Written years ago. Revisited, not rewritten.
One of the most amazingly ironic things about life is that most people do not realize that they are living it until it is too late.
This is a particularly difficult thing to deal with when you are a person that actually has real regrets. Most people, when asked if they have regrets, will say “No, regrets are pointless. You can’t change the past.” And, while that is a statement that may be true, it is also a statement that is commonly used as a way to avoid admitting regret, which is, in turn, often a way to avoid admitting pain.
And pain is one of the most amazing motivators. Pain is one of the strongest forces in the universe. Pain makes you get away from what you were doing. Pain makes you get away from what you were thinking. Pain makes you get away from what you were. Pain makes you change.
But pain also makes you hide.
And regret is pain with teeth.
Regret is not “I wish I could have done better.”
Regret is not “If only I had another chance.”
Regret is not “I would do it differently now.”
Regret is “I knew better, and I did it anyway.”
Regret is “I had the chance, and I wasted it.”
Regret is “I hurt someone, and I can’t undo it.”
Regret is “I betrayed myself.”
Regret is a thing that you carry, and it doesn’t get lighter. It gets heavier. Because time doesn’t heal regret. Time sharpens it.
Time makes you understand what you lost.
Time makes you understand what you did.
Time makes you understand what you were too blind to see in the moment.
Time makes you understand the cost.
The most cruel part of regret is that it often comes from being a person who is trying to survive. You are not always a monster. You are not always malicious. Sometimes you are just… young. Sometimes you are just… scared. Sometimes you are just… stupid. Sometimes you are just… damaged.
And you do what young or stupid or damaged people do.
You lash out.
You withdraw.
You numb.
You use.
You take.
You run.
And later you look back, and you see the trail behind you.
And it’s not a trail of “mistakes.”
It’s a trail of broken things.
Broken people.
Broken trust.
Broken time.
And the thing about time is that you can’t glue it back together.
You can’t rebuild an hour.
You can’t “make up” for a year.
You can’t go back and do it right.
All you can do is live with the knowledge that you did it wrong.
You can tell yourself a lot of stories about why that doesn’t matter. You can tell yourself you were doing the best you could. You can tell yourself you didn’t know. You can tell yourself you were a victim too. You can tell yourself that everyone does bad things. You can tell yourself that it’s all in the past.
And all of that may be true.
But it doesn’t unbreak what you broke.
It doesn’t unhurt who you hurt.
It doesn’t unburn the bridges you burned.
It doesn’t restore the moments you wasted, or the chances you ignored, or the love you didn’t recognize until it was gone.
It doesn’t rewind the tape.
And the hardest part is that regret is often private. The people you regret hurting may not even know you regret it. They may not even know you remember it. They may have moved on, or they may still be hurt, or they may not care.
But you care.
And you carry it.
And you can’t always talk about it, because talking about regret is admitting fault.
Talking about regret is admitting you were wrong.
Talking about regret is admitting you were a problem.
And for a lot of people, that is intolerable.
So they say they have no regrets.
They say they wouldn’t change a thing.
They say the past made them who they are.
And maybe it did.
But I don’t believe that means you have to love the damage.
I don’t believe that means you have to romanticize your mistakes.
I don’t believe that means you have to pretend you’re proud of what you’re ashamed of.
I don’t believe that means you have to deny regret.
Because regret is a signal.
Regret is the mind’s way of saying: “That mattered.”
Regret is the soul’s way of saying: “That was wrong.”
Regret is the heart’s way of saying: “You lost something you can’t replace.”
And if you have regret, it means you are not dead inside.
It means you have a conscience.
It means you have awareness.
It means you have the capacity to see yourself clearly, and that is rare.
It hurts, but it is also valuable.
Because regret can become a teacher.
Regret can become a warning sign.
Regret can become a boundary.
Regret can become a reason to do better.
Not because you can fix the past.
But because you can stop repeating it.
And that is the only redemption regret can offer.
Not erasing what you did.
But ensuring it doesn’t happen again.
And some days, that feels like enough.
And some days, it doesn’t.
Some days, you wake up and the regret is sitting on your chest like a weight.
Some days, you remember things you wish you could forget.
Some days, you think about people you wish you could apologize to, but you can’t.
Because it’s too late.
Because you don’t know where they are.
Because you would only be reopening wounds.
Because you don’t deserve to be forgiven.
Because forgiveness isn’t yours to ask for.
Some days, regret is a quiet ache.
Some days, it’s a scream.
And sometimes, you can distract yourself.
Work.
Music.
Movies.
People.
Noise.
Anything.
But regret is patient.
It waits until you are alone.
And then it says: “Remember?”
And you do.
So yes.
I have regrets.
I have a few.
But then again, if I listed them all, we’d be here forever…