The Fear of Regret

 Why I Hesitated to Take Risks, and How Failure Helped Me Grow

I’ve always been a careful person.
Not afraid of challenges, not even afraid of failure, really. But regret? That haunted me.

It wasn’t the fall that scared me. It was the moment after — when you’re lying there, staring up at everything you hoped for, and realizing it didn’t go the way you dreamed. It was the thoughts that crept in after:
"Did I make a mistake?"
"What if I had chosen differently?"
"Was this even worth it?"

For the longest time, I let that fear hold the steering wheel. I played it safe. I made the choices that felt smart, practical, low-risk. And for a while, it worked. I avoided disappointment — but I also avoided growth. I avoided pain — but I also avoided depth.

Until life pushed me anyway.

When Playing It Safe Starts to Hurt

I remember one opportunity in particular. A chance to start something new. Something bold. Something mine.

I had the vision, the drive, and the support. But I also had that voice in the back of my head:
"What if you regret this? What if it doesn’t work?"

So I hesitated. I stalled. I watched that window slowly close while I tried to decide if it was worth the risk. And when it was gone, the regret I had tried so hard to avoid found me anyway. Only now, it came with a heavy side of what could’ve been.

Turns out, inaction hurts too.

This realization changed something in me. Because for the first time, I saw that the cost of never trying was just as steep — maybe steeper — than the cost of failing.

The Psychology Behind Regret and Risk

It wasn’t just me — there's actual science behind this. Psychologists Thomas Gilovich and Victoria Medvec studied regret and found that while short-term regrets tend to revolve around actions that didn’t work out, our long-term regrets are mostly about the things we didn’t do (Gilovich & Medvec, 1995). The dreams we didn’t chase. The chances we didn’t take. The words we didn’t say.

That hit me hard. Because when I looked at my own story, I could see it was true. My deepest regrets weren’t about the risks that didn’t work out — they were about the ones I never gave myself a chance to try.

And when I did start taking risks, yes — some of them didn’t go as planned. But every one of those “failures” gave me something that staying still never could: growth, resilience, a deeper understanding of myself. 

How Failure Became My Teacher

There’s one moment I come back to often.

I took a leap — a real, terrifying, heart-racing one — on something that mattered deeply to me. It didn’t go the way I hoped. There were tears. Doubts. Sleepless nights where I questioned everything. But a few months later, I looked back and realized that even though I didn’t “succeed” in the traditional sense, I had changed.

I had more courage. I had clearer boundaries. I had a better sense of what I wanted — and what I didn’t. And maybe most importantly, I realized I survived. The world didn’t end. The regret didn’t crush me.

In fact, it lifted me. It clarified me. It gave me direction.

Psychologist Angela Duckworth calls this grit — the power of passion and perseverance in the face of difficulty. And it’s true. I wouldn’t have developed grit if I’d kept hiding from failure. I had to face it, feel it, and get back up anyway.

What I Know Now: The Risk Is Worth It

I still get scared. I still overthink. But I’ve stopped letting regret be the villain in my story.

Now, when I stand at a crossroads, I ask myself:
“Will I be proud that I tried?”
Not “Will this work?” Not “Will I regret it?” — just, “Will I be proud of who I became for trying?”

And that simple shift changes everything.

I’ve learned that becoming who we’re meant to be doesn’t happen in our comfort zones. It happens in the uncertainty. In the bold choices. In the risks we take, even when we’re afraid.

To Anyone Else Who’s Hesitating – the pain of failure is temporary. The growth is not.

And regret? It will show up either way. So why not earn it trying to become everything you’re capable of?

You won’t always get it right. But you will become.
And that’s more valuable than any guarantee.

–HumanityECW

Escaping Reality

 

Breathe When Life Feels Too Heavy

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

There are moments in life when the walls close in. When the air feels too thick to breathe. When even the things that once brought joy—laughter, connection, a favorite song—become muffled by the noise in your head. It's in these moments that I’ve found myself needing to escape reality—not to run away, but to survive. To find a space where I can just be without the expectations, the responsibilities, the pain.

I used to feel guilty about that need. About zoning out, taking long walks with my headphones on and no destination, getting lost in movies or books or simply lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. I called it laziness. Selfishness. Weakness. But I’ve learned—am still learning—that escape can be an act of self-preservation. Sometimes, it’s the only way I can cope.

Reality isn't always kind, and there is a certain heaviness that builds when you try to hold it all together for too long. Whether it's work pressure, family obligations, illness, grief, trauma, or just the exhausting grind of being human, the weight adds up. People will tell you to be strong, to push through, to "keep your head up." But what they often don't see is how hard it is to keep your head above water when you're already drowning inside.

For me, the breaking point never came with fanfare. It came quietly. Like waking up one day and realizing I hadn’t felt like myself in weeks. Like snapping at someone I love for something small, and then crying afterward because I didn’t recognize the person I was becoming. Like avoiding phone calls and texts because pretending to be okay was more exhausting than being alone.

The escape wasn’t always physical. Sometimes, it’s as simple as curling up with a blanket and turning the world off. Other times, it’s driving until I forget where I was going, or spending hours sketching meaningless doodles just to keep my hands busy. I’ve written letters I’ll never send. I’ve sat in silence and imagined lives that weren’t mine—ones where I felt lighter, freer, less burdened.

And you know what? That’s okay. Because those moments of escape gave me room to breathe. They helped me pause. They gave me enough space to figure out what I was feeling before those feelings consumed me entirely.

