Recently, I fell into a big pool of shame, and
because I feel like I have been treading water in it ever since, I have been reading
about shame resilience, imperfection, and vulnerability. I've
been thinking a lot about regrets - about the choices I'd go back and make
differently if I could. I read recently the view that carrying regrets is
a waste of emotional and mental time and energy. And I mostly agree;
however, I have also come to believe that sometimes, there are regrets that are
worth carrying, that grow us and change us, that their transformative power
makes them too valuable to discard casually or easily. There are mistakes I want to remember. Recently I mentioned in a
journal that I now have two. I think the one that follows is not just worth carrying, but also worth sharing.
I was twenty five when I moved to Dallas and met
Kris. He was the dearest of friends to me. We were in school together, although he was further along in the program than me. We worked together. We spent hours upon hours talking, laughing, learning. Kris taught me playfulness, to take myself less seriously, that doing so was key to living and loving well. When I struggled in a particular class he was strong in, he tutored me. When he was a grader for one I excelled in, he praised my work and laughed at the hidden messages I put in things for him to find.
Two years later he graduated, and I had had a particularly difficult few months, with several sudden, catastrophic deaths of people close to me. So, I decided to go on vacation with some girlfriends to Florida while he went to help build an orphanage in another country, with plans for me to go with him on some next trip. When the phone rang at the condo in Florida, I don't remember much about answering. I couldn't tell you who called. Just that someone told me that Kris was mysteriously sick and dying. So my friends and I all piled in the car and drove back to Dallas.
All of this is to give context to what happened next. By the morning of Kris' memorial service I was barely functioning. I never knew I could cry so much. I made it through all the people, the service, to return home with me only wanting to crawl into bed and make the grieving stop. I hadn't slept in days. There was a blinking light on my answering machine. I listened to the message, from a woman in a group I led, begging me to call her back. Instead, I turned the phone completely off, as well as the answering machine, took a sedative and crawled into bed and didn't get out for as long as possible.
But: I was this woman's safe call. She struggled with depression, and I was the person she agreed to call before doing anything to harm herself. And in the midst of my own suffering, when she reached out, I didn't reach back. She had kept her promise. But I lost sight of mine. And she died of an overdose of sleeping pills the night I didn't call back.
And yes, I went to counselling. And yes, there is no knowing what might have changed, if anything, had I called her back. Certainly I was not thinking clearly or in the frame of mind to carry her pain too, but maybe she could have held on for other help. Maybe there would have been more time. But no, I don't have some nice, ordered super-insightful answer from this. What I can offer is this:
Life should be messy sometimes. I learn a lot by failing, and this particular failure continues to shape and grow me, to create places of courage, compassion, and
connection within me for not only others, but also for myself. When I let it, carrying this regret offers:
My failures are not catastrophic, no matter how much they seem to be, or how much I feel like they are. Life goes on, even when one feels like one's action might have prevented someone's death. I don't know how much simpler it could have been: I just needed to call her back. I failed and someone died. (Is this not one of our worst fears?)
My failures are not catastrophic, no matter how much they seem to be, or how much I feel like they are. Life goes on, even when one feels like one's action might have prevented someone's death. I don't know how much simpler it could have been: I just needed to call her back. I failed and someone died. (Is this not one of our worst fears?)
And so I carry this regret - but it's become something far different from self-criticism about missed opportunities or failure. I needed to see how the smallest things can be
far more influential than I tend to think, and also realize that I get it
wrong. A lot. And that just makes me human. I didn't wake up from not calling back as some evil,
callous-hearted person.
It's worth carrying because it reminds me to find gratitude and joy during life's darkest times. That we are never guaranteed another chance, or even a tomorrow. And when it's hardest, is when it's most important to look for hope. So many times it comes in a way one doesn't expect. (Like driving intentionally into a storm and finding a rainbow.)
It's worth carrying because it's a rememberance of where my soul has been, and how I've not just survived, but keep choosing to be truly alive. Survival is not nearly enough. And sometimes life makes us stronger than we ever wanted to be. When we get taken deeper than our feet would ever wander, and have to learn to trust ourselves and others again, remembering can offer courage for the future.
It's worth carrying because it teaches me grace to forgive. It reminds me to be kind to myself and others. I'll always wish I'd picked up the phone and muddled through. But now I try to see beyond mistakes to the people underneath. This helps me be more generous. I don't want to settle for trusting plans. I want to trust the person. This means there is way more room for mistakes along the way.
A friend mentioned recently that I don't seem to be falling apart right now despite recent chaos in my life. And I think - this is why. This regret - this thing I carry - I take it out at times like now and look at it and say: "This made me a better person than I was before." And so I remind myself that there is hope in the midst of everything.
It's worth carrying because it reminds me to find gratitude and joy during life's darkest times. That we are never guaranteed another chance, or even a tomorrow. And when it's hardest, is when it's most important to look for hope. So many times it comes in a way one doesn't expect. (Like driving intentionally into a storm and finding a rainbow.)
It's worth carrying because it's a rememberance of where my soul has been, and how I've not just survived, but keep choosing to be truly alive. Survival is not nearly enough. And sometimes life makes us stronger than we ever wanted to be. When we get taken deeper than our feet would ever wander, and have to learn to trust ourselves and others again, remembering can offer courage for the future.
It's worth carrying because it teaches me grace to forgive. It reminds me to be kind to myself and others. I'll always wish I'd picked up the phone and muddled through. But now I try to see beyond mistakes to the people underneath. This helps me be more generous. I don't want to settle for trusting plans. I want to trust the person. This means there is way more room for mistakes along the way.
A friend mentioned recently that I don't seem to be falling apart right now despite recent chaos in my life. And I think - this is why. This regret - this thing I carry - I take it out at times like now and look at it and say: "This made me a better person than I was before." And so I remind myself that there is hope in the midst of everything.
And some of that big, once overwhelming tide of shame gets drained away.
