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I was rejected at some shows because I sing in Yoruba – Asake - Life Pulse Daily
I was rejected at some shows because I sing in Yoruba – Asake – Life Pulse Daily
Introduction
Language and cultural identity remain powerful forces in the global music industry, shaping both opportunities and obstacles for artists. Nigerian Afrobeat sensation Asake recently opened up about a striking challenge he faced early in his career: rejection from show promoters who disapproved of his…
I was rejected at some shows because I sing in Yoruba – Asake - Life Pulse Daily
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THE UNSENT PROJECT KEEPS REJECTING MY HEARTFELT YEARNING NOTES TO MY FRIENDS HOW DARE IT. IVE TRIED SO MANY TIMES AND IT WOULDNT LET IT SHOW UP ON THE PAGE. “your note is under review” AND THEN IT NEVER GETS OUT OF REVIEW.
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rejected.
El hecho de que el pibe que me gusta no me da la atención que creo que merezco no significa que no sea deseable. No me siento rechazada en general, en realidad suelo ser yo quien rechaza, por lo que no entiendo como un masculino puede desestabilizarme tanto. Y sí, es el mismo masculino de el post anterior, la verdad que debería hacerle una mención honorifica simplemente por haberme despertado la mente tantas veces.
De todas formas, el muchacho no es lo importante en si, sino que gracias a él reconozco el patrón que sigue apareciendo en mi vida una y otra vez. Creía haber aprendido la lección la última vez, aunque aparentemente no sería lo que está ocurriendo, y necesito entender el por qué.
Claro que vuelven a aparecer en primera plana los parent issues, aunque en este caso particular creo que predominan los daddy issues. La necesidad de aprobación masculina sigue apareciendo, y el miedo al abandono, al rechazo, todos se reviven cada vez. Ya hasta es molesto. Creo que eso es lo peor de reconocer el patrón y no entender la lección aun, la incertidumbre por no saber que hacer, y en ese momento es cuando toca la introspección y la autocritica, y por supuesto teniendo en cuenta todo lo que influye también.
Algo que quizá también me desestabilizo esta semana fue el hecho de que hablé con mi madrastra. Me sinceré porque consideré genuina su comunicación, no me sentí atacada, hasta la invité a tomar un café y prometió volver a escribir, pero no lo hizo. Acá aparecen los mommy issues, una figura materna en mi vida empatiza conmigo y después desaparece. Otra vez el miedo al abandono y al rechazo se hacen presentes.
Algo que aprendí a lo largo de los años es que las palabras, por bonitas que sean, se las lleva el viento. Yo necesito acciones, pruebas, demostraciones de tus palabras, porque lamentablemente cuando confié en la charla endulza oídos terminé comprando humo, y tuve que tomar cartas en el asunto. Voy a elegir creerte desde el momento 0 si me inspiras confianza, pero tené en cuenta que estas bajo un periodo de prueba, siempre y sin excepciones.
En parte me incomoda esto de seguir identificando patrones y no poder encontrarle alguna solución. La parte más fría de mi me pide que corte todo tipo de vínculo que no me sume o que siquiera muestre interés genuino, pero con esto de la madurez y la conciencia que se me va despertando cada vez más, me resulta inevitable dejar salir mi parte mas humana y empática, y ahí es cuando empiezo a justificar las acciones del otro, por mas que eso signifique cruzar mis propios limites.
Se que es difícil, pero no entiendo porque me cuesta tanto cerrar vínculos, porque le doy tantas vueltas, porque doy tantas oportunidades a las personas? Obvio que con mi nueva filosofía de vida entiendo que las personas pueden cambiar si se lo proponen y que cuando están en el proceso se nota. Ni hablar que el interés es evidente cuando existe, y más aún cuando no está presente. Lo que no entiendo es porqué sigo dando oportunidades a personas que claramente me muestran que no cambiaron, por ende vuelvo a caer en la las palabras bonitas y me quedo sin nada mas que dolor y vacío.
