This is my entry to @zord189’s weekly contest! The theme this week is [Born Again](https://steempeak.com/hive-114105/@zord189/powerhousecreatives-contest-or-born-again-contest-details), and the idea is to paint a picture of the ‘you’ that you might have been. Here is our chance to visit our childhood again, but this time we have some control. We can choose how it all plays out. Note: All images in this post are from Pixabay.

Looking Back, Letting Go of Regret

![kid1241817_640.jpg](https://files.steempeak.com/file/steempeak/jayna/D6pvn7EJ-kid-1241817_640.jpg) There I am at two years old. We are living on “Idaho Street,” which forever after, when I survive being run over by a truck and we move away, is how we describe that neighborhood - as if Idaho Street is a small town where there are characters like in old westerns and people’s memories seem to be distilled. That is real. What happens in my pretend version is similar to reality, because in the pretend version I see my sisters and my brother playing across the street and I want to go play too, but in this version as I begin to go down the steps (I was only 2, and cannot have been fast), my mother notices. She stops me. “No, Jayna! I know you want to go play with them, but you’re too little.” Not only does she say goodbye to her friend on the phone, but she also sets down her cigarette. And then she locks the screen door up high, out of my reach. I never get hit by that truck. And I don’t spend my life wondering if the driver is okay. Because in the real version, he was crying and hating himself and he believed he had killed a child. And there I am at 6 years old. One of the kids (there are five of us) has done something wrong. And it is not me. I shake my head, and the tears are running down my face and I am saying “No, I didn’t do it.” But no one takes the blame. No one owns up. And the next thing I know, my pants are down and I am being whipped by my father’s belt for something I did not do. That is real. In my pretend version, we are all laughing about whatever silly thing happened that seems so nonsensical now I can’t even remember it. It doesn’t matter. It’s not worth a lifetime of feeling the humiliation of being beaten. Instead we are laughing that something bad happened, and whoever did it owns up and says “Oh gosh, that was me. Sorry!” And it does not become burned into my consciousness in any way. In fact, in the pretend version, there is no blame in our family. We care more about people feeling loved, respected and worthy than about making anyone pay. Then I am 8 years old, and it is Valentine’s Day. The most amazing thing has happened. Although we are very very poor, and the most exotic thing I ever find in my cold bagged lunch is a sack of dried raisins, today is different. Today I have received from my mother a special chocolate heart wrapped in red foil. I have never owned anything so glorious, and I am smitten. To savor it, I place it in my school desk for later. This is real. In my pretend version, the horrible thing that happened next does not happen. I do not return from recess, open my school desk and find that some boy has taken my special red foil heart, placed it on the ground and stamped it to smithereens. No, instead I return from recess and pick up my special foil heart which is still perfectly intact, and I step into the cloak room where a person could sometimes get a moment of privacy, and I unwrap it and savor every little morsel and know that I am loved and I don’t have to tell my mother I didn’t get to enjoy the special little treat she got for me. ![sisters931131_640.jpg](https://files.steempeak.com/file/steempeak/jayna/dfgYT5Ra-sisters-931131_640.jpg) Then it is summer and my cousin Marianne is visiting from California. She is more special to me than air, like my sisters and brother but with an extra touch of mischief, and we stay up late into the night talking and laughing. We are like one person with the same sensibilities and love of laughter. We are 12 years old, and our whole lives are ahead of us. This is real. In my pretend version, though I am only 12 years old, I understand that she is in more pain than a person should ever experience at that age. I see it for what it is. I understand that her brother’s death and her parents’ divorce separate us, and that we are not in perfect step with one another. Somehow, understanding these things, I am able to stop the progression of what is to come. I am able to help her find a way to stop suffering and to harness all the goodness of life. ![sad2042536_640.jpg](https://files.steempeak.com/file/steempeak/jayna/s81e4NFa-sad-2042536_640.jpg) And then I am 17, and as anst-ridden as any teen can be. My mother is my persecutor, controlling me and trying to get me to bend to her will. I know she loves me, but she never says. I know she admires all I do, but she never says. She does not come to my soccer games. She does not applaud my straight A’s. When I tell her my career goals, she shoots them down. And then I spend my life wondering if that was what I should have done and feeling a little sad that I let my mother’s disapproval get in the way. This is real. In my pretend version of age 17, she and I are sitting together getting some ice cream after she has just watched me play soccer and score two goals. She tells me how well I played, and that she is so proud of how well I’m doing in school. She even tells me that she loves me. And when I tell her what I want to do with my life, she says, “How interesting! How about if we find someone who is doing that kind of work so you can learn more about it?” And then I explore that path and find that it is the perfect career for me, and become successful at an early age, which of course affects everything - my self-esteem, my friendships, my ability to save money for the fun things in life and put money into investments so I don’t have to spend my life fretting about retirement. ![woman918896_640.jpg](https://files.steempeak.com/file/steempeak/jayna/EGDVvyaF-woman-918896_640.jpg) And