I’m a middle child through and through. I spent my childhood competing with my older brother. I think he could’ve cared less, but I spent my free time reading the same books he was reading two grades ahead of me, studying for Algebra tests so I could get a better grade than him, pushing myself to exceed all expectations of what I should be doing. As an adult, I found out that this “competitive spirit” was not exactly my finest trait, and that it was better if I focused on doing things for me. I could compete with myself, and that was ok. I could prove to myself that I could exceed my own rational expectations. But when my organs ruptured, all of my confidence was sucked out of me. Apparently, the doctors removed my self-confidence with my uterus, because I felt like I wasn’t good enough to do anything. My mind was broken. My body was broken. My spirit was broken. Coding helped to bring that back to me to a degree, but just before graduation, that lack of confidence was starting to control me again.

When a job popped up on Twitter in mid-March–just two months before I would graduate Flatiron School–I thought it was a dream come true. It was working with an Open Source Software (OSS) organization, organizing a community and connecting with donors. It paid well. It was part-time. And in my past life, I had spent time as a Community Organizer and Events Coordinator, so I felt pretty confident that this job was in my wheelhouse. Of course, there was no coding, and I had to explain to my parents why I would even apply for a job where I wouldn’t be using the skills that I’d spent every free moment learning over the past year. The honest answer was I didn’t think that I was good enough to code for a job. The answer I gave: “Well, I might eventually be able to do a little coding.”

I’d end up getting to the last set of interviews, but ultimately not getting the job. That was the first time I’d ever been turned down for a job. I felt a little panicked and a little relieved. I could finish Flatiron School without the challenges of also holding a job and momming four kids. And I did. And then I got a job.

But that feeling of dread didn’t go away for a long time after starting my job. For a while, I thought this might be a permanent state. I spent more than a reasonable amount of time imagining what I would do once I was fired for being a terrible developer. But what I found was I was starting to get better. And I started to enjoy myself and the new challenges I faced every day.

That rejection from the OSS organization was exactly what I needed to force me to take on the challenge of coding for a job. Because I got turned down from that job, I now know how to use storybook.js. I understand React propTypes. I can see how the pieces of an application work together. I’m getting better about thinking about reusable components. I can map over data like nobody’s business. I’ve used nested ternaries like a boss. I’ve used Object.keys and Object.values. I know what dangerouslySetInnerHTML means. I am trying very slowly to create a postpartum wellness app that requires me to think about all of the pieces that work together to create something beautiful to help women. I’ve learned about stories and epics. I’ve learned about wireframing in Figma.

I have grown so much in the last four months. I can honestly say that this is the most growth I’ve ever had in my life. I’ve challenged myself in multiple facets and learned about how to move beyond being scared.

I’m not saying there’s a reason for every rejection or that everything happens for a reason. Those mantras aren’t my thing. But for every setback, for every rejection, there’s room to grow and to push forward to learn new things.

Did it hurt to hear that rejection? Absolutely. But I am so thankful for it.