The Regulation Journal

The publishing journey is often described in practical terms—queries, word counts, submission guidelines, response times. What’s talked about far less is the emotional weight of waiting once you’ve done everything “right.”

I’m currently in that space.

An agent has my pages. Another has my query. And suddenly, the quiet between emails feels louder than any rejection ever could.

What I didn’t realize before this stage is how deeply waiting can activate old patterns. For writers with trauma histories, anxiety, or sensitivity to evaluation, waiting isn’t neutral. It’s charged. It brings up questions of worth, safety, and belonging that have nothing to do with publishing—and everything to do with lived experience.

Agents, however, are not evaluating your emotional stability. They are evaluating your manuscript.

This distinction has been essential for me to understand.

Literary agents expect authors to be human. They know writers are invested. They know writers worry. What they don’t want is emotional labor directed at them—constant reassurance-seeking, repeated emails, apologies for existing. Quiet anxiety is not visible to them. Spiraling internally doesn’t register as unprofessional unless it spills outward.

Understanding this has helped me regulate.

Instead of freezing while I wait, I’ve committed to continuing my creative work. I’m writing new material. I’m drafting reflective blog posts. I’m planning future projects—not because I’m giving up on this one, but because I’m refusing to let my entire identity hinge on a single outcome.

Waiting can trick you into thinking everything is on hold. It isn’t.

Your writing life doesn’t pause just because someone else is reading.

I’ve also had to practice containment. That means: checking email at set timesnot rereading sent messages obsessivelyreminding myself that silence often means “not yet,” not “no”grounding myself in routineAgents don’t expect authors to chase them. They expect patience. And patience isn’t passive—it’s active regulation.

One thing I keep reminding myself: if an agent didn’t see potential, they wouldn’t have asked for pages. That invitation itself is a milestone. It’s evidence that my work reached someone.

So now I wait—not empty-handed, but writing.

This phase isn’t about proving my worth. It’s about sustaining myself.

And whatever the response, I’ll meet it as a writer who didn’t abandon himself in the meantime.