Regrets

Kate Korneeva

 

You might also remember the phrase “No regrets, they don’t work” from the eponymous Robbie Williams song.  I do. But now it’s my personal time to regret and shed tears over the things I did wrong. There are a few things. And there are some among them that are more distressing. All the rest seem less fatal, less painful. I am speaking about the mistakes I made as a mother.  Of course, I was neither perfect, nor ideal, like all of us. I know all mothers make mistakes, and this is life. And we all know the road to hell is paved with good intensions.

When I reached my twenties, it happened like the click of a switch – I wanted to have a baby. Never before that moment had I thought about having children, becoming a mom, parenthood or anything related to the subject. I remember I started dreaming of being a mother. My imagination provided me with the nice scenes: I saw myself sitting with a little baby on my knees, kissing and hugging him, looking at him with my eyes full of love and tenderness. I wanted nothing else. That was how I imagined motherhood, me in the future.

But at exactly that time, I had some medical issues that could prevent me from becoming a mother. I suffered horribly from the inability to become pregnant. Everything on Earth seemed senseless to me if I couldn’t become a mother. I really had a hard time trying to comfort myself and find other values beyond biological reproduction. It was despair. Pure. I believe there is much more to pregnancy than just the biological aspect: Giving birth and becoming a mother is something essential for women. I remember how unbearable it was to know that I would never become one. Pain and the inability to change the situation overwhelmed me. I suffered. It took me about two years to calm down and accept it. I remember I was driving through the city center when the idea crossed my mind that I could probably be of some use to this world in some other way. That was the milestone of acceptance, humility and resignation to life, God, my way and my destiny. It was true and came from inside. It wasn’t forced or imposed upon me. It was genuine.

It was also at this time that I was falling in love with… the future father of my child. I was immersed in the relationship, him and me…

I still think that my son is the gift of God to me. I know that there is… love on the other side of the “gift.” I simply fell in love with the father of my son. And I forgot, literally forgot, about being afraid of and waiting for my symptoms to arrive. Just that. I was so involved in the relationship that I forgot and… relaxed. I really enjoyed the time I had, myself, my state and my partner. When we women feel safe, satisfied and relaxed, any of our inner dreams may come true. Any. Believe me. I know what I’m talking about.

I had dreamed of becoming a mother since my twenties. So, it had taken a long time to get pregnant. The pregnancy period, actually, was definitely the best time I ever had in my life. It was truly amazing. Just imagine a young woman in love and finally feeling a baby moving inside her. That was the happiness! I remember one episode when I indeed felt how powerful and important I was, and all women are because we, women, bring life into this world. We carry and give birth to children. It was an insight. I felt like I wasn’t standing on the ground, like all the rest was not so important. There was not a hint of dominance or superiority. There was a lot of dignity and respect in that feeling. At that moment I understood why men had to compete and prove to themselves and others that they were worthy. We, women, don’t have to prove anything to anybody because we give birth to new lives. Genuinely, women don’t have to compete, we are meant to cooperate and support each other. And of course, we need to be protected by men to feel safe, calm and balanced. We need men safeguarding us as the sources of life, men preserving life itself. So at that moment I felt relaxed and balanced. I was simply happy.

Everything changed right after I gave birth to Simon. My partner showed his real face and character. He changed. And I stumbled. His behavior influenced me greatly – I lost myself; I left my path, and started making mistakes. I drifted into the deep well of pain, guilt and madness. I couldn’t follow my dream of just kissing and hugging my baby and not taking to heart the other events happening in my life just because life is too short and children grow fast, and we have to catch time. But I couldn’t. I failed at it.  And I regret that it wasn’t like that. I know it couldn’t be. Nobody can be the perfect mother. Neither could I. We are all just humans. We all make mistakes. I really regret not feeling and understanding the importance of the role of mother I’d been given. I wish I knew the things I know now about children, about how much parents and especially mothers influence the identity and future of our babies. I wish I knew how deep all our emotions, behavior and mindsets are imprinted and projected onto our sons and daughters when they are infants, babies and toddlers. The extent to which we are responsible for our children is so enormous that it simply cannot be measured. When they are small, they are so fragile and vulnerable. We all, as parents, are entrusted with creatures to whom we, their parents, are simply gods, universes, and just EVERYTHING.  I wish I knew the things I’ve learned, but I didn’t. Now, it’s too late. I feel guilty for not knowing, for following the wrong path and making mistakes which I at least dared to recognize and correct if it was still possible. I am so sorry and I still cry. We invite our children to this world, give birth to them and… we are sometimes not qualified enough for this mission. At least I was definitely not. I am so sorry, so desperately sorry for not having wisdom and not listening to my inner voice telling me when I did something wrong. I love my son so much. He is my sun, my world, my universe, my everything. How could I make so many mistakes as his mother? How? Why? I myself was too childish and full of so much unrevealed and overwhelming pain that I wasn’t aware of. Several years passed before I could take myself by the hair and drag myself out of the dark abyss into light, life and understanding.

