammals, for better or worse. That means we are physiologically hard-wired to be affected by other humans and how they see us. The part of my mind that has analytical reasoning can see that prejection may have caused me to miss out on opportunities that I could have had if I were more able to live with the uncollapsed wave of probability created when I wait for others to reject me rather than rejecting myself first. It’s this part of my mind that scoffs at my weakness. Truthfully, though, prejecting feels like the opposite of rejecting myself. It feels like I love myself so much that I’m not going to give someone else the opportunity to weigh in with their opinion that I’m not as lovable as I think I am. Since we are born into the bodies of social mammals, we are affected by people’s opinions even when they are inaccurate. Managing my exposure to those opinions is a valid concern that affects the quality of life. My goal is to stop judging myself when I practice prejection while remaining alert so that I don’t overuse it as a tool.