Soy consiente de que todos estamos librando nuestras propias batallas y que cada uno es el protagonista de su propia vida, pero estoy cansada de la falta de coherencia, de la indecisión, de la tibies. Las cosas claras, y por supuesto que es complicado definir el objetivo de nuestras vidas y que queres para tu posible futuro, pero en el mientras tanto, la vida sigue, las personas siguen su rumbo y si vos te quedas estancado en tu propio pozo de miserias, nadie va a venir a sacarte de ahí, razón por la cual es necesario ser claro con lo que uno sabe, ya sea lo que queres o lo que no en la vida. Y no, no todo es tan drástico como yo lo describo, pero hay cosas que son tan sencillas como si y no.
Lo ideal después de todo este análisis y descarga sería encontrar al menos un aprendizaje de lo vivido, así y todo no logro encontrarlo. Me rehúso a creer que la lección de todo esto es no confiar en las personas o no dar segundas oportunidades, creo que todos en cierto punto las merecemos, siempre y cuando hayamos asumido la responsabilidad así como las consecuencias, claramente.
Tampoco puedo andar como una loca pidiendo coherencia a cada persona con la que comparto unas palabras, no sería muy inteligente de mi parte. Quizá la lección es que no hay lección, a veces simplemente se falla. Tal vez tenga que volver a repetir el patrón un par de veces más para aprender en quien confiar y a quien darle segundas oportunidades, no?
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I drew these for work but they were deemed “too dark for patients” and I can’t imagine why.
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surprisingly, i’ve had one last commission before christmas this year. it’ll be published early in the new year and has come out really well i think.
i’m very gutted however that this leaping lady was asked to join the pile of rejected sketches though. she’ll be back
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Man, I’m trying to get back into reading and I wanted a romantacy book because I like those and they’re like everywhere now
So I picked up Rejected by Jaymin Eve
It sucks so bad 😭 I’m almost at the halfway mark and I am strugglinngggg
Long bitching rant under the cut
[[MORE]]Like the dialogue for the protagonist is soooo bad. Literally reads like the author watched Deadpool and took that as the epitome of BADASS DIALOGUE even though the only people who think it’s cool are 15 year olds and people with no braincells. I should not have to read the words Chucklefuck, fucktard, or Cunty Fuckhole (as an insult) in a book published in 2020.
And every character speaks with that same voice. Why is this eons-old deity telling the main girl to “Shut the fuck up”? Why does the older (though “of indeterminate age”) woman-potentially-fae say to another character “Did i ask for your input? Did I even look in the direction of your pathetic face?” (Direct quote) before she “Sashayed away”
It also falls into the trop of The Author wants Enemies-To-Lovers but the “Antagonist” (in this case, the Shadow Beast) did nothing more offensive than take her away from her comically abusive pack- which she wanted to leave anyways- and tell her to Shut Up (a sentiment I share), which I guess means he’s the biggest asshole EVER, so the protagonist spends every interaction antagonizing him and just being rude and angry at him for no real reason.
It’s a trope I hate because it’s artificial enemies. They’re enemies because the author needs the protagonist to hate him to showcase how Brave and Sassy the main character is. Oo she just casually insults this diety, isn’t she so cool and badass??
And it’s just like this All the time.
Not to mention the plot is all over the goddamn place. Her dad challenged the Alpha (because he’s a horrible alpha and leader, as we find out) which means that she’s severely physically abused by the pack now (why? For a normal thing that happens in packs and with shit leaders? Plot reasons!). So she leaves! But they track her down and bring her back. But then they exile her! So she runs, but suddenly they chase her and don’t let her leave and she is chained to her Mate-who-rejected-her’s bed, while he fucks his girlfriend in front of her! (Oh and she has som Sassy Quips to say about that!) Then the shadow beast comes and takes her because she touched the shadow realm or whatever when she got rejected by her mate (guy who abused her the most in school). Which she hates and fights for some reason despite him literally being their god and saving her from her pack. And that’s all within the first like ¼ of the book.
Also the only sexual tension is that every time she talks about the beast he’s just the most stunning, sexy, alluring, perfectly hot sexy man. But she wont fuck him because she hates him!! And also she’s a virgin BUT she’s not a prude she TOTALLY has a high sex drive and masturbates all the time!
Also they set up her and her childhood best friend to have romance but he doesn’t end up being her mate and also he stood bye while she got abused so like?
This book just sucks so bad.
