I’ve touched upon this subject a few blogs ago (entitled: Life Chart: How Well Do You Know Yourself?), but I wanted to expand on it because we can’t escape life without having regrets, but we can certainly find the lessons if we stopped for a moment to reflect. There are the less important regrettable moments such as wishing we had picked up those jeans that looked so good on us in the store, but we convinced ourselves we didn’t need another pair (yup, guilty!). For me recently, it’s a navy evening dress that faded into pink, by Ted Baker, that fit like a glove—or another beautiful emerald green spaghetti strap evening dress (see a pattern here?), that looked so damn sexy! Ok, I’ll move on, you get my point—I’ll stop day dreaming of evening dresses which are less important. What I want to focus on are regrettable moments that stay with us. Those moments that make us feel a pit in our stomach when they pop up from the memory bank and make us cringe so badly we wish we could erase them permanently from our past.
Yes, I regret not going to Venice when I was only an hour and a half train ride away, and letting my fears stop me from trying new things when the opportunity arose. However, I feel those moments I can revisit later on in life should the opportunity come up again. What I can’t relive is my daughter begging to sleep with me one evening and me insisting that she could not because I thought I would be spoiling her (she was probably 5-6 years old). Now I’m the one asking her to have ‘sleepovers’ in my bed and she consistently, but politely, turns me down—claiming she sleeps better in her bed, alone. I’m the one who’s left heartbroken now.
I’ve talked about regretting not completing a dual law and social work degree (I completed a masters in social work), but again that is something that I can always go back and do. What I can’t go back and relive is the time I decided I needed to stop breastfeeding my daughter who was just a couple months shy of her second birthday. We were moving to a new home, and I felt that the timing was right (stupid me). I did it cold turkey. Our morning routine consisted of me going into her room, picking her up in my arms and walking over to my room, where the rocking chair was set up next to the window. We would say our good mornings while I breastfed her and then we would head down for breakfast. That morning I headed straight for the kitchen. I can still see her throw her face in her hand and sob in a way I’ve never heard her cry. Why did I do that to her, and right before we had to move!? I hate myself for doing that. I often have a tough love approach with my kids and push through moments like a soldier in battle, but when the moment has passed—and often a considerable amount of time has passed as well—I look back in amazement at how I could have pulled it off without cracking, immediately regretting that my tough exterior unanimously won over my softer side.
So what to do with all this regret? Firstly, talk about it. Talk about it with your friends, your partner, your family while in conversation. Give it a voice and allow the moment to be uncomfortable for you. Feel it. Hold it. Listen to what others have to say about it. They may have insight into some of the whys or maybe they may have had a similar situation. In telling your story you may even stop someone else from making the same mistake. Either way, mistakes are lessons in disguise. When you know better you do better. When my son now asks for ‘sleepovers’, whether they be in my bed or in his, I often give in and relish in those cuddly moments. I am learning that my kids won’t stay this age forever, so when that feeling starts to bubble up again about having to get them to their next stage in life, I stop myself from rushing them through and tell myself, ‘they will learn to do it on their time’. When the moment is right for them they will pass onto the next stage, ‘no need to rush it Gilda’. What I don’t regret is all the time I spent with my kids when they were younger. The hugs, the kisses, meal times, bedtimes and tantrum times—I was there for it all—and for that I am truly grateful.
Thoughts At F___ It Forties 