Week 4 - 49 years & 3 weeks

​It’s 3:57 on Sunday afternoon, the day before my next blog post comes out, and I’m just now starting to write. I have been thinking all week about this post. I even wrote a couple of paragraphs, but I deleted them a few minutes ago, without even reading them first. They were crap. I knew it when I wrote them, and I could feel it still when I opened the document just now.

​I’ve been putting off writing this because it’s not something I find easy to share. And yet, I know in my heart I’m ready. I’m sitting here, as I have been all week, knowing this is a good post to write, knowing that someone out there needs to hear this, and putting it off anyway.

​I’ve been cursing my own self awareness because I know why it’s so hard to write, and I feel compassion for myself about it. I’m not criticizing or shaming myself for not getting started. I’m giving myself grace and encouragement, and reminding myself that it will serve me well after I’ve written this post.

​It’s interesting to me because I can see so clearly why I’ve put it off, and I also know so certainly that putting it off will only prolong the healing that will inevitably come from writing the story.

​The paradox of this post is also interesting to me. The title is “Two and a Half Regrets”, and yet I will tell you plainly that I do not believe in regrets. And I do not. Yet, this post is absolutely 100% about the 2 and one half regrets that I grapple with, here on the edge of 50.

​And this, dear reader, is the crux of why I’ve been struggling to write this post. It’s two fold actually; I don’t want to share my regrets because I feel so much shame around them, and also I’m a little bit irked that I still carry these regrets when I do not believe in having regrets at all.

​It’s fucking annoying.

​But I promised myself and my friend/therapist (you know who you are, J!) that I would share this story this week, so here I am. Last minute Lucy, anxiously pushing through what I don’t want to do because I actually really do want to do it.I’ve been asked many times over the years if I have any regrets. There was definitely a time where I would have said Yes, and given a laundry list of mistakes I’ve made that I thought I was supposed to regret. But the idea of regret never sat well with me.

​They say that people on their deathbeds will often talk about how the things they regret most are the things they didn’t do, the opportunities they were given that they didn’t say yes to. Since I’m way more likely to put off the things I don’t want to do rather than say no to the things I do want to do, that really doesn’t apply to my situation all that much. So for me, the things I associate with regret are things I’ve done that I wish I hadn’t.

​Sidebar from the edge of 50: Y’all… right now this Google doc I’m using is set to 200% zoom because I can’t see for shit and I’m allergic to my glasses. They literally give me eczema around my eyes so I try not to use them unless I really need to. This is what it’s like to be on the edge of 50! Lol!!

​It seems like the list of things I’ve done that I wish I hadn’t just kept getting bigger and bigger, and with it the shame that cloaked me kept getting thicker and thicker. I can recall a time not that long ago when I bore so much shame over the mistakes I’ve made, I hardly wanted to leave my house. I didn’t feel worthy of going to holiday celebrations with my family because I felt like I was such a fuck up that I didn’t deserve to be there. That’s some messed up thinking.

​But shame will do that to a person if it goes unchecked long enough. It will seep into the crevices of your life and multiply like a cancer, until it sucks every last ounce of self esteem and self worth from you. Leaving you feeling diseased and toxic and best left in isolated quarantine where you can’t infect the lives of other, more worthy souls. Shame is a bitch.

​For me regret was a springboard to shame. When I started examining the shame I was carrying, and learning how to let it go I inevitably found that regrets were breathing life into the shame, and therefore the regrets needed to be examined as well. And ultimately it became clear that regret as well as shame were useless wastes of energy.

​So I began earnestly examining and letting go of regrets and shame. I found the best way for me to go about this was to find a new way to understand the things I felt regrets and shame over. It made sense to me that if I could understand why I did the things I did from a place of compassion and generosity of spirit, I could have grace with myself and let go of the regrets and the shame.

​This is an approach that I continue to use in my life. It’s the vehicle by which I arrive at forgiveness for myself and for others. It helps me avoid harsh judgements against myself and others. It allows me to find the common ground between me and those around me, no matter how different we may seem or how different I want to believe we are.

