When I received three conference rejections this year, I wasn’t as upset as I had imagined.
Last year, around this same time, I was genuinely happy when I received my first conference acceptance. Now, standing at the same point in the academic calendar and facing an entirely different outcome, I find myself unexpectedly calm. Not numb. Not forcing myself to move on. Just calm.
In the reviews, two reviewers offered relatively positive evaluations, while another gave a score of zero or one. This kind of split is not unusual in conference review processes, especially when a paper’s research question, methodology, or writing style slightly departs from a so-called “standard” path. In those moments, outcomes are shaped less by whether a paper is good or bad, and more by whether it happens to meet reviewers who recognize its concerns.
Once I understood this, I stopped rushing to read rejection as a verdict on my ability or worth. It feels more like the convergence of probability, structure, timing, and individual perspectives. Seeing it this way is not self-excuse. It is simply a refusal to collapse all uncertainty into a single question: Is it because I am not good enough?
More than the outcome itself, I am grateful for the genuinely useful comments from reviewers. They do not necessarily tell me how to get accepted. But they help me see more clearly which concepts need more patient explanation, where arguments can move more smoothly, and how another reader’s perspective can clarify what I am actually trying to say. Being able to carry these usable parts forward is reason enough to keep writing.
See you in Denver in 2025!
Last modified on 2026-01-14