What now? Now I cry and regret. I cannot forgive myself for being too demanding and strict to my little son. I thought that I should become a strict father to him because I was a single parent, and if I were too soft and tender to him, he would grow up spineless, defenseless, milk-and-water…  I was terribly, terribly wrong. I had good intentions. I just wanted to make a man out of him. I thought that was the best way to do it. I wanted him to become a real masculine adult. But actually, I tried to make him become a perfect being with the attributes belonging to a partner I had never had and will never ever meet because no human is perfect. That was the trick. And now I know it. I wish I had known it at that time. So, sometimes I have my personal hell here, on Earth, and right now, for several years, I have faced the truth and gained some knowledge. Maybe I am too strict with myself. Will I ever forgive myself? I hope so.

I wish I had a time machine so I could go back to that period and live it differently. Do you want to know what I would do differently? I would kiss and hug my son no matter what was happening around me, no matter who acted how. Instead of falling deep into despair and being unable to accept the facts, I would try to live out the feelings and free myself from the burden of anger and despair. I would ask for help to heal my wounds. I would bring my trauma to professionals to give my baby a more self-aware and healthy mother capable of bringing more light, love and tenderness to his childhood and my motherhood. That is what I would have done if I could.

No time machine. No chance to change the past. All I have and can do is live my life now in a more conscientious, responsible and happy manner. And so I will make my son happier too.

And there is one more thing I have to share with you. He is partly accountable for everything that has happened and is happening to our son, although he doesn’t do anything, ignores him, stays away, doesn’t call or come, doesn’t communicate, discuss, ask… I am not the only parent. He is also a parent, his father, whatever he does or doesn’t do. We may not be together, yet we are both still the parents of Simon. Although he has my last name, Simon is your son too. Whatever happens, there is his contribution even if he doesn’t contribute at all. It doesn’t matter because we will always be the parents. I didn’t realize that before. For a long time, I took full responsibility. That was terribly wrong. So, my dear, take your share of the responsibility for our son. I am giving it back to you, although you may not be able to or want to take it. Let’s share it and make it fair.

There is another thing I regret. It’s a bit ambiguous, I know. I know because there are two sides to the coin. Still, I sometimes regret that I chose that exact father for my son. My poor little boy deserves a better father, a more loving one, more attentive and close. Why? Why has he got him as a dad? I know he needs more love, more time and attention, more guidance and more to see, learn and follow in order to become a man. Following parents is so essential for children. They need patterns to learn and reproduce in their lives. But here I can do nothing else. I cannot change him. He is what he is and will always remain. I don’t have a time machine to go back to the past and stop myself from going too deep into that relationship. The other side of the coin is destiny, as I call it. Who knows, maybe, if I hadn’t met him, I wouldn’t have become a mother? What if I fell in love with somebody else and I didn’t have such a beautiful son? It’s not that easy.

