Today is a monumental day for me—my oldest child is turning 39 years old. As I mark this significant milestone, I find myself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. The number itself is a stark reminder of the passage of time and a chance to reflect on my own journey into parenthood and the years that followed.

Turning 39 had a distinct meaning for me. At that age, I was a tapestry woven with both dreams and regrets, a woman shaped by her past and striving to create a better future for her children. It’s a strange sensation to look at my child, now an adult with their own life, and think about how I felt at that same age. It was a time marked by unfulfilled aspirations, weighed down by the burden of my past.

I’ve often heard the saying that one should not live with regrets. But for those of us who possess empathy, that can be a daunting mantra to embrace. Reflecting on my life, I carry many regrets. While it’s difficult to pinpoint them all, a central theme emerges—regret for starting my parenting journey while still so broken and lost.

Coming from a background filled with trauma, including experiences in foster care and the deep scars that physical, mental, and sexual abuse left behind, I was ill-prepared for the challenges of motherhood. I moved from one foster home to another, and genuine counseling was a foreign concept for me. The impact of these experiences colored my perceptions and interactions, and it was during this time that I became a mother to four beautiful children.

In the 1980s, as a young woman, I didn’t fully realize the power I had to change my trajectory. I often felt trapped, believing that I needed a partner to help raise my children, failing to see that I could forge my own path alone, without bringing more chaos into our lives. My choices regarding relationships during that period were heavily influenced by the emotional turmoil I was still navigating, leaving me feeling as if I had gravely misunderstood what it meant to be a parent.

Now, with my children grown yet still processing the aftermath of my earlier decisions, I carry a weight of regret every day. I regret not being the complete mother they deserved; the nurturing figure who could offer them the unwavering support and love that comes from a healed heart.

Talking about abuse, confronting my regrets, and sharing my story are vital steps I believe we can take toward healing—not just for ourselves, but for the relationships we have with our children. As I navigate this milestone with my oldest child, I’m reminded that while the past cannot be changed, the present is ours to shape.

In the spirit of empathy and understanding, I strive to improve my relationships with my adult children. I aim to show them the lessons I’ve learned, the hope I’ve invested in healing, and the love that has only grown stronger despite my regrets. Each conversation is an opportunity to bridge the gap between our past and present, allowing us to create a future rooted in understanding and compassion.

As I celebrate the incredible journey of my child turning 39, I am reminded that acknowledging our regrets does not weaken us; rather, it empowers us to move forward with intention. Life has its challenges, but it also holds the potential for redemption and growth. Here’s to the next chapter of our lives, filled with opportunities to heal and to love deeply, understanding that it’s never too late to forge a stronger bond with those we cherish most.

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