I’ve been thinking a lot about regret recently. I regret working so hard to keep things stable for people who didn’t reciprocate.

I have an overdeveloped sense of responsibility due to my dad’s underdeveloped sense of responsibility, so I take on way more than is mine in life. And this has pushed out many of the things that I might have done in my life that might have better aligned with my values. And I regret that, too.

It’s a long road to go back through one’s life and identify all the regrets, and it’s not necessary to identify all of them to move forward. That being said, I think that a bit of regret inventory may be necessary. I have learned enough in my life that I’ll look back at my “past self” lovingly, rather than disparagingly, so that I won’t cause myself any more pain than the regret inherently contains.

Looking at my “past self” lovingly is significant progress in my life. Previously, I operated with “the beatings shall continue until morale improves” as my philosophy to keep myself “in line” — whatever “in line” means. I was overly responsible, overly stable… So much so that I lost the spark of joy for things for myself. And that’s not healthy for me.

One of my main regrets is not pushing for things that have been important to me. Me. Not mom, not dad. Me. I’ve been in a career that provided a (relative) abundance of stability. I think that this has been because I learned early on to be a parent to my dad, so I chose a career and a company that locked me in a place that would be stable. That way, on some (theoretical future) day when dad needed me to be his parent, I would be available.

And boy, is that unhealthy. And I regret that I did that. And I regret that dad did that to me. Oof. I regret taking on more than is my responsibility. I regret defining my personal boundaries in terms of what was important to dad, and what would best support dad. I regret believing that he was my hero. I regret needing to trust him as my model. I regret being left with him and having to twist myself into feeling that unsafety was excitement. I regret feeling that I should say, “but there were lots of good parts!” I regret living a life that taught me that he was the absolute expert in everything, and then he became the “worst of the worst” — he said as much in our phone calls while he was in prison. I regret living a life that taught me that I needed to be completely transparent with dad and he hid so much of his life from me until he was arrested, and then couldn’t talk about it because he might get killed in prison if his fellow inmates found out the nature of his crimes.

I regret that my default option when something goes wrong is that it was my fault. I regret that when I feel like things are my fault that I feel like I am a terrible person who desperately needs to fix whatever is wrong in order to get myself back to being a good person. I regret having trouble believing that some times it’s just how life goes — it’s not my “fault.” I regret feeling like I’m failing because I’m not at 100%. No, at 110% (even though that’s impossible mathematically, and, who defines 100% in life) (and who gets everything right in life??? Nobody!)

I regret not providing myself more kind, loving support. I regret not being in an environment where I could learn to provide myself more kind, loving support.

I regret holding dad’s shame, and the shame that I had in myself because I was holding his shame. I regret that I don’t think that he will ever be able to hold his shame for himself, and be able to behave in a way that will allow me to feel like he is a safe enough person that we can talk and begin to reconcile. I regret that I feel responsible for more than my fair share of any of this. I regret that I feel responsible for his mistakes. I regret that it’s caused me to have a very confusing familial relationship.

I’m not sure how to end this, so I think I’ll just sign off for now. Maybe I’ll be able to put a better ending on this at some point. But for now, I’m going to do some grounding exercises and refocus on “current” me and the fact that it’s ok to mess up sometimes and I’m still a worthy human being.