It has been suggested that I have regrets …
Having been raised by a man who did not believe in regret, whose mantra was: “we make the best decisions we can at the time, looking back with sorrow and remorse is pointless. Regret cannot change what has been, it can only steal the joy from what is here and now” – I struggle with the idea of regret.
If you’ve read this blog, you know I overthink – I analyze everything I feel, everything I am. I am nothing if not considered, and I know myself well – perhaps too well.
The stark, cold fact is this: I regret the pain endured by the people I love; I do not, however, regret anything I’ve done. If I had it all to do over, I’d do no differently.
Healing is not linear, for anyone, and the remnants of all-but-forgotten pain find their way back into our lives on occasion – today was born in the shadow of what has been.
As my daughter matures, she questions and discovers – in her eyes I see a girl I no longer know day-by-day, but recall with clarity, wisdom and the of hindsight of now gentle reflection; I no longer abhor her choices, I understand them.
I knew even before the choice was made the choice I would find the courage to settle on – the choice I had to make. And I knew then it would come with moments – forever moments – of wrenching, soul depleting agony …
But to have denied myself, to have remained in the abyss of what had become my life – even for the sake of my then husband, and children, would have been the end of me.
The choice between Scylla and Charybdis …
that in the end wasn’t a choice at all
it was what had to be.