Hey friends, it's Rosie.
Welcome back to Radio Headspace.
So I'm going to tell you something I've never said out loud.
When I was younger, I secretly wrote poetry.
Now, to give you some context, I come from a family of musicians, artists, and writers.
My dad, he's a mariachi singer, a very gifted and talented one.
My older sister, she's an English teacher and a beautiful creative writer.
Most of my family members play an instrument.
Art was always in the air in our apartment, via music film stories, little bursts of creativity everywhere.
But me, I didn't think of myself as a real creative.
And it took many years, like 40, for me to finally consider myself a writer.
But when I was in my teens, I wrote in secret.
Late at night, scribbling words into notebooks, working out feelings I didn't know how to name.
And eventually, I decided to be brave.
I started mailing in my poems to writing competitions.
I did it under an alias, of course, because God forbid anyone found out it was me.
Most of the time, I never got a response.
Until one day.
I got an envelope back with the publishing magazine's name, and I tore it open.
My heart racing, hoping for a yes or that at least something encouraging.
Instead, it said, before you write poetry, try reading some.
I've never wanted to disappear more than at that moment.
I stuffed the letter in a drawer and thought, maybe they're right.
Maybe I don't belong here.
Maybe I'll never belong.
That's the thing about rejection.
It doesn't just sing in the moment.
It echoes throughout and it stays with you.
It becomes this little voice in your head that says, why even try?
But here's what I know now.
That rejection, it wasn't the end.
It was just part of what I like to call the failure threshold.
See, everything worth doing comes with a certain number of failures attached to it.
You can't skip them.
You can't cheat the system.
You have to pass through them to get to the other side.
And while I never went on to become a poet, I did keep writing.
A lot.
Journals, essays, daily pages, and eventually three books.
Thousands of words that will never see the light of day.
But they mattered.
They shaped me.
They made me a writer.
And yes, my critic was technically right.
If you want to write, you must read.
And I read poetry.
So much poetry.
Neruda, Plath, Rumi, Ginsburg.
I learned to love the art form deeply, but I also realized I don't need to be a poet.
I just love consuming it.
What I really love to write is the kind of creative nonfiction, reflection and teaching that That feels like soul food to me.
And that's the gift of failing and rejection, right?
It refines you.
It points you toward what's yours.
There's a study I love from the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology that found people who saw failure as information rather than a verdict on their ability were far more likely to persist and improve over time.
That's the failure threshold in action.
Not, I failed so I should quit, but I failed.
So I'm one step closer to figuring out what works.
Because failure is sneaky like that.
Sometimes it redirects you.
Sometimes it strengthens you.
Sometimes it shows you what you don't want to do, which is just as important as discovering what you do.
Looking back now, I can smile at that old letter.
Because sure, maybe my early poems weren't real poetry.
But those rejections were my teachers.
They taught me to endure, to refine, to listen.
They taught me not to confuse one person's opinion or even ten people's opinion of who I truly am.
And that gave me the resilience to write the books that I have today.
So if you're feeling discouraged, ghosted, or flat out told, this isn't it, remember this.
It's not the end.
It's just a part of your failure threshold.
It's one step closer to whatever's waiting on the other side.
The next time you fail at something, big or small, pause and say to yourself, I'm one step closer.
This is part of the threshold.
And you can ask yourself, what did this failure teach me?
Did it sharpen my skills? redirect me or reveal something about what I actually want.
Because every no isn't just rejection.
It's information.
And sometimes it is redirection.
And maybe that's the whole point.
Failure isn't proof that you don't belong.
It's just the threshold you walk through on your way to finding where you do.
And if you're looking for some extra guidance, check out the Get Good at Failure video in the app.
That's it for today, friends.
If you've had a failure that turned into redirection, I'd love to hear about it.
Message me on Instagram at Rosie Acosta.
Remember, you're not at the end.
I'll see you back here soon.
