No Regrets

Regret can be a scary thing. Especially when it blindsides you.

We all have regrets. That’s life and there’s no escaping it. Some of them are small, like regretting that burger and fries you had the other day. Some are big, like letting your true love slip through your fingers. And then there are those that hover over the line, like writing a raw, honest blog about parenting and the challenges that come with being a stay-at-home, and then realizing your kids will likely read it someday.

That realization dawned recently after a pretty rugged—and honest—conversation with my husband. I’m not going to go into details, but it essentially dealt with how I’ve been feeling as a mom lately, which is bitter, disappointed, and unfulfilled. During our discussion, my husband threw out a few choice words that really cut like a sword, culminating with “Years from now, I just don’t want you to write something that you’ll regret later because once it’s out there, it’s out there. And the kids will want to read your words someday.”

That’s not something I’ve thought much about since I started writing a few months ago—that my children will one day read my blog. I got back into writing because I needed some sort of outlet as a parent, outside of my husband. And I’m so happy I bit the bullet and did it because this blog has become my release, my therapy, and my attempt at trying to find the woman I used to be “before.” Before I became a mom and gave up everything to raise my two precious babies. But, damn, what a wake-up call our conversation was.

I felt so terrible in that moment because hearing my husband’s words out loud made the situation so real. Who thinks about regret with any frequency? Not me, that’s for sure. But then out of nowhere it’s thrust into your face and all you’re left with are doubts and questions. Like what the heck am I doing? Why am I so focused on all this negative energy? Why do I act like being a stay-at-home isn’t everything I’ve always wanted? And why am I writing about it on a public blog for the whole world to see?

And then I started thinking about years from now, when my time here is up. If I were on my death bed at this moment, would I really be thinking about how unfair it was that we didn’t have a “village?” Or that I rarely got any time for myself or my husband? Or that my kids were too clingy or whiny or fought like cats and dogs? Or that we had to miss some silly holiday parties because we were sick? Or that my daughter was the pickiest eater known to man? Or any of the other umpteenth complaints I’m sure I’ll have over the years?

Hell no.

When my time comes, I want a smile on my face and my children’s hands grasped tightly within my own. I want to be thinking about one thing, and one thing only: how proudly and fiercely I loved my family during my short time here on Earth. And how fiercely they loved me in return. I certainly don’t want to be thinking about the stresses, anxieties, and bitterness I’ve been feeling (and writing about) with regret. I also don’t want to look back on my blog–my refuge, my saving grace during this difficult time–and wish it didn’t exist simply because I was a little too honest, a little too raw, a little too forward. Sometimes I imagine God is looking down on me and shaking his head over how often I let these negative emotions overcome me. And for what? None of this crap is even gonna matter in the end. He already knows regret has no place in life or love. We humans still need to be schooled on that lesson.

Honestly, though, how I’ve been feeling as a mom really has nothing to do with my children. It has everything to do with my own weaknesses and selfishness as a parent and as a woman. Well, that and our circumstances. Because let’s face it, going from a single, independent professional working and living in the Big Apple, who really had no one to answer to but herself, to a married, stay-at-home mom with two preschoolers—all within the space of five years—is a total and complete life-changer. A beautiful and positive one, for sure, but also an extremely challenging, selfless, and terrifying one. I don’t even know who the heck I am anymore other than my children’s mommy. And that’s a hard pill to swallow after you’ve spent almost 35 years trying to find yourself.

What I tend to forget, though, is that I’m the only one who can control what happens between now and the end of life as I know it. I’m the only one who can change the circumstances and the way I react to them. And the way I write about them. Because I don’t want to write in a way that makes anyone feel bad, least of all my children, if they do read my blog someday. But I also want to be true to myself. I write because it’s the one part of the “old” me that I recognize today. And since everything in my life right now is caught up in the chaos of parenting and the challenges that come with it, that’s where my head is at and that’s where I need to go when I put pen to paper. It’s just easier (and way more cathartic) for me to blog from a place of pain and fear and anger and bitterness because I so desperately need to get those thoughts and feelings off my chest. Otherwise I’ll explode. More importantly, though, it’s my way of seeking solidarity. I need to know there are other parents out there who think and feel like I do. I need to know they understand and sympathize. I need to know I’m not alone in the darkness.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t recognize the magic. I live the magic every day. And I want to write those stories, too. It’s just that when I get caught up in the monotony of everyday life, it’s easier to feel sorry for myself than to see the silver linings. But then something—or someone in my case—will so poignantly remind me. And I have to say, once I began thinking about this parenting stuff through the lens of regret, I felt a little lighter—in my heart and my mind. Because for all the complaining (and writing) I do about the harder aspects of parenting and being a stay-at-home, there are so many things I love about it. And I want my kids to know that.

I love being able to take my babies to school every morning and pick them up every afternoon. I love chatting with their teachers and being able to take part in their “show and tell” on a random Friday morning. I love watching my son play make-believe with his dinosaurs and my daughter mother her precious Valerie. I love being able to give them clean clothes and make them a nutritious dinner every day (not that they always eat it, mind you!). I love being able to devote one day each week for some much-needed mommy/son and mommy/daughter time. I love being able to color or play games or read or watch a movie or have an indoor picnic any time we want. I love being able to kiss and hug and cuddle them all day long if I so choose. I love that I haven’t missed even one of their childhood phases and developments (even the annoying ones). I love simply being “there” for them anytime they need me. Yes, most days they drive me insane and I’m the first one to bitch about it, but when push comes to shove, I wouldn’t trade being a stay-at-home for the world. OK, maybe I would trade it for an adults-only trip to Disney’s Food & Wine Festival occasionally…just kidding (sorta, maybe).

Deep down I know what life is all about. Sure, a lot of times I unconsciously (or maybe even willingly) choose to make it about all the baggage that comes with raising human beings 24/7, 365 days a year. What parent doesn’t? But make no mistake, my children are my life and I love them more than words could ever say. And while I tend to write from a less-than-perfect place as a way of unburdening myself, I pray my actions toward my children speak far louder. Because no matter where my head’s at, I’m still here every single day, loving and caring for the two beautiful souls God chose especially for me.

So, yes, one day my children may read this blog—maybe even when they are parents themselves. And if they do, I hope they will see through the pain, fear, and anxiety and understand and appreciate not only my honesty, but the true meaning behind my words—and my actions. That even on my darkest of days, they were always my light. If I can accomplish that, this will all be worth it. And when my number’s up, I’ll be able to look back on my life and my family with nothing but happiness, joy, and love.

And with no regrets.