We Can’t Change the Past - But We Can Change How We Carry It

There’s a particular kind of regret and shame that seems to live very loudly in many neurodivergent minds.

Not the fleeting kind. Not the “oh well, lesson learned” kind.

I’m talking about the deep, sticky, looping kind - the kind that replays old choices, missed opportunities, things we said, didn’t say, didn’t do “right,” or didn’t do at all. The kind that makes you cringe years later. The kind that can spark massive ADHD regret spirals and leave you feeling like your entire life is one long list of if onlys.

I’ve noticed this a lot in ND spaces, and honestly… I’ve lived it.

Does anyone else feel this way in their life journey?

I’ve been through real hardship. Not just inconvenience or bad luck - real, shaping stuff. The kind that leaves marks. And those marks don’t just show up in memories, they show up in how I see myself. Over time, those experiences chipped away at my ability to love myself at all.

I don’t say that lightly.

I judge myself constantly. I struggle to give myself kindness. I don’t feel worthy of love - not really - because of my past and because of what others have said about me over the years. Those voices didn’t disappear when the situations ended. They moved in and set up camp in my head.

And here’s the part that feels uncomfortable to admit: I don’t think I’ll ever be truly “happy” in the way people usually mean it. What I am doing instead, is finding meaning and giving myself grace. For me, some of that meaning comes from helping others find connection, love themselves and love others.

I hope to help create spaces where other people don’t feel as alone and isolated as I did. That’s the pivot. Because we can’t change the past. No amount of rumination, replaying, or self-punishment will rewrite it. Trust me - if that worked, I’d be a very different person by now. What we can change is how we respond to it.

A lot of ND regret comes from a nervous system that learned things late, learned things the hard way, or learned things in environments that weren’t built for us. ADHD, autism, and other forms of neurodivergence often mean delayed insight - we understand ourselves after the damage is done.

After the burnout. After the relationship. After the missed chance.

And shame fills the gap.

Shame tells us:

• “You should have known better.”

• “Everyone else figured this out.”

• “This says something bad about who you are.”

But shame is a liar with a convincing tone.

One thing that’s helped me - just a little - is learning to separate responsibility from self-destruction.

Yes, I made mistakes.

Yes, I missed opportunities.

Yes, there are things I wish I could redo with the knowledge I have now.

But I didn’t have that knowledge then.

I was operating with the tools, regulation, and awareness I had at the time - in a body and brain doing its best to survive. And you know what? I can finally say this without flinching:

I did my damn best with what I had.

That doesn’t erase the grief. It doesn’t magically dissolve the shame. But it does stop me from tearing myself apart for things I couldn’t have known yet. It allows accountability and growth without punishment. And for someone like me - and maybe someone like you - that’s a huge shift.

Another small shift has been allowing the shame to exist without obeying it. I don’t always know how to soothe it away. Sometimes all I can do is notice it, name it, and remind myself: this feeling is old, but I’m here now.

Overstimulation makes all of this louder. When my nervous system is fried, the past comes back with a megaphone. So grounding matters - not in a perfect, Instagram way, but in tiny, practical ways like:

• stepping outside - nature is the best - touch ground!

• reducing input or listening to music in my headphones

• allowing rest without earning it - allow yourself to binge watch a TV show

• choosing softness where I can

And maybe the most important thing I’ve learned is this:

Even if I don’t fully love myself yet, I don’t have to punish myself anymore.

Meaning doesn’t have to come from being healed. It can come from being honest. From being present. From helping others feel seen when you know exactly how unseen it feels.

If this resonates with you - if you carry that heavy, ND-flavoured shame - you’re not weak, broken, or behind. You’re someone who survived, adapted, and kept going, even when the cost was high.

We can’t change the past. But we can stop letting it decide how gently we treat ourselves today.