I Was the Person Who Rejected Me - John Glanvill - Anxiety Specialist

I Was the Person Who Rejected Me

Sometimes writing things down helps me see how I used to operate without realising it.

As a teenager, I felt a deep separation from people and from life. I never felt I fitted in. I was painfully self-conscious. The fear of being laughed at, looking stupid or being judged stopped me from doing many things — even when not doing them was clearly self-sabotaging. It was as if it was acceptable for me to be harsh with myself, but unbearable if anyone else might be critical of me.

Looking back, those years are a blur. I would become overwhelmed by emotion, then immediately try to suppress it because I felt so self-conscious. That created a lot of repressed frustration, which would occasionally explode as anger or as cutting-my-nose-off-to-spite-my-face behaviour. I remember being sent to my room for an hour and staying there for twenty-four hours, wallowing in how unfair it all felt. It was a poor strategy, but at the time I knew no other way.

Avoiding uncomfortable emotions slowly shaped how I lived. I tried to make things work the way I wanted so I would not have to feel anything difficult — often at the expense of what I actually wanted. Because other people seemed interested in different things, I assumed I had nothing of value to say. I spent a lot of time silently watching, looking for ways I was different rather than ways I was the same. That made me feel more disconnected, not less.

I built an inner world of dreams and imagined outcomes. Sometimes those stories lifted me. Sometimes I spun them into melancholy and self-pity. I could still function. I did reasonably well at the things I chose to do. I was often pushed forward to lead or sort things out. The evidence that I was likeable, trusted and competent was there. I just never felt it or accepted it.

The best description I have is this: I felt like an extroverted mind trapped in an introverted body. I wanted connection, then sabotaged it. I would go to a party and refuse to dance because it felt too exposing — and that refusal probably made more of a scene than just joining in. At the time I thought I was shy. I don’t think that was quite true. I was afraid of the feeling of self-rejection that would follow if someone else rejected me. So I either tried to please people or stayed away from them.

I was creative, not so much in painting as in problem-solving and finding ways to get ideas across. Even that was wrapped in doubt. I needed the work to be good enough that I would not be rejected, then I needed to present it in a way that neither I nor the work would be rejected. That produced a lot of procrastination.

I functioned. I got decent jobs. From the outside it looked fine. Inside I did not know who I was or what I wanted. I struggled with depression and often felt alone even among friends and family.

In my mid-forties I discovered that some of what I had always treated as a personal defect could actually be described. Personality frameworks helped me see patterns I had been living inside without names. That was useful — not because a label explains everything, but because it made it permissible to be more than one thing. Introverted and outgoing. Creative and quiet. Deeply connected at times, on the sidelines at others. Most importantly, it showed me that the person who had been rejecting me most consistently was me. That had to stop.

From there I became interested in thoughts, emotions, values, and the stories we tell ourselves about who we are. Twelve years on, things are very different.

I still have tendencies. They do not have to run my life. Emotions are emotions. I can feel them, stay with them, and let them go. They do not automatically mean what the mind says they mean.

If I am thinking “if only…”, I am in the past.
If I am thinking “what if…?”, I am in a future that has not happened.
The useful question is: how do I feel right now, and what story am I telling myself that is producing that feeling?

I am responsible for my feelings. Nobody else is.

Because I can sit with emotion without immediately trying to control the world to avoid it, I need less control. Because I can observe the thought or situation that triggered the feeling, I am less owned by it.

What does that look like in practice?

I still don’t particularly like dancing. I do it anyway, and often end up enjoying it.
I can share more of my doubts without assuming rejection will destroy me.
I do not have to be perfect or have all the answers.
I can stop blaming other people for how I feel.
I can feel more fully without getting stuck.
When anger is appropriate I can allow it rather than store it.
Even an ugly, uninvited feeling does not have to stop me doing what needs doing. It is just an emotion.

Because I have a tendency toward low mood, I still have to be vigilant about negative loops, second-guessing the future, and fearing other people’s opinions. That vigilance is part of the work, not a sign that nothing has changed.

It is possible to accept emotional turmoil without being ruled by it.
It is possible to feel fear and proceed anyway.
It is possible to be calmer in your mind even when the body is not quiet.
And it is possible to stop being the person who rejects you first.

That is not a personality type. It is a skill. It can be learned.

Access this teaching and over 60 other videos for $15 a month, along with guided meditations and practical workbooks. These are The Chronicles of Common Sense, forged from facing life directly and learning through real-world experience. They guided me out of anxiety, OCD, bipolar depression and crippling self-consciousness — and helped me become more trusting, energetic, optimistic, self-loving and courageous.

This work reaches mind, body and soul. It gives you the tools to step courageously into the unknown. Knowledge only becomes wisdom when we test it through action. Those who act, adjust, and act again (ERP) will always move further than those who stay in thinking and worrying.

Thinking is an inner reality. Action is an outer one — and once you act, something will happen. The outcome is never fully in your control, but if the action is aimed at what you truly desire, it is always worthwhile.

What do you desire?

The next action is yours. Take it.