The Weight of Words

Time has a way of holding a mirror to our choices, revealing the weight of moments we can never reclaim.

Some regrets settle into your bones, heavy and unyielding, like stones you carry for years. For me, one such regret stems from words I wrote long ago on this very website--a blog post that, in a moment of reckless creativity, spun a narrative that wasn't true. I exaggerated details, painting someone in a harsh, unfair light for the sake of theatrical effect. But those words, now fossilized in the minds of many, have taken on a life of their own, referenced and misused in ways I never foresaw. They've become a weapon I didn't intend to forge, and the guilt of that lingers.

I think often of the person I wrote about, wondering how my words landed in their world. Did they read them and feel betrayed? Did they carry the sting of being misrepresented, their story distorted for effect? I'll never know the full impact, but I know I failed them. I failed myself, too, letting ego and a desire for attention override care for truth. Maya Angelou's words echo in my mind: "I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." That truth cuts deep. My post may fade from memory, but the feelings it stirred likely linger in ways I can't undo.

Regret is a relentless teacher, forcing you to face the ripples of your choices. I've replayed that moment countless times, wishing I'd paused to consider the human on the other side of my words. I wish I'd chosen honesty over hyperbole, kindness over drama. The internet doesn't forget, but it also doesn't absolve. Those words are out there, a permanent mark of a mistake I can't erase. Yet, I've learned from it. I've learned to wield words with care, to ask who they might touch before they leave my hands. I've learned that stories, even those meant to covey strong emotion and thought, carry real weight.

There are billions of us in this world, each with moments we wish we could redo--a conversation, a decision, a silence, or, like mine, a post that went too far. Regret shows us where we’ve been, not where we’re going. I can’t change what I wrote, but I can choose what happens today. If we all let our regrets shape us into kinder, more thoughtful people, this world, shared by billions, would be a better place.