Rev. Colleen Irwin

 The Role of Regret: Healing the Things We Cannot Undo

Healing the things we cannot undo is some of the deepest soul work we have to do.  It is gut wrenching, ugly and not linear. Regret has a way of creeping in when the house is quiet. It’s a whisper in the early morning, a knot in your stomach when you see an old photo. When a child goes no contact, regret becomes sharper—because there’s no conversation to soften it, no closure to wrap things up with a bow.

I’ve lived with regret. Not just the kind that wonders if I should have done more—but the kind that knows I should have done something differently. I let people make decisions for me. In doing so, I handed over my parenting choices to those I thought had more authority than I did. I wanted to be loved, I wanted to be safe by those that I handed over my choices to. And in that wanting, I abandoned parts of myself—and, in some ways, my son too.  The greatest gift I can give him now is accepting his boundaries.

Hard Truth

That’s a hard truth to sit with.

But I’ve learned that punishing myself won’t change the past. Regret, if we let it, becomes a cage. We replay moments, rewrite conversations, try to bend time backwards. And still, nothing changes—except our own self-worth erodes a little more each time.

Spirit didn’t give up on me, though. Even in my grief. Even when I felt unworthy. I’ve had moments—tiny, sacred signs—that reminded me healing was still available. That redemption isn’t a perfect act. It’s a willingness to return to love.

In my son breaking with me, he broke a family cycle. I believe that is brave. I hope he is happy. As a parent, that is all we can truly hope for: happy, healthy children who lead meaningful lives.

So I began. Slowly. I forgave the woman I was when I didn’t know how to stand firm. Taking the time I mothered her. I told her she was doing the best she could with what she had. I stopped trying to explain myself to people who didn’t walk in my shoes. And I began living a life that felt true, whether my son ever saw it or not.

That’s the thing about healing—it starts inside. Quietly. But it ripples.

If you’re carrying regret, I see you. And I believe you can come back to yourself, piece by piece.

Reflection Questions

• What regrets am I holding that feel heavier than they should?
• Where did I give away my power, and why?
• What did I need back then that I wasn’t able to give myself?
• Who am I trying to make peace with—and is it possible to begin within?
• What would it feel like to forgive myself, even if no one else does?
• How has regret shaped the way I speak to myself?
• What would I say to the version of me who was just trying to survive?
• How does Spirit speak to me when I’m lost in shame?
• What part of my story needs love—not editing?
• What would redemption look like if it didn’t require an apology from anyone else?

You don’t have to carry regret forever. You can honor it, learn from it, and then—when you’re ready—you can lay it down. Not because it didn’t matter, but because you do.