Why We Need More Failure, Not Less

People keep asking me about “Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria” or RSD. They’re convinced that they or someone they know has it. The term describes emotional pain triggered by perceived or actual rejection, criticism, or failure, and there are plenty of descriptions and self-assessments available online.

According to these sources, you might have RSD if:

• You have a hard time taking suggestions from others, even when they’re constructive
• You’re defensive when you feel criticized
• You’ve been told you’re “too sensitive” frequently
• You experience anxiety in social situations, overthinking, and rumination

Here’s the thing: many people I know don’t like criticism, tend to overthink, and find social situations anxiety-provoking. I would argue that these experiences go hand in hand with being human. Some of the finest people I know are extremely sensitive. For the most part, I see this as a strength, not as an illness requiring an intervention.

It’s worth noting that RSD is not recognized in the DSM-5, meaning it has no formal diagnostic criteria. I never studied it in medical school or heard about it during my training to become a psychiatrist. The term was first popularized in 2010 by Dr. William Dodson, who studies ADHD, to describe a phenomenon he observed in his patients. While some people with ADHD identify with features of RSD, that doesn’t make it a disorder.

We’re told that if someone you love has RSD, you should offer non-judgmental reassurance, avoid conflict, validate their emotions, and withhold criticism. When communicating with them, we’re advised to ask if they’re feeling uncomfortable and do our best to ensure they feel supported and heard.

But here’s what troubles me: while I don’t deny that some people experience pain in the face of rejection and criticism, the label RSD is being used to pathologize normal human experiences of disappointment, as an excuse to avoid discomfort, and as a reason to stop trying.

The Problem with Calling It a Disorder

When we label intense reactions to rejection as a “disorder,” we risk creating an excuse for avoidance. The language of disorder becomes a permission slip to opt out—to not apply for the job, to not ask someone out, to not put your work out into the world. It transforms what could be a challenge to work through into an immutable condition to accommodate. And that’s dangerous, because avoidance is exactly what makes rejection sensitivity worse, not better.

This fear of making a misstep is fueled by an epidemic of perfectionism. We’ve somehow convinced ourselves that every rejection or setback is a sign of failure rather than evidence of trying.

Thankfully, role models like Lindsey Vonn remind us that trying matters more than winning. As she recently wrote on Instagram after announcing her retirement from competitive skiing:

Instead of avoiding rejection, we should allow for it. Instead of fearing failure, normalize it. Instead of minimizing discomfort, lean into it. Instead of striving for perfection, embrace effort. Living fully is about fully trying.

Three Ways to Be Less Rejection Sensitive

1. Make a “No” Spreadsheet

A countertrend is emerging, particularly among entrepreneurs and job seekers who are openly sharing their rejection tallies on social media. People are posting screenshots of declined job applications, publishing essays about pitches that went nowhere, and creating actual spreadsheets documenting every “no” they’ve received. What started as a way to cope with the brutal realities of job hunting and startup fundraising has evolved into a badge of honor—proof that you’re putting yourself out there rather than playing it safe.

The rejection spreadsheet is a simple practice of tallying every “no” you receive as a marker of effort and courage. Job applications rejected? Mark it down. Pitch declined? Add it to the list. Social invitation that went nowhere? Count it.

The rejection spreadsheet reframes setbacks from shameful secrets into data points. It’s an invitation to put ourselves out there and reframes failure as part of a process. When you’re actively collecting rejections, each “no” becomes proof that you’re in the game, not evidence that you should retreat from it.

Speaking of collecting failures, Sweden recently opened a Museum of Personal Failure where visitors can share their own setbacks and see others’ stories of defeat displayed alongside their eventual triumphs. The museum’s mission? To normalize failure as an essential part of the human experience.

2. Build Your Failure Resume

Stanford’s Tina Seelig takes this concept even further. As a professor in the Department of Management Science and Engineering, she encourages students to create detailed failure resumes—comprehensive lists of their missteps alongside what they learned from each one.

This practice builds failure into the learning process itself. Disappointment and frustration stop being aberrations and become expected parts of growth. Perfectionism loses its grip when you’re documenting your mistakes rather than hiding them.

As Seelig puts it: “If you want more successes, you are going to have to tolerate more failure along the way.”

The failure resume puts challenges into perspective. When seen through the lens of progress and learning rather than judgment and shame, setbacks become less psychologically threatening. You’re not failing; you’re collecting evidence of effort.

3. Develop Failure Immunity

Russell Shaw, writing in The Atlantic, draws a compelling analogy from immunology. He calls it “failure immunity”—the psychological antibodies that allow people to face future disappointments without falling apart.

For years, pediatricians told parents to avoid exposing children to peanuts during infancy, believing this would protect them from allergic reactions. But this advice coincided with a spike in severe peanut allergies. When the guidance was reversed in 2017, peanut allergies meaningfully declined. Scientists now understand that early exposure helps the body learn that the allergen is harmless, just as encountering a weakened virus through vaccination teaches the immune system to produce protective antibodies.

