I have been diving in to the book, Atlas of the Heart, by Brene Brown with my Live Brave therapy group. Last week, a line about regret jumped out at me. Brene wrote, “In our work, we find that what people regret most are our failures of courage, whether it’s the courage to be kinder, to show up, to say how we feel, to set boundaries, to be good to ourselves, to say yes to something scary.” That resonated with me. But sitting with it, I realize that what I regret most in my life has been my empathetic misses with the people I love.

My mother was a few weeks from the end of her life when she said to me, “I feel sad when I think about someone else living in this home.” My response was about the potential for others to love this home as much as she did. I cringe when I think about the gap between what she needed to hear and the words I offered. The truth is my mother and I had shared that home for most of my childhood. And while my childhood had its painful times, this home was a part of my story. And my empathetic miss was not because I did not understand her pain. It was that it mirrored my own pain. My truth is that I had lost my father months earlier and I could not tolerate the grief of my mother’s impending death and the loss of our family home. And so, I used some toxic positivity to shut down my mother’s heartache. And as a result, I clamped down on my pain too. This did not occur because I was aware of my anguish. In fact, I would argue it occurred because I was out of touch with all the emotional pain I was carrying within me.

Fast forward to my own journey with cancer, which started six and a half years after my mother’s ended. For the past eleven years, as I have travelled this journey, I have been on the receiving end of empathetic misses. While they sting when they land, I know the source is the person’s distress in the face of mine. And I feel compassion for their experience.

Brene also wrote in her book, “To live without regret is to believe we have nothing to learn, no amends to make, and no opportunity to be braver with our lives.” It is my deepest hope, that reflecting on that spring day with my mother helps me to see who I want to be and how I want to show up for the people I love. And while painful to do, I hope I can look at my regret clearly in the face. And as I do, I will say, “Not today. Today I will feel my pain and help others to honor their own.”

Be well, my dear readers.