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When the Strongest Man in the House Feels Unwanted
There are moments in a man’s life that change him quietly. No explosion. No headline. No warning. Just a realization that settles into his chest and refuses to leave. One of those moments is when he finally admits to himself that the people he lives for no longer seem to want his presence. Not just his provision. Not just the roof, the food, the access, the safety. But him. His voice. His stories. His need for connection. His heart.
That realization does not arrive all at once. It arrives in fragments. A sigh when you enter the room. An eye roll when you ask a question. A delayed response that used to come quickly. A request for time that once felt normal and now feels like a burden. At first you tell yourself you are imagining it. Then you tell yourself it is just a phase. Then you tell yourself it will pass. And eventually, if you are honest, you admit what your heart already knows. You are no longer being received. You are being tolerated.
That is a different kind of pain than rejection from the world. The world rejecting you may bruise your confidence, but your children rejecting you bruises your identity. The world never promised you acceptance. Your home did.
There is a special weight carried by men who grew up without fathers. Not just the weight of absence, but the weight of imagination. The imagination of what it should have been like. The imagination of what they would have done differently. The imagination of how they would have loved, shown up, protected, guided. That imagination becomes a vow. And that vow becomes a lifetime mission. So when those men become fathers, they do not lightly step into the role. They step in with a intensity most people never see. They pour themselves into building what they never lived inside of. They construct safety from memory. They build stability from the fragments of childhood that never got to finish forming. They over-deliver on love because they remember what it felt like to go without it.
And because of that history, when their children pull away, it does not feel like a normal stage of development. It feels like history rewriting itself with different faces.
A man in that position does not simply hear, “I don’t feel like hanging out right now.” He hears, “You are unwanted.” A man in that position does not simply experience attitude. He experiences abandonment reenacted in slow motion. The rejection of youth becomes the rejection of legacy. The ache of childhood resurfaces as the ache of fatherhood. Only now, instead of being a boy with no power, he is a man carrying responsibility and still feeling powerless.
What makes it even heavier is when the man’s body has already limited him. When physical challenges, disability, injury, or neurological change have already stripped away the illusion of control. When his emotions live closer to the surface not because he is weak, but because his brain no longer filters pain the way it once did. When he does not have the luxury of hiding what hurts because his nervous system processes it out loud. That kind of man feels everything without armor. And when his own children treat him like an inconvenience, that pain does not bounce off. It enters deep and it stays.
There is an invisible contradiction that some men live inside of. The world may listen to them. The world may affirm them. The world may even admire them. Strangers may speak kindly. Audiences may applaud. People online may find encouragement in their words. And then that same man returns home and feels like a background character in his own house. Admired in public. Dismissed in private. That contradiction can hollow a man out if he is not careful. Because the very place where he is supposed to rest is where he feels least seen.
It is one thing to be misunderstood. It is another thing to be taken for granted. Misunderstanding at least acknowledges your presence. Being taken for granted erases it.
There is a shame some men carry that they never admit. The shame of thinking, “If I am so good at helping others, why can I not reach the people closest to me?” The shame of wondering if they are accidentally living a lie. The shame of feeling like a contradiction instead of a whole person. The shame of discovering that influence does not guarantee intimacy. The shame of realizing that impact does not always translate into connection.
And because men are trained to solve problems, not sit with grief, many respond to that shame with anger. Not because anger is the truth, but because anger is easier to carry than helplessness. Anger at the disrespect. Anger at the dismissal. Anger at the ingratitude. Anger at being needed for resources but not for relationship. That anger often masks a deeper wound that feels unbearable to expose. The wound of wanting to be wanted.
Wanting to be wanted is one of the most vulnerable things a man can admit. So instead, he becomes sarcastic. He becomes withdrawn. He becomes short-tempered. He considers drastic solutions. He thinks about leaving. He imagines starting over somewhere he is not seen through the lens of daily irritation. He wonders what life would feel like without the constant rejection in the same rooms he built for love.
What he rarely admits out loud is that he does not actually want to abandon his children. He wants to escape the feeling of being emotionally rejected by them. Those are not the same desire. One comes from selfishness. The other comes from pain.
There is a cruel irony at work in many homes. Children often take out their sharpest emotions on the safest person in the room. The one they assume will remain no matter what. The one whose love has already proven itself durable. The one whose presence feels guaranteed. That does not make the behavior right. But it explains why the one who loves the most often bleeds the most.