Failure works similarly. We need exposure to manageable setbacks to develop the capacity to handle future disappointments. As Shaw notes, developmental psychologist Ann S. Masten describes resilience as “ordinary magic”—not extraordinary personal qualities, but the result of normal developmental processes. Those processes require practice at encountering obstacles and pushing through them. You can’t develop perseverance if you’ve never had to persevere.

There’s even a formalized approach called Rejection Therapy, where people deliberately court rejection—asking strangers for improbable favors, pitching outlandish ideas, requesting unreasonable discounts. The goal isn’t to succeed. It’s to experience rejection so frequently that it loses its sting. This is the opposite of avoidance, which is how anxiety maintains its power.

What We’re Teaching Our Children

Shaw describes a mother concerned about her daughter’s first-ever B in calculus. When Shaw suggested the experience of not being perfect might benefit her daughter, the mother looked at him “as if I had suggested her child take up base jumping.”

This captures what Shaw calls “a paradox of contemporary parenting: In trying to protect their children from any hint of failure, many parents risk making them more fragile.”

The consequences show up in children’s mental health. When children absorb the message that failure is catastrophic, even minor mistakes feel unbearable. This is what happens when we deny young people the opportunity to develop failure immunity—they don’t learn that disappointment is survivable, that mistakes are instructive, and that setbacks are temporary.

The research is clear: when parents focus exclusively on outcomes (winning, rankings, being the best), children develop fragile self-worth tied to performance. But when parents emphasize process over outcome—effort, strategy, learning, resilience—children develop a growth mindset. Children whose parents ask “Did you try your best?” and “What did you learn?” develop healthier relationships with achievement (and failure) than those whose parents ask “Did you win?” and “Did you get an A?”

Shaw’s guidance: resist the urge to rescue. When a child struggles with homework, providing answers sends the message “You can’t handle this.” He shares the story of his daughter who regularly lost sleep over English papers in high school, weeping over drafts she’d toss out. As painful as it was to watch, he resisted stepping in. She recently reflected on how much easier college writing has been because of how she “tortured” herself learning in high school.

Parents can also normalize failure by treating mistakes not as shameful secrets but as integral to our stories. Research on social learning theory by psychologist Albert Bandura shows that children develop coping strategies by observing how their parents respond to adversity.

Make Feedback Your Love Language

I recently attended a book party for Jennifer Wallace, author of the best-selling Mattering. She thanked the people who had read the first few drafts of the book and expressed gratitude for their sometimes harsh criticism. “Critical feedback is my love language,” she said. Perhaps the most radical shift isn’t just tolerating rejection, it’s actively seeking critical advice and learning to value it as deeply as praise.

In a culture obsessed with affirmation, making constructive criticism your “love language” means training yourself to hear “here’s what you could improve” as an act of care rather than an attack. It means recognizing that people who tell you hard truths are giving you something more valuable than people who only offer empty praise.

The best coaches, mentors, and colleagues aren’t the ones who make you feel good in the moment. They’re the ones who care enough to tell you what you need to hear. When someone takes the time to give you detailed, thoughtful advice, they’re investing in your growth. When they point out your blind spots, they’re offering you a gift most people never receive.

Learning to genuinely appreciate criticism requires reframing. Instead of thinking “They’re saying I’m not good enough,” try “They believe I’m capable of being even better.” Instead of “This feedback means I failed,” try “This feedback means someone cares enough to help me improve.”

The most successful people aren’t those who avoid criticism. They’re the ones who actively solicit it, who ask “What could I have done better?” after every presentation, who seek out the colleagues most likely to be brutally honest. They’ve learned that growth lives in the gap between where you are and where you could be. Advice will help you navigate this.

A Legacy of Trying, Not Winning

At a cultural moment when we’re encouraged to see ordinary disappointments as disorders and when perfectionistic standards are crushing people’s willingness to try, seeking and normalizing rejection is a healthier approach.

The rejection spreadsheet and failure resume aren’t about lowering standards or celebrating mediocrity. They’re about recognizing that meaningful achievement requires repeated failure. Everyone who has achieved something meaningful has a longer history of losses than wins. The difference is they didn’t stop after the defeats.

As Shaw writes, “The kid who gets straight A’s through high school may struggle more in college than the one who foundered in ninth grade, figured out what went wrong, and then kept going.” When we allow ourselves and our children the satisfaction of overcoming hurdles on our own, we develop something more powerful than a perfect transcript: confidence in our ability to recover and come back stronger.

Resilience isn’t innate. It’s built through exposure to manageable challenges and learning that we can handle more than we think. When we avoid rejection, we rob ourselves of the chance to discover our own durability. When we protect our children from every disappointment, we prevent them from building the psychological muscle they’ll need for a full life.

So start your spreadsheet. Build your failure resume. Make rejection a goal rather than a fear. Seek out the feedback others are too afraid to hear. Teach your children that setbacks are worth celebrating and that trying means you were brave enough to compete. Let them develop their failure immunity through manageable exposure to disappointments.

You might be surprised to discover that the pursuit of “yes” becomes a lot easier when you stop being terrified of “no.” That the people who challenge you care more than the people who only compliment you. And that real success isn’t perfection—it’s the willingness to keep showing up, keep learning, and keep growing, even when it’s uncomfortable.

As Lindsey Vonn reminds us: the only failure in life is not trying.