Regret is as painful as it is common; however, it can also be a positive force, depending on how we respond to it. Illustration / Marta Monteiro, the New York Times
Regret is as painful as it is common; however, it can also be a positive force, depending on how we respond to it. Illustration / Marta Monteiro, the New York Times
Psychotherapist and writer Lori Gottlieb helps a reader who is obsessing over the past.
Q. At 60-something, I am often troubled by regret over interactions with my three children when they were young. During their preteen and teen years, I would lose my temper as a resultof their doing something I now recognise as insignificant. For example, my son accidentally threw away $10 in change when he was getting ice cream with his friends, which resulted in my screaming at him in anger.
I am a surgeon, and I’ll think about my ridiculous behaviour at various times – sometimes when I’m operating on a patient – and have an overwhelming sense of regret.
Can you suggest any strategies to resolve this problem?
As an aside, my father bailed out on our family when I was 8. We were moving to a foreign country, and he never came to the airport. As you can imagine, my subsequent relationship with him was spotty and dysfunctional.
A. Regret is as painful as it is common; however, it can also be a positive force, depending on how we respond to it. It can shackle us to the past, or it can serve as an engine for change.
So, let’s look at what you can do with yours.
First, some context. We all come into parenting informed by the parenting we received. Regret around parenting mistakes cuts especially deep because most parents enter that role intending to create the best possible childhood for their children and vowing not to repeat the missteps of their own parents. But as you wrestle with your regret, try to remember that there’s no such thing as a perfect parent. Healing from past parenting mistakes is a process that starts with self-compassion and leads to self-awareness and intentional repair – with oneself and, when possible, your children.
Sometimes parents who harbour regret resist self-compassion because they believe they don’t deserve it, given the pain they caused. They might also think that self-compassion implies a lack of remorse. But neither is true. Self-compassion helps us take responsibility, which paves the way for accountability and healing.
Consider how young you were when your father abruptly abandoned you as your family prepared to move to a foreign country. I think you’re realising how profoundly this loss affected you and, by extension, your experience as a father. Children who experience parental abandonment often develop a deep need for control, which can emerge as explosive anger when they feel vulnerable or threatened.
Being a surgeon, where control is paramount, is likely to have provided a stark contrast with the unpredictability you experienced as a child. But the fact that these memories interrupt you during surgery – at a moment of peak focus – suggests that your mind is essentially saying: I can’t compartmentalise this pain any longer.
You can do one of three things with your pain: run from it (denial, compartmentalisation), drown in it (rumination) or make friends with it. Making friends with your pain means letting it sit next to you and starting a conversation with it. This internal dialogue might sound something like:
You: Welcome, old friend. I remember meeting you at the airport nearly 60 years ago. You came rushing into my life, but I pushed you away. I thought I could get rid of you by ploughing forward, creating a more stable family than the one I had and excelling at my career. But I’m tired of running from you. So sit with me. Maybe I can learn something from you after all?
Most parents experience regret over past decisions, but few openly talk about it. Photo / 123rf
Your pain: Perhaps I can help you see that your father’s actions weren’t a reflection of how worthy of love you were, but instead of his inability to properly love. That must have been very hard to understand at 8 years old. You deserved to have a loving, present father. And while you wish you had been able to control your anger with your children, I can see how anyone with your background might have struggled in this way. I hope you’ll show yourself some compassion and consider that exploring this now gives you the opportunity to relate to yourself and others differently. I’m not here to hurt you – I’m here to help you move forward.
Engaging in this kind of dialogue and acknowledging the context in which you lost your temper will help you to feel less ashamed and take action. That action might include working with a therapist to make meaning of your childhood through an adult lens, gain tools for self-regulation in your relationships and work through your grief about your own childhood and that of your children.
You can also begin a dialogue with your children – not to seek their forgiveness, but to offer a sincere apology and invitation to learn how you can be there for them. You could start with something like:
I want to talk to you about something important. I now recognise that, during your childhood, I responded to situations with anger that was disproportionate and hurtful. The incident with the $10 – and other moments like it – were never truly about the mistake, but about my own unresolved pain and fears, which I am working through. I’m deeply sorry I didn’t recognise this earlier and I apologise for the times I made you feel scared, small, criticised or unworthy. I’m not asking for anything from you, but the opposite – if I can be there for you, as the father you need now, or can help heal something between us, that will be my top priority.
I don’t know what your current relationships with your children are like, or what they will do with this. But the point is less about their response and more about transforming regret from a source of torment into a new opportunity to be the best possible father to them, in whatever way they feel comfortable, and also the best father you never had to yourself. The most profound healing often comes from acknowledging that we are not defined by our worst moments, but by our capacity to learn, grow and repair.