Sometimes I accept this fact, but sometimes I object. It hurts me deeply when he doesn’t show up as a father. It hurts me when he doesn’t pay attention to our son, when he seems to be cold-blooded. And it hurts me most when I see my son suffering from his father’s negligence and indifference. These two things seem the most painful to me. I really suffer from watching what my son has to go through all this time. It is hard to recognize that. I have cried an ocean of tears feeling this pain as a mother. I’ve been trying to find answers to millions of questions why: Why isn’t he the father I want my son to have? Why doesn’t he realize how important he is and how much our son needs him? Why is he not a good and caring father?… and many, many others. It took me years before I found the answer: despite having three children already, he has yet to become a father. Yes, that’s it. Three women gave birth to his three children, and it means almost nothing. This level, the level of fatherhood, has not been passed and not even been entered by him! He is not yet a father. This hurts me. I am so sorry for that. And again, I can do nothing. I cannot change it and cannot alter him. Until I accept this and obey, I will go back to my regrets about my son having this father. And I know that at the time I was unable to find a different person for a relationship and a child. I was different. I was exactly the person to choose exactly that partner. No time machine. Only regrets.

I now know for sure I have a fear of close relationships. I don’t feel it in the sense of being scared or frightened. It is deep in my mind and unconsciousness. In my case, it is about not having a relationship with a man; it is about not having sex because having sex can result in a relationship. And a relationship can be dangerous because it can end up with… pain. I don’t want to break up again and feel the immense pain I went through for so long and felt so deeply. So, I am single. I desperately want it to be different, but deep inside I am very sad because I don’t believe that I can be a happy woman. I don’t believe that I am worthy of being a woman for my man. And the true reason is that I feel I am bad, not good enough for a good man. Nobody can embrace me and hug. Psychotherapists will say that it looks like I’m interested in a parent rather than a partner. Yes, sure, I want to have an ideal partner; read it as I want a parental relationship with a parental figure that will accept me all over, love me all over, and the two of us will be happy. And I am afraid of troubles, mismatching, misunderstanding, rejection and a breakup. This is the worst, a painful breakup. So, I avoid. I avoid getting too close, too deep; I even avoid approaching and getting acquainted. Of course, this is the road to nowhere, yes, that’s it and it’s clear. But for now, I can do nothing else. And, frankly speaking, I consider myself a loser because I have never been married and I am single now. I know it’s not true, but it feels like I’ve always been alone and lonely, and nobody has ever cared about me. It comes from both my childhood and the experience with my son’s father.

And I really feel compassion for that girl who had to go through pain, denial and despair many years ago, who survived, managed to overcome, but lost so much along that way. She was so kind, so beautiful and so vulnerable; she was not taught to ask for help and take proper care of herself. She was so not ready for that kind of breakup.

A lot changed from that time, but I sometimes still regret she had to go through that. It was a tough lesson. When looking at the pictures of that time where she was smiling sitting next to him and looking at him with love, I cried for myself so many times. And I regret I had to pass through all those things. If I had a time machine, I would go back and tell myself to pay less attention to the things, I would hug myself, cry alone day and night, comforting myself and explaining the reasons why. I may just regret and feel sorry for that experience I had to pass through.

There is one more confession – something I regret and feel sad about. I must admit that I regret being single during my best years. (What if my best years are yet to come?..) I am now 41 and I feel I am getting older and my body is changing, I notice signs of aging and it makes me feel sad, like I’ve been losing my youth and best years of my life. Like, in being single, I’ve been just wasting my life. I feel pain when I think that I could have had a husband, a real partner, and could have been a woman for my man. But I know I couldn’t. It did not happen, and each day I have less and less time ahead, I have fewer chances to meet a person and live together, heading into the sunset together.

I regret I am a mother of only one child, I will not probably become a mother of two. I wish I had one son and another child, a daughter or another son. But time is passing every minute, every day the chances decrease.

It’s a strange phenomenon when somebody looks like they’re reading your thoughts. Yesterday evening my son asked me what I would change if I were younger and didn’t have him. Yesterday I worked on this text. Did he know that? Of course not. Did he feel it? I don’t know.

Despite all my regrets, I would change nothing but one thing – I would treat my little son in a more responsible way – with more patience, more tender care, more acceptance, more kisses and hugs appreciating and cherishing the mother-and-child union. I would live through my motherhood and his childhood with more wisdom as I do it now. This is what I wish for all of us – women and men – love, feeling love, cherishing what is between you and the ones you love because it will end for all of us one day anyway.