Regrets? Most of us have them. But do we really need to live inside them?
I’ve had more than enough moments that could qualify—situations, choices, places where regret would have been the obvious response. Yet it wouldn’t change anything. That time is gone. What I have is today.
“It’s easy for you to say,” you might think.
No—it isn’t.
I’ve done things. I’ve been in situations. I’ve stood in places where, even if only once, the question why crossed my mind. But it never stayed. It never returned. And today, I want to answer why.
I’ve seen people regret their careers, their love lives, the paths they didn’t choose, and everything they don’t have or can’t reach. For me, it began much earlier—when I was eleven.
At ten, I was tall. Everyone said I would grow up to 5’8″ or more. Then, slowly, I stopped growing. I went from being the tallest to one of the shortest. It broke something inside me. I felt helpless. I regretted not doing more to prevent it, but I had started menstruating early, and with the hormonal shifts, all physical activity stopped. I remember sitting still, overwhelmed by pain and mood swings, watching others—once shorter than me—grow taller. I hated being judged. I hated looking up at them. Eventually, I understood there was nothing I could change anymore.
That was physical. But what about the mental traits?
I often felt “stuck.” From the outside, I appeared well-settled—a house, a stable job, financial security. But the job was never my choice; circumstances and pressure pushed me into it. For a long time, I believed I wanted to be a CA and regretted discontinuing it. Only after emerging from depression did I understand that path was never mine. What I wanted—what I still want—is to be the artist and writer I was always meant to be. I abandoned both at some point and reclaimed them only in 2024—a part of myself I had lost along the way.
As for love, I lost the love of my life—my mother—at seventeen. I still haven’t recovered. That loss made me search for her presence in others, someone who would protect and support me. Instead, the world devoured me. My innocence was taken. I learned to wear a hard exterior so no one could hurt me again. The innocence is still there, but the world isn’t built to receive it. I was cheated, discarded, mistreated, judged—when I was still just seventeen. Later, I realized this had always been my reality; my mother had simply shielded me from seeing it.
That search—for her, for safety—only deepened my wounds.
All of this led to depression. In truth, I have lived with it most of my life. By 2024, the weight became unbearable, especially when my mother-in-law worsened the situation. And yet, do I regret any of it?
No.
It was horrific—I haven’t even told the whole story. Since 2012, it felt like living inside a never-ending horror film. But I can’t change it, and I don’t want to.
I learned something essential: not everything is in your control. Sometimes, all you can do is move with the current, live through it, and search for meaning. That is what saved me. Something else may save you—I don’t want to impose my journey on anyone.
All I want to say is this: don’t cling to regret. The past cannot be rewritten. But the present is still yours.
**You may have heard the phrase “live in the present” countless times. I believed in it too—until darkness took control. When I realized I couldn’t carry the weight alone, I reached out to a psychiatrist and a psychologist. And that is something I want to say clearly: when the burden feels unbearable, it does not mean you are weak. It means the moment is heavy. Ask for help. It can save you.**