​There is something very humbling about looking at a person who you once felt nothing but contempt and anger towards, and finding the parts of them that are wounded. It’s the wounded parts that have us behaving like Berserkers running wild in the Scandinavian forests. And when we can see that it’s the unhealed wounds, not the failings of us as people, that cause us to do things we wish we hadn't, we can begin to let go of that regret and shame.

​Finding that kind of forgiveness and compassion for ourselves, being able to begin to release the shame and harsh judgment surrounding our own mistakes, opens up space for us to begin to give the same compassion and forgiveness to others.

​A lot of women I’ve worked with and others with whom I’ve had the privilege of talking, have told me that they have a very hard time forgiving. Often it’s one specific person who did one specific thing a long time ago, and they are still holding on to the hurt and anger and bitterness. It’s my belief that when we are unable to forgive someone else, it’s like a portal into our own soul, showing us where we are harboring self judgment and have yet to forgive our own self.

So letting go of regret and shame, because they are useless wastes of energy, begins with noticing the hurt part of us that was in charge when we did the thing we regret. And it continues with understanding that the way to heal the hurt part of us is to have compassion for ourselves, and stop judging harshly the things we did from hurt. We did the best we could with the knowledge, skills and resources that were available to us at the time. Now that we know better, we can begin to practice doing better. And a wonderful by-product of all of this is being able to have compassion and forgiveness for those who’ve hurt us.

​This is why I don’t believe in having regrets and yet, I’ve already told you I have 2 ½ regrets of my own. So how does that work, Katie? Excellent question. I’m glad you asked!

​It’s like this, I’m a work in progress just like everyone else. I understand the concept and am still practicing consistent execution of it. I used to think that once I understood the principles behind how to do something, I should be able to do it consistently without fail. No. That’s not how it works.

​I’ll refer you back to the paragraph I just wrote about doing the best we can with the skills and resources available to us at any given moment. Depending on any number of factors, not the least of which are how much sleep you’ve had and how deep into perimenopause you are, you may have more or less access to the skills and resources needed to keep your shit together and act like you know you should. This does not excuse us from unsavory behavior, but it does offer an explanation. And one that allows us to release the negative judgment of ourselves and others, have compassion, forgive and move on.

​I mean, you don’t have to forgive and move on. You can hold onto that toxic resentment and anger, and continue to feel regret and shame forever if you’d like. That just seems like a dumb idea to me. I don’t see how anyone’s life is made better that way.

​Sidebar from the edge of 50: The perimenopause anxiety and mood swings are no joke. My son calls it “Mentalpause” because of how enraged I could become, completely unprovoked! There was a significant period of time that I thought I was completely losing my mind. Until I learned it was a normal part of peri/menopause, it was actually scary to feel that out of control of my emotions. We need to do a better job of talking about this so that we’re not all suffering the same shit in silence, thinking there’s something wrong with us.

​Here is the part that I’ve been avoiding most about writing this blog. The part where I tell you what my 2 ½ regrets are. I suppose I could just leave them out. I’ve probably shared enough here already. But I'm going to share them, and here’s why: shame multiplies and grows heavier and more burdensome when it’s ensconced in secrecy. When we put our shit out there to be fodder for public consumption, it loses its power over us. And, when we put our shit out there, it may help someone else feel like they aren’t alone.

​As women, I believe, we will find our personal power in forming alliances with other women. Our individual strength is not found in overcoming or taking control of things. Instead, it’s found in joining together with other women collaborating, aligning, sharing the burdens and the triumphs. Our unique power as women is directly related to the strength of our communities.

​And so, in the interest of walking the walk, I’m honored to share my 2 ½ regrets with you, in no particular order.

​I regret how I treated my younger sister after our mom died when I was 9 and she was 6. She was kind to me. She looked up to me. I believe she counted on me for guidance and support in the years just after our mom’s passing. And I was not there for her. Not only was I not there, but I was actively mean to her. One day, I think we were teenagers, she asked me why I was so mean, and I shared the truth with her in the best and only way I knew how to speak it at the time. I said “I don’t know. I feel bad when I’m mean to you, but I feel worse when I’m not.” This, my dear friends, was me living with so much hurt and pain and fear after my mom died, that I couldn’t contain it, and I spewed it onto my younger sister. This is why I don’t hold grudges and I’m quick to forgive. I know what it’s like to be a good person who has so much hurt inside their heart that they can’t help but smear it all over the one person they love most in the world.