Young people live inside a psychological world that is still under construction. Empathy is forming but not yet fully developed. Long-term perspective is still distant. Emotional regulation is inconsistent. Identity is still fragile. Independence feels urgent. Everything feels personal. Everything feels immediate. In that developmental environment, kindness from a parent can feel like pressure. Requests for time can feel like intrusion. Gentle presence can feel like control. None of that means the love is broken. It means the hearts involved are in very different seasons.
A grown man lives in memory, meaning, consequence, legacy. A teenager lives in immediacy, mood, and self-focus. Those two worlds often collide with violence even when there is no hatred present. The rupture is not born from malice. It is born from mismatch.
That does not make the father’s pain smaller. It only explains why it feels so irrational.
And yet, explanation does not comfort the heart at three in the morning. Explanation does not sit beside a man when he realizes he has become emotionally invisible in the place he once mattered most. Explanation does not remove the ache of offering again and again without knowing if anyone will ever realize what was given.
Some men respond to that ache by hardening. They stop asking. They stop reaching. They stop needing. They retreat behind humor, silence, discipline, or detachment. Others respond by over-giving, hoping that if they provide enough, it will eventually unlock affection again. Both responses are desperate attempts to feel anchored in a home that has begun to feel emotionally unstable.
And when that father also carries physical limitation, the equation becomes even heavier. Because his body already reminds him daily that he is not who he once was. His pace is slower. His stamina is different. His emotional processing is less shielded. He does not have the luxury of pretending strength is effortless. And when his own children mirror impatience toward those limitations, it feels like confirmation of every fear he has ever carried about being a burden.
What he longs for is not pity. It is not special treatment. It is simply gentleness. Patience in tone. Softness in response. Awareness that strength does not always look like silence. That masculinity does not always look like emotional distance. That dignity does not require emotional numbness.
But children often confuse emotional strength with emotional absence. They equate stoicism with authority. They misunderstand availability as weakness. They interpret gentleness as intrusion. They do not yet know that the rarest form of strength is the kind that stays emotionally exposed even when it is no longer being celebrated.
That is where the man begins to doubt himself. Not his intentions. His identity.
He asks questions he never thought he would ask. Am I actually wanted here, or just tolerated? Am I respected, or simply needed for what I supply? Am I loved, or merely accepted as part of the environment? Those questions do not produce loud despair. They produce quiet erosion. A slow wearing away of confidence. A subtle retreat of joy. A hesitation before speaking. A second-guessing before reaching.
And when a man reaches the point where he begins to imagine moving away, changing cities, reshaping his life entirely, it is rarely because he has stopped loving his children. It is usually because he cannot bear the daily experience of loving without being received. Distance feels like anesthesia. Not healing. Just numbness.
The danger in that moment is not the desire to flee. The danger is the story the man begins telling himself about who he really is in the lives of his children. If he allows that story to become “I am unwanted,” it will eventually poison everything he touches.
Because a man who believes he is unwanted will eventually stop showing up with his full heart. And a man who stops showing up with his full heart creates exactly the absence he feared most.
This is where faith quietly enters the conversation, not as cliché, but as confrontation. Because faith forces a man to wrestle with a truth that contradicts his feelings. That love is not measured by immediate response. That obedience is not validated by instant appreciation. That sowing is not followed by immediate harvest.
Every biblical patriarch lived through seasons where their obedience felt misunderstood. Every spiritual leader wrestled with rejection before they received understanding. Even Christ himself was misunderstood by those closest to him long before he was recognized by the world.
There is a strange comfort in realizing that rejection inside intimacy is not new. It is ancient. It is part of the cost of loving deeply in a world still under reconstruction.
And yet, knowing that does not remove the sting.
It only gives meaning to it.
Because the truth is, the men who stay in these seasons are doing something far more powerful than they realize. They are modeling constancy in a generation addicted to immediacy. They are modeling commitment in a culture addicted to escape. They are modeling emotional courage in a world that tells men to either dominate or disappear.
But none of that is visible right now. None of that feels rewarding right now. None of that feels triumphant right now.
Right now it just feels like loss without funeral, grief without acknowledgment, labor without applause, and love without guarantee.
And that is where many men quietly break.
