Regret is not something people enjoy living with. Most of the time, we tell ourselves that we won’t make the same mistake the next time around. I, for one, have a few regrets of my own. More so in this past year than ever.

For some bizarre reason I can’t even understand myself, I became extremely scared to move forward. My head filled with nonsense about nothing being the right time or condition to do something. A few of those things included writing, reading, cooking, cleaning, and spending more time with the ones I love. The best way of putting it, I was in a form of depression where I didn’t want to do anything productive.

One of my biggest fears is being stuck and, in the end, that’s exactly what I did to myself. I wasn’t unhappy, but I wasn’t happy either. It was this strange feeling of literally nothing. It were as if I was floating in limbo. I wanted nothing more than to get out, but I continued to allow myself to be swallowed up in this emptiness.

Because of this, there was so much I could have done last year but didn’t. I regret not writing more. If I had, I could be a lot closer to finishing one of my many novel ideas. Hell, I could even have finished one and you would be reading it right now!

I regret not making more friends. After some seriously, unnecessary (or maybe necessary to teach me a lesson) toxic friendships, I should have taken the opportunity to gain better, positive people in my life and spent more time with the good ones I already have. Instead, I cut myself off from the world. It pains me to admit that, until this past fall, I only went out with my friends the few times I did because I felt obligated. I worried that, being the only parent/mom out of all my friends, people were going to see me as desperate to get out and be away. Sorry, guys. I really do love you, though. Remembering to include me and still reaching out when I wouldn’t really means the world to me. It truly reveals the shining stars I have in my life.

On a good day, I would load up the stroller and take Calix with me to the library. It was up the street and as far as I would be willing to go, if I even bothered to go out at all. More often than not, I would tell myself that Calix was too little to benefit from going to the library. The first time I brought him, he was only three months. He slept through the entire time I was outlining a novel. The more mobile he became, the more I tried to reason that me writing while he wanted to play was too much for me and vice versa. I told my husband (and mainly myself) it was “unfair” to our baby and me. In reality, it was a shitty excuse and lie.

As with almost anything, there is a silver lining in all my depression: introspect. I won’t lie or pretend that overcoming depression is as easy as throwing out the trash. But, if I can overcome my depression, now is the time to do so. I will no longer allow each day to pass feeling regret for the things I didn’t do or havn’t done. Instead, I will do my best to focus on my family, our future, and the goals I have set to make this year and the rest of my life as fulfilling as I want it to be. I will write every day, I will spend time with the ones I hold dear, I will get out more with no excuses, and I will push forward. Why? Because it matters to me. And that’s what’s most important.


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