People love to say that when you look back at your life, you regret the things you did not do, the opportunities you did not take, the places you did not go to, the risks you were too afraid to take, and the words you kept to yourself, but when I look back at my own life, I find that my biggest regrets are not really about the things I missed out on. I regret the times I did not say no when I already knew the answer should have been no.
It's a particular kind of regret that comes from doing something you never actually wanted to do, simply because you felt that you were supposed to want it, because everyone around you seemed to be doing it, because you did not want to appear boring, difficult, antisocial, uptight or overly sensitive, or because you were afraid that saying no would mean losing your place in someone's life. I know that feeling very well, and looking back, I wish I had trusted myself much earlier.
For years, I knew that drinking alcohol and going clubbing were not really my things, yet I still occasionally forced myself into those situations because I thought I was supposed to enjoy them. I would go because other people were going, because that was what people my age were doing, because I did not want to be the woman sitting at home while everyone else was having fun. And eventually I got my confirmation that I was right about myself all along. I did not suddenly discover some hidden love for drinking and nightlife. I just discovered that I had been overriding my own preferences for absolutely no good reason.
It was not worth it.
It's strangely liberating being able to say that now without feeling the need to justify it. I do not need to convince anyone that clubbing is terrible, that alcohol is terrible, or that everyone who enjoys those things is doing something wrong. If you love going out, dance until four in the morning and have the time of your life. I simply know that it was never something I needed in my own life, and I wish I had been confident enough to say, "No, that's not for me," without feeling like I needed a better explanation.
The same goes for drugs, although in that area I am actually grateful that I listened to myself.
When I was twelve or thirteen, I read Christiane F. Zoo Station: The Story of Christiane F., and that book stayed with me in a way that very few books have. The story of a young girl becoming involved with drugs, addiction, prostitution and a world that gradually becomes more dangerous and heartbreaking was absolutely devastating to me at that age. I remember the impression it left on me, because it made drugs feel very real rather than glamorous or rebellious or mysterious. I saw what could happen when curiosity, loneliness, boredom, peer pressure and the desire to belong meet something that can take control of your life.
So I made a decision very early that I did not want to try drugs.
And I mean any drugs.
I did not want to experiment just because someone told me it was fun. I did not want to try something because everyone else was doing it. I did not want to find out what it felt like. I did not need to experience something personally in order to decide that I did not want it in my life, and I am incredibly grateful to my younger self for understanding that.
There were opportunities, of course. Drugs are not some distant thing that only exists in movies or in certain neighborhoods or among certain types of people. They are everywhere, and throughout my life I have been around people who were using them, people who offered them to me, people who thought experimenting was completely normal, and there were certainly moments when I could have said yes.
I always said no.
That is one of the things I look back on and think, good for you, girl. You listened to yourself.
I wish I had done that with people too.
This is probably where my bigger regret lies, because I stayed in relationships and friendships with people I already knew were making me miserable. I knew certain people were not good for me. I knew that being around them left me anxious, drained, disappointed or questioning myself, yet I kept trying to make those relationships work because I had already invested so much time in them.
That is such a dangerous way to think about relationships, because time is not a reason to keep giving someone more of your life. Just because you have known someone for ten years does not mean they deserve an eleventh. Just because you have shared memories does not mean you need to create more. Just because you once loved someone does not mean you have to keep giving them access to you.
And yet, for a long time, I struggled with that. I think part of it came from being hungry for love and friendship, because when you have been lonely enough, you can become incredibly willing to tolerate things that you would never tell another woman to tolerate. You start thinking that having someone is better than having no one, even when that someone is actively making your life worse.
I wish I had understood earlier that loneliness is not a good enough reason to keep the wrong people around. I wish I had trusted the feeling in my stomach when I knew a person was not right for me. I wish I had the confidence to cut contact instead of endlessly analysing whether I was being too sensitive, too demanding, too unforgiving or too difficult.
I wish I had understood that saying no to someone does not make me cruel. It makes me responsible for my own life.
The older I get, the more I realise that "no" is one of the most important words a woman can learn to say without an essay attached to it. No, I do not want to go. No, I do not like this. No, I am not interested. No, I do not want to maintain this friendship. No, I am not comfortable with that. No, I do not want to spend my evening around people who make me feel terrible. No, I am not going to participate just because everyone else is.
Most importantly, no, I do not need to explain myself until the other person agrees with my decision.
I have never really experienced FOMO, the fear of missing out, and I think that has become even clearer to me as I have gotten older. I know what I like. I know what matters to me. I know what kind of environment makes me feel good and what kind of people I do not want around me. I am not particularly interested in forcing myself into situations just because other people are having fun there.
Why would I want to spend my limited time dealing with people who constantly bring chaos into my life? Why would I deliberately add more stress when life already gives us enough of it for free?
Most people are complicated, and I am not expecting everyone to be perfectly emotionally evolved, endlessly self-aware and easy to deal with. I am complicated too. We all are. But there is a difference between being human and repeatedly refusing to work on yourself while expecting everyone around you to absorb the consequences.
I have very little patience left for that.
I want people around me who are capable of reflecting on themselves, who can apologise, who can communicate, who do not turn every relationship into a power struggle, who are not constantly creating drama and then expecting everyone else to clean it up. I want relationships that feel peaceful rather than relationships I have to recover from. I don't think there is anything wrong with that.
In fact, I think one of the greatest privileges of getting older is becoming much less interested in being liked by everyone and much more interested in liking the life you are actually living.
There is a certain freedom that comes from no longer needing to attend every party, answer every message, maintain every friendship, accept every invitation, entertain every person or prove that you are fun enough, agreeable enough, easy enough or available enough.
You begin to realise that missing out is not always a loss. There are things I have missed out on that I am genuinely grateful for. I did not miss out on drugs. I avoided them. I did not miss out on a magical nightlife experience. I discovered that I did not particularly want one. I did not miss out by leaving certain people behind. I would have missed out on myself if I had stayed.
That is the lesson I wish I could give my younger self. You do not have to try everything to know that you do not want it. You do not have to stay somewhere until you are completely destroyed before you are allowed to leave. You do not need ten years of evidence before you can admit that someone is bad for you. You do not need to keep investing in something simply because you have already invested so much.
You are allowed to say no at the first uncomfortable feeling. You are allowed to change your mind. You are allowed to disappoint people. You are allowed to walk away. You are allowed to protect your peace before you have a dramatic reason for doing so.
When I look back at my life now, I do not wish I had done more simply for the sake of having more stories to tell. I wish I had trusted myself more. I wish I had listened to the quiet little voice that already knew what I wanted, what I did not want, who was good for me and who was not.
Maybe the things we regret not doing are not always adventures we failed to have. Maybe they are boundaries we failed to set. Maybe they are people we failed to leave. Maybe they are invitations we accepted when our whole body was telling us no. Maybe growing up is learning that saying no does not mean you are missing out on life.
It means you are finally choosing your own.
Thankful for your presence, Neja
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