Regrets are like emotional duct tape – slapped on everything, holding together the parts of our story we don’t want to face directly. They’re not simple. They’re not neat. They’re not even loyal to logic. Regrets come in all shapes, sizes and flavours, like trauma Skittles. Some are dull and lingering. Some are sharp. Some sneak in while you’re drinking your “maybe-today-won’t-suck” iced coffee.
And here’s the scariest part: facing them means facing ourselves. So let’s do it together, Sugars. One brave breath. One shaky, slightly sarcastic step at a time.
The Sneaky Ingredient
The more I peel back the layers of my most unhinged thoughts (especially the ones that show up at 3am – it’s not insomnia, it’s 3AM, the demons are bored again), the more I realize this: regret is the sneaky little bastard hiding under it all.
Every shame loop, every “how did I let that happen,” every cringe replay in my mind – regret has a front-row seat, eating popcorn.
I’ve been in situations that ended badly – some I chose, most I didn’t and a lot were a cocktail of fate, fear and bad timing. And every time, I somehow made it my fault.
Cue the soundtrack:
- “I should’ve done X.”
- “I definitely shouldn’t have said Y.”
- “Maybe if I just -”
You get the point. Regret becomes the narrator and suddenly I’m the villain in my own story.
But Why Do We Do That?
Therapy, darling. That’s where this conversation always ends up. And thank god.
Therapy reminded me that regrets aren’t just reminders of mistakes – they’re evidence of care. They’re remnants of a self who was trying – trying to be loved, safe, accepted or just trying not to completely fall apart.
We don’t make choices thinking, Wow, this will definitely destroy me.
No. We make decisions based on the info we had, the needs we felt, the hope we held. We experiment. We make experimental choices.
Every choice is an emotional hypothesis. We don’t know the outcome – we guess. And sometimes, we guess wrong. But that doesn’t make us failures. That makes us human.
Your Mind Is Lying to You, Babe
Regret tells you, “If only you had done something different, everything would’ve been okay.”
What a manipulative little gremlin. The truth? You can’t know that. Maybe a different decision would’ve still led to pain – just a different flavour of it. Strawberry shame instead of mocha meltdown. Either way, the outcome wasn’t yours to predict. You acted with what you had.
And if you’ve been blaming yourself for other people’s mistakes, I see you. I’ve done it too.
I used to think that if I took on the regret, their regret, somehow I’d stay in control.
“If it’s my fault, I can fix it. If I fix it, they won’t leave.”
Yeah. That’s not healing. That’s bargaining with a version of love that should’ve never asked you to shrink in the first place.
Here’s What I Know Now
You’re not supposed to be the janitor of someone else’s decisions. You don’t need to mop up their mess to be lovable. You don’t have to perform perfection to earn a seat at anyone’s table.
And if they leave? That’s their experimental choice. Not your failure.
Regret doesn’t get to write your story. You do.
So if you’re feeling haunted by it, remember: it’s not proof that you’re a terrible person – it’s proof that you cared. That you tried. That you risked something. And that’s something to be proud of.
Now, go easy on yourself. You’ve got enough to carry, don’t you think, Sugar?
If this hit home, good. That means you’re alive. If it didn’t, congrats on being emotionally well-regulated, I guess? Either way – your story isn’t over and your choices are allowed to be messy.
Let regret be your teacher – not your jailer. And if all else fails: call your therapist, eat something comforting – and remember that shame has terrible fucking taste in music.
Until the next chat, stay committed to your own good.
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