The Pain of Rejection: A Sociological Perspective

Field Notes

Field Notes: When the Door Stays Closed

Standing on the Ledge — notes to self.

When you’ve been working for so long—head down, dedicated, trying to keep the machine running—you lose contact with people. Not on purpose. Not with malice. Just… drift. And you don’t realize how many connections went quiet until the day your world collapses and you go looking for what you lost.

So I reach out. To people I once admired. People I once asked for advice. People I once trusted. And it hits me in real time: yes, I disappeared. I dropped the ball. I didn’t keep the thread alive. But then the second truth arrives right behind the first: they didn’t reach out to me either.

That’s the part that stings—because friendship is supposed to be reciprocal. There’s an old sociological idea for this: the norm of reciprocity—the expectation that care and effort should move both ways over time, not just in one direction.1 When I’m the only one carrying the weight of “reconnection,” the imbalance becomes visible—and the hurt finally has a name.

And then comes the moment I didn’t expect: I try to reconnect, and the door gets shut in my face. Not gently. Not “I’m overwhelmed.” Not “I’m not able right now.” Just shut.

Psychology has words for why that lands so hard. Social rejection doesn’t register as a small thing in the body—research suggests it can activate the same “pain” circuitry that lights up with physical pain.2 So when the door closes, it’s not just disappointment. It’s impact. It’s the body keeping score.

And still—I’m trying to be honest about the full terrain. Not everyone who goes quiet is cruel. Sometimes distance is just time pressure. Sometimes people’s social worlds shrink down to a small inner circle because maintaining relationships costs attention and time, and there are real limits to what a person can sustain.3 Drift isn’t always a verdict. Sometimes it’s just the math of life.

But the math doesn’t erase responsibility. Because if I’m allowed to say “work swallowed me,” they’re allowed to say it too— and that’s exactly the point: we all had agency, and nobody used it.

This is where I borrow from Mills: what feels like a private hurt can also be a public pattern. People aren’t only “failing friendships.” They’re living inside a culture that rewards overwork, fragments community, and turns connection into something optional—something postponed until crisis forces the issue.4

And Durkheim gives me another frame for the aftermath feeling—the disorientation when the old rules don’t guide the situation anymore: anomie, the loosening of norms that used to hold people in a shared moral gravity.5 When everything breaks, you find out what’s structural and what’s real. You find out who is “in your life” and who was simply near you while things were stable.

There’s also a larger backdrop here that isn’t just personal drama. Contemporary public-health and social science work is blunt about it: social connection isn’t a luxury—lack of it correlates with worse mental and physical health outcomes, and societies have been sliding toward more isolation over time.6 That doesn’t excuse the slammed door. But it explains why so many doors are heavier than they used to be.

So here’s the boundary I’m trying to learn without turning bitter: I can acknowledge my lapse without begging for my place back. I can offer reconnection without auditioning for basic decency. I can miss people and still accept that the relationship has expired.

If a door closes, I don’t need to keep knocking until my knuckles forget their own shape.

Godspeed.

References

  1. Alvin W. Gouldner, “The Norm of Reciprocity: A Preliminary Statement,” American Sociological Review (1960). https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/2092623.pdf
  2. Naomi I. Eisenberger et al., “Does rejection hurt? An fMRI study of social exclusion,” Science (2003) (PubMed record). https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/14551436/
  3. R. I. M. Dunbar, “The Anatomy of Friendship,” Trends in Cognitive Sciences (2018) (PubMed record). https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/29273112/
  4. C. Wright Mills, “The Promise,” The Sociological Imagination (1959) (Chapter 1 PDF). https://bpb-us-e2.wpmucdn.com/sites.middlebury.edu/dist/5/2398/files/2013/02/The-Promise.pdf
  5. Encyclopaedia Britannica, “Anomie” (updated Nov. 11, 2025). https://www.britannica.com/topic/anomie
  6. U.S. Surgeon General, Our Epidemic of Loneliness and Isolation (2023) (Advisory PDF). https://www.hhs.gov/sites/default/files/surgeon-general-social-connection-advisory.pdf

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Published by Lugh Sulian

Lugh Sulian Standing on the Ledge · Rebuilding from the Rubble Lugh Sulian is a working name for a working moment. This profile exists to hold Standing on the Ledge: Rebuilding from the Rubble—an ongoing, real-time record of what happens after collapse, when old rules stop functioning and new ones haven’t yet earned trust. This is not myth reenactment. Not spiritual bypass. Not curated healing. It’s a field journal from the threshold. The name Lugh points toward skill, clarity, and responsibility carried with awareness. Sulian gestures toward sight—what can be seen when illusion drops away and pretending becomes too expensive. Together, they frame the posture of this work: to look clearly, act deliberately, and refuse to rebuild what already failed. Through short-form video, spoken reflection, and long-form writing, this project explores: Collapse without spectacle Responsibility without authority Burnout as a systems problem, not a personal flaw Pagan cycles as lived practice, not aesthetic Small fires instead of grand rebuilds This space is intentionally unfinished. It documents: Standing still without freezing Moving forward without rushing Learning from rubble instead of hiding it Unplugged-Pagan.com serves as the grounding—seasonal awareness, ritual stripped of performance, and meaning built from experience rather than doctrine. Standing on the Ledge is one expression of that grounding, focused on the human cost of broken systems and the slow work of rebuilding integrity. This is not a teaching platform. It’s a shared watchpost. If you’re here, you’re likely between versions of yourself—tired, alert, uncertain, and still standing. You don’t need answers yet. You need honesty, boundaries, and permission to move at the speed of truth. No conclusions offered. No certainty promised. Still on the ledge. Still watching. Still working the rubble. Godspeed. Optional Short Versions (for profile headers or bios) Short bio (Facebook / site header): Threshold work. Pagan-rooted, process-driven. Documenting collapse, clarity, and the refusal to rebuild what failed.

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