As spring unfolds, my reflections have been on parenting regret. This has been prompted in part by conversations on the subject that seem surprisingly universal, and in part by old memories rising – small scenes from my children’s younger days popping up like spring shoots, bringing a familiar ache. These are the quiet regrets that so many parents carry. The moments we missed, the things we didn’t yet understand, the tenderness we couldn’t always access in the hurly-burly of daily life.
Early spring has a way of loosening everything. Earth relaxes her winter grip, the air feels softer and the light brightens. As children grow, hindsight sharpens. It can feel tough. We parented in real time, often exhausted, often trying to work on healing ourselves, often without the wisdom or support that would have made things clearer. Without an instruction manual. Yet we judge ourselves now as though we should have known everything then.
it’s not about rewriting the past, but tending the present with greater awareness
Spring teaches us that thawing is slow. Regret, too, can soften if we allow it. When I sit with this, I notice something important. Regret is not evidence that we failed, but evidence that we loved. It shows where our longing met our limits.