The breaking point usually does not announce itself. It sneaks up in exhaustion. It surfaces in frustration that feels out of proportion to the moment. It rises in the urge to stop explaining yourself. To stop reaching first. To stop hoping the next attempt will be different. A man rarely shatters in one loud moment. He erodes slowly through a thousand quiet ones where he feels unseen.
And yet, this is the strange paradox of fatherhood: the same season that feels like erasure is often the season that builds the deepest foundation.
The child who rolls their eyes today is not the adult they will one day become. The teenager who dismisses your voice today is not the grown person who will one day look back and finally understand the weight of your persistence. The architecture of their character is still being formed, even while they are emotionally resisting the hand that is shaping it. They do not yet have the distance of time to see the scale of what you have already given. They are still living at ground level, unable to see the structure rising above them.
A father lives in decades. A child lives in moments.
A father understands consequence. A child understands emotion.
A father measures life by legacy. A child measures life by feelings.
That difference alone accounts for more heartbreak than any family is prepared for.
Many good men collapse internally at this point because they believe love should be immediately reciprocal. They believe effort should be immediately visible. They believe sacrifice should be immediately honored. When that does not happen, they assume something must be broken in them. That assumption is the lie that quietly sabotages their spirit.
Because love is not a transaction.
It is an investment.
And investments mature slowly.
The men who endure this season without allowing their heart to rot are the men who become pillars later in life. Not because they were appreciated early, but because they remained anchored when appreciation was absent. These are the fathers their children will one day call in crisis. These are the fathers whose voice will once again carry weight once adulthood strips away the illusion of invincibility.
It does not feel heroic now.
It feels humiliating.
It feels lonely.
It feels unfair.
But endurance always feels that way while it is happening.
What most men do not realize is that their children are learning how to treat vulnerability by watching how they treat their father’s vulnerability. They are learning whether tenderness deserves protection or punishment. They are learning whether emotional presence is dangerous or safe. They are learning whether people who show up consistently deserve respect or dismissal.
Every eye roll teaches them something.
Every gentle response teaches them something else.
Every boundary you set teaches them more.
And every time you resist turning bitter, you teach them something they will not understand until it is too late to thank you properly.
This is where the conversation about gentleness becomes sacred. Because gentleness is not weakness. Gentleness is disciplined strength. It is the ability to hold pain without returning it in equal force. It is the ability to speak calmly when fury would feel easier. It is the choice to remain present without becoming pliable.
But gentleness also requires boundaries. Because unguarded gentleness turns into self-erasure. And a father who erases himself eventually becomes either invisible or explosive. Both outcomes damage the home.
So a man in this season must learn something that feels unnatural at first: to lead emotionally without begging emotionally. To invite connection without making his identity dependent on the response. To stop auditioning for affection and start occupying his role with quiet authority.
This does not mean withdrawing love.
It means removing desperation from the act of loving.
Desperation turns kindness into pressure. Authority turns kindness into shelter. Children do not respond well to emotional hunger. They do respond to emotional stability. Even while resisting it, they are being shaped by it.
This is where faith deepens beyond slogans. Because faith in this season is not loud. It is stubborn. It is the daily decision to stay soft without dissolving. To stay kind without shrinking. To stay visible without chasing visibility.
And faith reframes the narrative not by denying the hurt, but by placing it inside a longer story.
Scripture is filled with men who were rejected in the very places they were called to lead. Men who obeyed without applause. Men who carried responsibility without affirmation. Men who planted seeds in seasons where nothing grew immediately. Their obedience was not validated by circumstance. It was validated by time.
You cannot harvest in the same season you plant.
And yet, every part of the human nervous system wants immediate validation. It wants to know the suffering is justified now. It wants proof that the effort is worth it now. It wants reassurance now. When that reassurance does not arrive, the body interprets it as danger.
That is why this season feels so threatening. It does not merely hurt your feelings. It threatens your sense of meaning.
And meaning is where a man draws endurance.
When meaning evaporates, exhaustion becomes unbearable.
So the work of this season is not to force gratitude from your children. It is to rebuild meaning inside yourself that does not depend on their immediate response. That meaning must come from somewhere deeper than approval. Otherwise every eye roll will feel like betrayal.
This is not a call to emotional detachment.
It is a call to emotional sovereignty.