there I am at age 25. I begin dating someone who seems to have power over me, in spite of all of his talk about equality and the rights of women. When he gets mad, he shouts. When he feels bad for shouting, he becomes petulant and begs for forgiveness. We buy a house, get a dog, start living like a married couple. He makes me sell my car (why do we need more than one?), which means I am dependent upon him for everything. I cannot go anywhere on my own. When we go to parties, he deftly puts me down, keeps me in my place. If I laugh and enjoy myself, later he is angry that I was so loud and made such a fool of myself. I am thin but he tells me I’m fat. When he is sick, I have to be at his beck and call as if I’m tending to a child. When I am sick he talks in a sickly sweet voice, mocking - “Poor, poor Jayna!” This is real. In my pretend version, I have not spent my youth under the control of my mother, and am alarmed by this person trying to control me as it is a completely foreign idea - not an almost comfortable and familiar experience. Our relationship lasts a very short while, instead of seven years. I am quickly done. I move on. I get together with my future husband and the love of my life. At 35, I meet someone incredibly charismatic who shows me an entrepreneurial business model that intrigues me. It seems like the perfect part time business for a mother with young kids. There are no guarantees, but the way my new friend and her business associates talk about the business building aspect of this venture, I feel like it’s so easy! Why wouldn’t anyone be successful in a short time? Meanwhile, I am also running a marketing communications business, so I split my time between these jobs, never getting a steady paycheck. I spend the next seven years investing my time and money and trying to make it work, and finally admit defeat. This is real. In my pretend version, I immediately recognize the business for what it is. You have to buy products to support the system and you have to recruit other people who want to do the same. It’s obvious that this is not for me. I have young children and I want to make sure we have plenty of resources for their food, clothing, education and family vacations, and instead of fooling myself that I can be a successful stay home mom with two jobs where I’m sweating bullets and not making enough money, I simply get a corporate job that is both fulfilling and lucrative. ![family1517179_640.jpg](https://files.steempeak.com/file/steempeak/jayna/Pfu2SLFI-family-1517179_640.jpg) And then I am 45, and I realize that my cousin Marianne and I have diverged completely. I have a great marriage and a beautiful family. She has had two children from two marriages, both of which ended in divorce, and she moves through a succession of painful, heart-wrenching relationships that cause her unbearable pain on top of all of her internal suffering. She calls me, drunk and crying, and we talk. I hope I am somehow helping, but she repeats herself, circling, circling. This is real. In my pretend version, I find her the help she needs. I have plenty of money because in my pretend life I lost no time becoming a professional at what I was meant to do. I have money and time to spare. I uproot my life. I do whatever it takes to save her, and to help her see that her life is worth caring for. She recovers, and turns her amazing gifts of laughter and storytelling into something that brings other people joy. She works with children and loves every minute of it, and she is healed. Everyone loves her, as she was meant to be loved, because she brings so much wonder and life to every situation. That is as far as I will go with my “born again” fantasy. I don’t live my life in regret, but it is a really interesting exercise to imagine forks in the road, and taking the other path. I feel very fortunate to have a good life, a good job, a wonderful husband and kids who are growing up to be amazing, beautiful people with great careers. My cousin Marianne is no longer with us. I got the call one night that she had quietly taken a bottle of booze with her to go take a bath. She must have been very tired, and must have had a lot to drink. Slowly, with her roommate downstairs and unaware of it, she slipped unconscious and down into the water. And we lost her. She was a beautiful, bright, funny person with an amazing singing voice and a way of lighting up a room. She was like a sister to me. And I think I have never known anyone who experienced as much heart-wrenching sadness as she did. I am thankful that I knew her, and I am thankful that she is no longer in pain. ![people3818490_640.jpg](https://files.steempeak.com/file/steempeak/jayna/qKZDGfwg-people-3818490_640.jpg) We grew up in an era and family line where one of the greatest fears of our parents was spoiling us. And so our parents never uttered the words “I love you.” They rarely hugged us and were quick to judge. Somehow I survived this, and in fact made up with my parents and forgave them for all of their weird parenting nonsense and even got them to say “Love you too” before they died. And we had some wonderful times together that healed the troubled past. But for Marianne the damage was mortally deep. Her family suffered the terrible loss of her brother. And her parents’ marriage couldn’t survive that crushing blow. And the spiral began. We all have people in our lives who need more love, more reassurance. Though I was not able to alter my cousin’s course, I feel strongly that we do have a chance, and that for people with mental illness there is hope if they receive care and support, and it is recognized for what it is. If I have one regret, it is that instead of feeling powerless and like all the things I tried were not getting anywhere, that I had felt compelled to continue trying. In my heart I am fairly certain it wouldn’t have made a difference, but now I will never know. Thank you so much for reading my entry! Animated signature

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