Estimated reading time: 7 minutes

This is what comes after the no.

when rejection hits

Rejection doesn’t just land, it detonates. It reshapes everything, shakes the ground beneath you, questions your worth, and leaves silence where certainty once stood.

Over the weekend, a coach reached out. They were told they were not the right fit for their gym right now. They hadn’t broken a rule, missed a class, or acted out of line; life had just gotten complicated. The message was cloaked in kindness, but it was rejection all the same to the person on the receiving end. It was not a reprimand or a redirection; just a no without a path forward. And like most rejection, it landed in the gut.

I listened, but I also remembered.

the phone call that rewrote my worth

I remembered being on a phone call one day. They kept hesitating, speaking in circles like they were stalling for time. Then, finally, they told me the “CrossFit community wasn’t ready for someone who looked like me to wear a red shirt”. That was the whole message in those exact words. There was no additional feedback, direction, or information about how I could grow. There was nothing about presence, leadership, or professionalism. It was just a no and a slammed door.

Underneath that “no” was something far more brutal. It was never about readiness or timing, it was about appearance. It said, no matter how hard you study, it will never be enough. You could earn every credential, pass every test, master every cue, and still your body would speak louder than your capability. I sat in my office chair, crying for hours, picturing myself shrinking in stages, shedding weight like a sacrificial offering. Each time, I imagined returning with the same question: Is this enough yet?

It wasn’t just about one door closing. It was about the possibility of a future spent standing before unseen judges, repeating the same question: Is this enough yet? A future where no credential, cue, or test passed would undo the quiet verdict already cast. It was not doubt I feared. It was the reality that my competence would always be questioned, not because of what I lacked, but because of what they saw. Everything else would be the footnote.

the math of self-worth almost broke me

It took me back to another time in my life. I had spent over eleven years building a relationship with a man I once believed was the love of my life. And then he said it. “I can’t marry you until you get the weight off.” I had always understood the importance of getting healthy. That part never stung. What gutted me was the unspoken equation underneath it. The question I could never stop asking: What is the magic number? What weight makes me worthy of love? What number turns a no into a yes?

Walking away from him was one of the hardest things I had ever done. I told myself I would never let anyone else decide my value again. My self-worth wasn’t up for negotiation anymore. But there I was, once again, facing the same lie in a different mouth.

For a while, I sat with it. I wanted the color of that shirt so badly I was willing to reshape my entire body to prove I deserved it. If the weight was the barrier, I would grind it down. I would give them transformation on a platter. But I had been here before; with someone who said they would love me more if I changed. I knew that kind of change never lasts. Not when it is rooted in proving, not healing. Not when it is fueled by someone else’s conditions. The weight could only be lost for me, not for permission. So I let that dream go. 

when identity is tied to a title

That moment didn’t just crack something; it collapsed everything. My identity, everything I was working for was tangled in a title and the color of my shirt. And when the idea that someday I would have that shirt was ripped away, so was my sense of self-worth. That unraveling nearly swallowed me. 

It didn’t just bruise me and wasn’t a casual sting. It shattered something inside me. That kind of rejection changes you. It makes you question everything. It teaches you to hold back before your voice is silenced. And for a long time, I did. I disappeared into myself, fell into old patterns, convincing myself that maybe they were right. I cried more times than I want to admit, I didn’t know who I was without the dream. That’s almost embarrassing to admit but how I felt at the time.

what rejection tries to teach you

But…. growth comes from facing hard truths, not avoiding them. Strength isn’t found in refusing criticism. It is built when you stand in it, examine it, and take what’s useful. Not every rejection is an attack. Not every closed door is unfair. Some of them are meant to shape, sharpen, and strengthen you in ways you could not see before.

Eventually, the ache became fuel. The silence became clarity. The emptiness became space, and that space became something new. There was no waiting anymore, no permission needed, and no asking if I was enough.

the fire they couldn’t contain

It’s been about three years since that day. That pain hurt so bad I didn’t think I was ever going to crawl out of the funk this whole experience put me in.

It took me back to square one and maybe this needed to happen. I had to fight hard to remember where my identity actually lives. Not in a shirt. Not in a title. My identity is in Christ. Period. When everything else collapsed, He stayed. When I questioned my worth, He reminded me it was never up for debate. That truth burned through every lie and it held me when nothing else could. Despite it all, this remained even in the ruin of what I thought I wanted. A truth I couldn’t ignore. I had nothing left to prove, but everything left to build.

What came next was the seminar, every coach I now train. What came next was my voice, restored better than ever. Book #2, Waitless…. was born from this very experience. The main theme of this new chapter was in fact identity.

Then came Hiller. I knew I had to get this last part of the journey under control. Not because something was at stake…. but for me. Though it was short lived, it accomplished something incredible. It got me out of my hole and for that I am forever grateful.

I am not wearing the shirt I once dreamed of, but I am doing the work I was meant to do, and that matters more. I’m proud of it; more than anything else I have ever done.

your self-worth was never theirs to decide

Maybe you’ve been told the timing is wrong. Perhaps the door didn’t open. Rejection is not proof of your inadequacy. Some doors close because you are not ready. Others close because they cannot contain you.

If you’ve been told you are not the right fit, you were too much, it is not working, or you need to take a step back, let the pain be real and let it hit. But do not let it define you.

You can grieve the opportunity. You can fall apart for a little while. That isn’t weakness, it’s humanity. But do not let that one “no” rewrite the entire narrative of who you are. Do not let it erase the hours, the effort, the impact. Do not let it convince you that your voice has no place.

Strength is not always built with kind words or easy praise. Strength isn’t given; it’s built in the moments when you keep going anyway.

Rejection doesn’t get the last word. You don’t need their yes to be unstoppable.