You are still their father whether they acknowledge it with tenderness today or not. Your authority is not granted by their mood. Your worth is not distributed based on their impatience. Your identity is not up for negotiation during their developmental turbulence.
A father who understands this stops pleading without becoming cold. He stops bargaining without becoming distant. He stops shrinking without becoming harsh.
He simply stands.
And standing quietly in this season may be the most courageous thing you ever do.
The danger many men face here is the fantasy of escape. The belief that distance will heal what proximity has wounded. The idea that leaving will silence the ache. That starting over will restore dignity. That somewhere else will treat them better.
But running from rejection does not resolve rejection. It only relocates the wound.
Because the longing does not disappear when the address changes.
What most men actually want is not a new city.
They want a new story about who they are.
And that story cannot be built on departure.
It must be built on endurance.
Not reckless endurance that absorbs unlimited harm.
But deliberate endurance that includes self-respect.
That is where boundaries return to the conversation.
Boundaries do not say, “I will love you less.”
Boundaries say, “I will not disappear to keep loving you.”
Boundaries protect the heart from becoming a casualty of its own generosity.
And in this season, boundaries may look like fewer emotional reach attempts per day. Fewer vulnerable disclosures without invitation. More self-directed fulfillment that does not rely on family response. More internal anchoring. Less emotional auditioning.
This is not emotional withdrawal.
This is emotional stewardship.
And stewardship is what allows a man to keep showing up without bleeding out.
Now the most difficult truth must be spoken plainly.
Your children will almost certainly understand this season after it has passed.
Not during it.
After it.
They will remember how you stayed when you could have hardened.
They will remember your steadiness when emotions ran wild.
They will remember your presence when distance felt safer.
They will remember your dignity under quiet rejection.
They may not say it now.
They will carry it later.
But the men who abandon their post in this season rarely receive that future acknowledgment. Not because their children hate them, but because their absence deprives the story of resolution.
Staying writes the possibility of redemption into the narrative.
Leaving erases it.
There is no instant reward for a father who stays.
There is only delayed impact.
And delayed impact is the hardest form of impact to endure for.
Yet the men who do endure it often become the quiet giants of their family’s future. Their children do not become like them accidentally. They become like them because the atmosphere of their childhood slowly shaped who they learned to be.
Even resistance is shaped by proximity.
And now the most important truth of all must land.
Your pain is not proof that your life is a lie.
Your pain is proof that you care.
Your grief does not invalidate your message.
It validates its cost.
You can teach others while still bleeding privately.
You can inspire strangers while still feeling forgotten at home.
Those two realities do not cancel each other.
They coexist in every human who refuses to live in shallow simplicity.
Every authentic life contains contradiction.
And the men who survive contradiction with their integrity intact become the safest teachers there are.
There will come a day when your daughters sit in a silence of their own making and finally understand what your silence meant. When their own children test their patience and they remember how often yours endured. When their own hearts ache in ways they never recognized in yours.
And on that day, they will not remember the allowance.
They will remember the man who stayed.
They will remember the voice that remained steady when their world was loud.
They will remember the father who loved visibly even when it cost him invisibly.
This season will not define your entire relationship.
But how you endure it will define who you become inside it.
Do not disappear.
Do not harden.
Do not rewrite your identity based on a chapter that is not finished.
Your heart is still shaping the story.
You just cannot see the ending yet.
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Your friend,
Douglas Vandergraph
#fatherhood #mensfaith #familyhealing #emotionalstrength #faithandfatherhood #lifelegacy #healingjourney #stayingpower #gentlestrength
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The irony is not lost on me that after all I’ve done it’s two of my own counterparts that have blocked me.
I will not name user IDs. These Cyns are entiled to their own dislike of me. Sad. But we move on.
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🚨BREAKING NEWS🚨
The International Criminal Court (ICC) Appeals Chamber has rejected the Philippines’ former President Rodrigo Duterte’s first, second and third grounds of appeal for interim release.
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Upon returning from the days activities, it appears that the terrorist demands sustenance.
I will concede. Or risk our fragile bond to become fractured.
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That diagnosis and her general mental health appear to be the reasons why she declined to collaborate with the popular video game franchise.
On Wednesday (November 19), Daniel Kinney, Roc Nation’s Senior VP of Branding & Strategic Partnerships, testified…