How to Let Go of Past Parenting Regrets and Show Up for Your Kids Right Now
I was wiping sticky apple juice off the kitchen counter last Tuesday when my 12-year-old Milo leaned against the fridge, Switch controller in hand, and asked if I’d play a quick round of Mario Kart with him. I wiped my hands on my jeans and said yes, which would have been unheard of five years ago. Back then, I’d have brushed him off, said I had too much work to do, too many dishes to put away, too many things that felt more important at the time.
As we sat down on the couch, I couldn’t help but think of the science museum trip from when he was 9. I’d just taken on a bigger role at work, and I brought my laptop with me, checking emails every five minutes while Milo dragged me from exhibit to exhibit. When he stopped at the dinosaur dig pit, the one he’d begged me for weeks to go see, I checked my watch and said we had to leave early to get back to a meeting. He didn’t argue. Just zipped up his jacket and followed me out to the car. I glanced back once in the driveway and saw him wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his new dinosaur t-shirt. I’ve thought about that day at least once a month ever since.
I know I’m not the only one. Parents I talk to all carry these little (and sometimes big) moments we can’t undo. The recital we missed because we got stuck at work. The time we yelled over a broken mug that didn’t even matter. The years we spent too stressed or too tired to get down on the floor and play. I used to lie awake at night turning these moments over, thinking I’d messed up my kid’s childhood, that I couldn’t ever get those years back. What good is showing up now if I already missed the important parts?
That night, after I’d blue-shelled him three times in a row and he’d come back to beat me on the last lap, he was laughing so hard he snort-laughed, which he still does when he’s really amused. I don’t know what made me say it, but I blurted, “I’m sorry I was so busy and grumpy all the time when you were little. I missed a lot of stuff.” He stopped wiping his controller off on his sweatpants and looked at me like I’d just said something really weird. “I don’t remember that,” he said. “Remember when we got ice cream after school last month and it started pouring and we had to run to the car and my whole mint chocolate chip fell on the asphalt? That was way more memorable.”
I walked away from that conversation thinking about how much space my regret takes up that my kid doesn’t even know exists. Over the last couple of years, I’ve tried a few small things that keep me from getting stuck in the past, and they don’t require any big life overhauls. First, when I feel that old twist of regret, I don’t try to push it away or tell myself I’m being silly. I just name it out loud (quietly, to myself) – “That was a hard day, and I messed up” – and then I ask one question: What does this person need from me right now? It’s a 10-second check-in that yanks me out of the past and back to whatever’s in front of me. Last week, for example, I was waiting for Milo to get out of soccer practice and started spiraling about all the practices I missed when he was 8 and 9. Instead of standing there rehashing old mistakes, I walked over to the concession stand and bought his favorite blue Gatorade, the kind with extra sugar that I usually say no to. That was it. That was all I needed to do right then.
Another thing that works for me: If the regret feels big enough, you can say something about it to your kid, but you don’t have to make it a big, heavy speech that puts them in the position of comforting you. When I apologized to Milo, I didn’t go into the whole story about how stressed I was at work, how I’ve felt guilty for three years. I just said a quick, simple sorry, and left it at that. It cleared the air for me, and it didn’t burden him. A lot of people say you shouldn’t apologize because your kid doesn’t remember, but I think it’s okay, as long as you keep it small.
I also stopped trying to “make up” for the past by overdoing it now. Early on, when I cut back my work hours, I tried to say yes to everything – every sleepover, every trip to the arcade, every new toy he asked for – because I felt like I owed it to him. I ended up exhausted and resentful, and it didn’t fix anything. Now, I just aim for one small, unplanned 10-minute interaction a day. It’s playing Mario Kart, or sitting next to him while he watches YouTube, or listening to him rant about a bad call at soccer. It doesn’t have to be a big, fancy memory. It just has to be now.
I still have bad days. Some nights I still lie awake and think about that science museum trip, or all the bedtime stories I skipped because I was too tired, or the time I missed his first elementary school play because of a work conference. There’s no undoing any of that. I can’t get those years back, and I don’t think there’s any big lesson that makes all the regret go away. Last night, I was folding laundry and found that old dinosaur t-shirt, the one he got that day at the museum, faded and too small now. I held it for a minute, felt that old twist in my chest, then I folded it and put it in the donate pile. Then I walked out to the living room, where Milo was sitting on the couch binging Minecraft build tutorials, and I sat down next to him for five minutes. I didn’t say anything. I just watched him point out what the guy in the video was doing, and nodded when he asked if I thought that was a cool design. It’s not fixing the past. It’s just making the most of what we have right now, one small moment at a time. Some days that’s all I can do, and that’s okay.
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