​And, I regret not being at the hospital with my younger sister when her new baby was weeks old and in the hospital with a respiratory virus. My little tiny beautiful niece wasn’t breathing on her own and had a heart monitor that was twisted into her head. I wanted to go to the hospital and sit with my sister. Hold her hand. Tell her I love her and it was going to be ok. I wanted to leave my own kids, including my own 4 month old baby, and just sit in the hospital so my sister didn’t have to be there alone for one second. The day I was on the phone with my sister from the hospital, and she asked me “Do you think she’s going to die?” I knew that I would have a very hard time forgiving myself for not being there.

​There were lots of “legitimate” reasons why I didn’t go to the hospital. I had a 4 month old and 3 kids in school. I was working part time. My kids brought a cold home from school, and there were runny noses and coughing everywhere. And I’m pretty sure those are the reasons I gave for not being there. The deep, ugly truth of why I didn’t go is that I didn’t have enough gas in my car to get to the hospital and I didn't have the extra money to buy gas. I had just enough gas to get me where I needed to be until the next paycheck came in, and a trip to the hospital wasn’t part of the itinerary.

​I could have asked any number of people to borrow money, or for a ride to the hospital. But I was deeply ashamed of how I let my financial situation get so dire. (There’s that pesky shame again, fucking up lives since the beginning of time!) And my foolish pride wouldn’t let me ask for help. So I didn’t show up for my sister.

​All the times my sister had been there for me, all the ways she’s showed up for me, even though I was so mean to her as a child, all the ways she and her husband helped my children, over and over again, and I wasn’t there for her when she thought her baby might die. I’m crying as I write this because I still haven't forgiven myself. But I will. I promise you, I will forgive myself because I deserve that compassion.

​My niece recovered beautifully. And has grown into one of the strongest, funniest, most beautiful young ladies I know.

​And now for the half regret… What the hell even is a half regret? It’s a regret that is only half of a regret because of the magnitude of the blessing that came from it. After my divorce from my older kids’ father, I said to them that if I ever dated someone they didn’t like they could tell me and I wouldn’t be mad, and I would stop dating that person. It was important to me that my children knew they always came first, and that their opinions and feelings mattered. (This is an example of how I knew something conceptually, but sucked at putting it into practice.)

​When my oldest, who was 7 at the time, told me as I tucked him into bed one night that he didn’t like the person I was dating I wasn’t mad at all. I also didn’t listen. I told my son to give the guy a chance. Turns out, my son was right. Every reason he had for not liking the guy was spot on. What’s more, he did what I told him to do, he trusted me to keep my word that I would end the relationship, and I didn’t. I taught my sweet little son at that moment that I was not someone he could count on, and that I didn’t value his feelings as much as I valued the relationship.

​I can look back now and see how my low self esteem and fear of being inadequate as a woman, as a single mother, and as an adult clouded my judgment. But I can’t change how I let my children down in that moment, and many more moments over the next 4 years.

​But this is only a half regret because if I had ended that relationship at the time my oldest son shared his feelings with me, my youngest son never would have been born, and I can’t imagine life without him. He has taught me so much about so much. How can I regret a very regrettable choice that led to such a precious blessing? To me this is proof that regrets are useless. And, my heart breaks every time I remember my little 7 year old, sharing his feelings and not being heard by his mom.

​I’m still practicing forgiveness and letting go of the regrets and shame that have come from the experiences I've shared with you today. I will get there, I know I will. And in the meantime, I will be patient and kind to myself.

​I don’t believe in regrets. I believe in understanding and compassion. I believe in finding the blessing in every mistake. I believe in letting go of toxic beliefs and assumptions that rob us of joy, no matter how justified they are. I believe I deserve to love myself and feel proud of all the good I bring to this life, rather than condemning myself for my mistakes.

​And I believe with my whole heart that you deserve that, too.

​Blessings & beach days forever,

​

Katie