I Would Have Done Everything Differently

Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve ends here

If I had known then what I know now … Those wistful words taste of regret, a bitter pill to swallow when life takes all our well-laid plans and tosses them around like confetti. The implication is clear: I would have done everything differently.

And I would have, if I’d known.

If you’d told me I’d end up as a divorced single parent, I doubt I would have worn that white dress and walked down the aisle while uncertainty simmered only in the darkest corners of my mind, unacknowledged and unspoken. But then, I wouldn’t have my beautiful, brilliant children.

If you’d told me that the career that I worked years to achieve would end abruptly on the certainty that the path I had chosen was the wrong one, I’d have changed it all. I’d have picked another direction. I’d have tried to guarantee a happier conclusion. But then, I wouldn’t have become a writer.

If you’d told me that the first relationship that truly felt like home would begin with so much fanfare and end with so much devastation, I would have walked away. I’d have called it a one-night stand or kept it thoroughly in the friend zone. But then, I wouldn’t have known that connections like that truly exist outside of fiction, and I wouldn’t have the home I bought while still grieving that loss.

Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve ends here.

If we’d truly known the pain life would cause along the way, who among us would sign up for it without pause or reservation? Who would make those choices knowing that some of them would lead to inevitable disaster? We do our best until we know better. If we’re learning and growing, none of that devastation is truly a waste.

On the darker days, it feels that way though, doesn’t it? It feels as though every single wrong move is a punishment, proof positive that we don’t deserve the happiness we’ve worked so hard to find. We can walk back those roads all we want, but we cannot change the way behind. We can only keep walking forward.

Under all the bitterness and wistful regret, there is a kernel of truth. The challenges reveal our character. We are given the chance to reinvent ourselves as many times as we like, but the best reinventions bring us closer to who we always were and were meant to be. Most of us wouldn’t have chosen the hardship, but avoiding the pain only ever makes us miss out on the joy and love that’s out there, too.

I woke up with regret and gratitude swimming in uncomfortable circles in my mind. They don’t feel like they go together at all. Yet, gratitude persists despite the challenges if we let it. I stopped focusing on every wrong move I’d ever made, and I looked at the life I have now.

It’s not perfect. The last few years have offered enormous challenges to my physical and mental health, to my finances, and even to my very existence. But I worked hard for everything that I have. I am surrounded by evidence of the dreams I’ve carefully nurtured into being. I am not living the life I thought I would, but every day, I am more certain that I am living the one that’s right for me. It’s messy and sometimes complicated, but it’s mine.

The truth that rises out of the early morning fog of exhaustion and illness: I look at what I have, and I wouldn’t change a thing. Even knowing what I know now. Even though I know that the paths I chose sometimes resulted in heartache. I would choose it all again.

Of course, I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused along the way. I still know well the sour taste of regret. But I let it coexist with gratitude. I accept that shadows exist with the light.

I don’t walk down the road of would’ve, could’ve, should’ve. Not today. I’m moving forward and finally accepting that pain is just a part of being human. It doesn’t mean I’m doing something wrong. In fact, it’s proof positive that I’m doing something right.

Every time I love knowing that relationships end, I’m reminded the risk is the exchange for the reward. Every time I make a decision that feels right, I accept that it could just as easily all go wrong. I make it anyway. I am trying, and even when I’m failing, I’m learning.

I stop trying to rewrite the past. I turn to a fresh page. I know it will soon be covered in ink and scribbles from crossed-out mistakes I cannot erase. I keep writing, and as I do, I realize the challenges make one hell of a story. I stop revising, start writing, and allow myself to become curious about how this one ends.