Poppies have been used for ages to stand for grief, memory, and waking up to what’s real. In poems and art, they mark the path from hurting to knowing yourself — where what once cut deep becomes something that makes you strong.
Regret used to be a word I couldn’t say out loud. Almost twenty years ago, when someone asked if I had any regrets, I said “None” without even thinking. Back then, I really believed it — or maybe I needed to believe it. I was wrapped up in that way of thinking that acts like it’s smart and enlightened but is really just denial — all “it’s all good,” “everything happens for a reason,” “don’t look at the bad stuff” nonsense that leaves no room for being honest about what really went down.
Looking back now, I can see I wasn’t free of regret at all. I was just cut off from how I really felt.
Today, regret feels different. It doesn’t scare me or make me feel like I failed. It’s like a mirror — showing me not just what happened, but who I was when it did.
I regret the times I spoke too quickly, or too harshly, or not strongly enough when I needed to.
I regret acting out of chaos and emotion instead of clear thinking.
I regret putting off decisions, softening my boundaries when I shouldn’t have, and keeping quiet about things that mattered.
I regret pouring years — decades even — into trying to save other people, thinking it would finally get me the approval I never got as a child. I regret giving so much energy to people who thought my kindness meant I owed them something. I regret getting tangled up in that condo committee that sucked me dry, pulled me away from what mattered, and left me holding things that were never mine to carry.
I regret making money choices just to get by instead of building something solid.
I regret trusting someone who showered me with attention — love bombed me — and then took off with my savings, leaving me to clean up the mess alone. That part of my life taught me something hard but important: when I needed help the most, there was no one really there for me.
And underneath all these regrets is the one that’s been there the longest — wishing I’d been born into a family that was ready to be parents. So many of the things I thought were my choices weren’t choices at all — just ways to get by. Coping mechanisms. Survival strategies. Things I learned to do as a kid who figured out early that she had to take care of herself.
But here’s what I know now:
Regret isn’t about blaming yourself.
It’s about realizing you’ve grown past the person you were when you made those calls.
It’s a sign of growth, not failure.
It’s the body and heart saying, “I see more clearly now. I know better now. I’m worth so much more now.”
I don’t get stuck in regret.
I spend time with it.
I listen to what it has to say.
I let it show me the ways I don’t need to live anymore.
And when I do that, regret turns into something else — not a wound I carry around, but a door I get to walk through. A threshold. A way into a life built not just on surviving, but on being truly in charge of myself.
If any of this speaks to you, I’d be honored to hear your reflections in the comments.
Peace and Blessings,
— Thea 💙theasjournal25@gmail.com
Thea's Truths & Thresholds 