Having a Child Changed My Beliefs About Regret

I was worried I would regret having a child... instead I had a child and now I experience very few regrets

Before I became a parent, I was… hmm I don’t know how to put this…

Honestly, I guess I would call myself a regretful person.

I don't mean this in the sense that I made particularly regrettable choices (though actually in my addiction I made a ton). I mean that I experienced regret often, deeply, painfully, when I thought about my past.

I spent years ruminating over decisions I'd made, opportunities I'd missed, and paths I hadn't taken. Even when I was in middle school I have memories of ruminating and wondering about what ifs…. if only I would have studied more, if only I would have known this was what the test would have covered, if only I would have not said that stupid thing to my friend.

My eating disorder and addiction had consumed much of my teen and college years, and I felt an acute sense of loss when I thought about what those years could have been. If only I had gotten into recovery sooner. If only I hadn't drank so much. If only I had made more friends, or been more outgoing, or broke up with my boyfriend earlier.

Photo of me in my addiction

I guess you could say I was haunted by these alternate universes where a different version of me had made better choices and was happier, more successful and more popular. (The important things right!?)

Do you remember when people used to play the game, where people asked… if you could have any superpower, what would you pick?

Well, my answer was always to time travel. Specifically, I wanted to be able to go back in time and make different choices.

Later in college, on a particularly beautiful day (before I lost all my friends to my addiction), we were sitting on a grassy area outside, sunbathing and one of my friends asked, “if you could go back in time and relieve your life but you couldn’t change anything, would you do it?”

My answer was an emphatic no. That would be torture. The good times in my life certainly didn’t make up for the hard ones. I answered, “you couldn’t pay me to do that.”

The Shift into Recovery

Getting into recovery started to shift this perspective. I began to see that my struggles had shaped me in ways I couldn't ignore. I didn’t want to relive those experiences, but I also started to feel gratitude for them. I told myself I would not be the therapist I became had I not been through what I did. And I felt proud of that. This realization helped ease some of the regret, but it didn't go away.

I still found myself wondering what my life would have been like if I had made different choices.

What if I would have gotten into recovery earlier?

What if I would have enjoyed high school and college like everyone else seems to, instead of almost getting kicked out of my sorority for drinking so much and graduating without a single friend who I could keep in touch with?

I still felt the pangs of regret when I looked back, even as I recognized the value in the journey.

The Unexpected Gift of Motherhood

And then I had my daughter.

Having a child changed my relationship with regret in ways I never could have anticipated. The transformation wasn't immediate, and it wasn't what I expected.

At first, new regrets emerged. I regretted not waiting longer to conceive, as I got pregnant immediately when I had expected it would take time. I regretted not having more preparation, not being in a better mental state, not having more of my professional goals accomplished before diving into parenthood.

But then something profound happened. I realized that if I had made any different choices—if I had waited another month, another week, even another day—this exact child, the specific human being I now love more than I ever thought possible, would not exist.

Every choice I had made, good or bad, led precisely to her. Every detour, every mistake, every triumph had created the exact circumstances that allowed her particular soul to come into being at that exact moment. The microscopic changes in timing that would have resulted from any alternative choices would have led to an entirely different child.

And suddenly, I couldn't regret anything that came before her. How could I wish for a different past when this past had given me her?

I recognize that not everyone shares this perspective. How and when conception happens—whether it's predetermined, random chance, or something in between—depends entirely on one's personal beliefs. Before having my daughter, I believed the child you had would come whenever you had them. I believed if my parents had me at a different time I would have been different but I would still be me.

But after having my daughter, I changed my mind about this. I am not religious by any means or spiritual even but I do have to admit that having a child feels divine in a way….like all the dominoes in my life had to line up in exactly this way to bring this specific child to me at this moment in time. It's hard to explain the feeling rationally, but it was profound enough to transform my relationship with my past completely.

Regret vs. Wistfulness

This realization helped me understand the difference between regret and what I now recognize as wistfulness.

Regret is the painful wish that you had made different choices, accompanied by the belief that your life would be better if you had. It's rooted in dissatisfaction with your present reality and a desire to undo what cannot be undone. It also can be a temporary emotion. You can feel regretful without actually regretting a decision. You can also think about regretting something without actually regretting it.

What if I regret having a child?

Wistfulness, on the other hand, is a gentle acknowledgment of roads not taken. It's the ability to see that multiple paths could have brought joy and fulfillment, without needing to invalidate the path you did take. It's saying "that could have been beautiful too" rather than "I should have done that instead."

This is why I now find myself able to watch siblings play together and feel a twinge of sadness that my daughter won't have that specific experience, while simultaneously feeling at peace with our decision to have only one child. I can acknowledge the beauty of what might have been without feeling that I've made a mistake.

In defense of having an only child

The Misguided Comfort of "No Regrets"

You've likely heard people say "you'll never regret having another child" or something similar. This well-intentioned advice is actually confusing as hell.

Of course most parents don't regret their children's existence. But that's not the same as having no regrets about parenting choices, timing, circumstances, or even the decision to become a parent in the first place.

What these statements really mean is: "The love you'll feel for any child who comes into your life will be so transformative that it will overshadow any difficulties or doubts." And while that may often be true, it still confuses regret about circumstances with regret about a person's existence.

I truly believe if I had another child, I wouldn’t regret having them or their existence. But the barriers and logistics to have another child do not outweigh my desire for another one, which is why I am not having another.

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The Process of Becoming

What motherhood taught me is that we don't just make choices—we are made by them. Each decision changes us, shapes us, leads us to become someone slightly different than we would have been otherwise.

The person I am now couldn't regret my past choices even if I wanted to, because without those exact choices, this version of me wouldn't exist. And this version of me is the only one who gets to raise the specific child I have.

This doesn't mean I never feel sadness about aspects of my life or choices. But I've learned to distinguish between that sadness and true regret. I have learned I can feel regretful and not actually regret something. I can appreciate the paths I didn’t take without wishing I'd taken them instead.

The Freedom in Acceptance

There's tremendous freedom in this perspective. When we stop framing our past in terms of regret, we liberate ourselves from the impossible burden of perfection. We allow ourselves to be human, to make mistakes, to learn and grow.

And when we apply this perspective to our decisions about parenthood—whether to have children, how many to have, when to have them—we give ourselves permission to embrace the ambiguity inherent in such momentous choices.

No decision about parenthood comes with a guarantee. There will always be challenges, uncertainties, and moments of doubt. But what I've learned is that regret doesn't have to be one of them.

Instead of asking "Will I regret this?" perhaps the better question is "Can I embrace whatever comes from this choice, knowing it will change me in ways I cannot predict?"

Because that's what parenthood does. It changes you. It transforms not just your present and future, but also your relationship with your past.

Thank you so much for reading this far!! I would love to hear from you! What are your thoughts about regret?

Xx,

Amanda

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**To learn more about me and support my work, check out my podcast “Nuance Needed” , read my book, “NOT DRINKING TONIGHT” or if you are interested in therapy, check out my practice, Therapy for Women Center. We have therapists in person in Philadelphia or virtually in 42 states online.**

Samantha Dalton

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