At the end of the day, reality will still be there. Eventually, I come back. We all do. But I return with a little more clarity. A little more strength. Sometimes even a new perspective. I don’t always have the answers, but I come back with just enough hope to keep going.

And that, I’ve come to believe, is more than enough.

–Humanity ECW

A Few Choice Words

The Life Raft That Gets You Home

The other night, I was watching 9-1-1—one of those episodes that sneaks up on you emotionally. I had planned to just unwind, zone out for a bit, but then came that moment. The one that stopped me mid-sip of tea and sat heavy on my chest.

It was after the tsunami, the trauma, after the heartbreak. Buck was still visibly shaken—lost, really. You could see it in the way he sat in silence, the way his eyes held too much, like he was carrying something none of us could see.

Then Eddie showed up with Christopher.

He didn’t come with answers. He didn’t come with a lecture. He simply brought his son, a piece of light in a very dark moment. And he looked Buck in the eye and offered a few choice words—encouraging, real, grounded in love. Words that didn’t fix everything, but reminded Buck that he mattered. That he wasn’t alone. That even if the world around him had fallen apart, there was still something solid in front of him. Someone who still believed in him.  

And in the voiceover, Buck said something I’ll never forget:  

"A few choice words can sometimes be the life raft that gets you home."

It got me. Because he was right.  

We often overlook how much our words can mean to someone else. We throw them around carelessly or hold them back out of fear, pride, or distraction. But what if the right words, spoken at the right time, are exactly what someone needs to find their way back to themselves?

Watching Buck sit there, bruised and broken, and then witnessing how those few words from Eddie helped anchor him—that hit home.  

It made me think about the times in my life when I was the one trying to stay afloat. When the world felt heavy and nothing made sense. When I felt like I was drifting and didn’t even know how to ask for help.  

And then someone—a friend, a stranger, a family member—would say something so simple, yet so powerful:  

_"You matter to me."_  

_"I’m proud of you."_  

_"You don’t have to go through this alone."_  

They didn’t even know they were saving me. They didn’t know their words were a life raft in that moment. But they were.

They helped me stay afloat. They gave me breath when everything felt suffocating. They helped me remember who I was when I had forgotten.  

And that’s what I saw in that scene with Buck, Eddie, and Christopher. That’s what made me cry—not just because it was beautiful storytelling, but because it was *true*. Because sometimes, when we’re lost, we don’t need someone to fix us. We don’t need a grand rescue. We just need someone to remind us that we’re not forgotten. That we still matter. That we’re still loved.  

We need those few choice words.  

So, if someone crosses your mind today—reach out. Send the message. Make the call. Write the note. Say the words. Don’t worry about being perfect. Don’t wait for the right moment. Your words could be the very thing that brings someone back to shore.  

They could be the life raft.  

They could be the reason someone makes it home.

Hustle & Hope: The Realities of Multiple Income Streams in Jamaica

I’ve always believed in the Jamaican spirit — 

RESOURCEFUL, 

RESILIENT, and 

RELENTLESS. 

In a country where the cost of living seems to creep higher with each passing month, most of us aren’t surviving on just one job anymore. We’re tutoring in the evenings, running a shop from our veranda, freelancing online, or doing weekend deliveries. Welcome to the reality of having multiple income sources in Jamaica.

But juggling all these hustles? It’s far from easy. Especially in today’s economic climate.

The Gig Life: Freedom or Fatigue?

A lot of us have found ourselves swept up in the gig economy. Driving for ride-share services, managing online businesses, or offering freelance skills. Senator Kavan Gayle recently called out how vulnerable this space really is, saying, “Workers in the gig economy face a high degree of uncertainty and lack the protection provided in traditional employment arrangements.” He’s pushing for legislation to protect gig workers, including better wages and benefits. Long overdue, if you ask me.

And he’s right — there’s a freedom in gig work, sure. But there’s also anxiety. Will this week’s income cover rent and groceries? What happens if my car breaks down or Digicel’s Wi-Fi acts up mid-project?

A Country on the Come-Up — 

With Caveats

To be fair, Jamaica has made some incredible progress. According to The Financial Times, “Jamaica is one of the few countries in the world that has halved its national debt in just over a decade,” bringing it down from 144% of GDP in 2012 to 72% by 2023. That’s huge. It’s the result of tough fiscal reforms and a real push from both political sides.

But let’s not get too carried away. The World Bank still notes, “Jamaica continues to face structural challenges, including low productivity, crime, and vulnerability to external shocks.” Anyone who watched the damage Hurricane Beryl did to farming communities in 2024 — wiping out crops and livelihoods — knows that one storm can undo a year’s worth of progress.

Digital Dreams and New Doors

There’s hope, though. The government is making a strong push toward the digital
economy, aiming to create 70,000 jobs by 2025. That’s not small talk. In their own words, the plan is to “develop a pipeline of digitally skilled workers to meet the needs of global service providers.” For people like me, who’ve been dabbling in content writing, social media management, or coding on the side, that’s music to our ears.

But with opportunity comes preparation. We can’t just hope to land these gigs — we’ve got to skill up, stay consistent, and fight for fair treatment along the way.

Taxes, Time & Tiredness

Here’s a not-so-fun fact: multiple incomes mean more complex taxes. The Jamaican government recently announced it’s rolling out a new payroll tax system to consolidate contributions, aiming for a single deduction by 2026. On paper, it sounds cleaner. But in practice? For folks juggling formal and informal work, it’s going to take serious clarity and probably some trial-and-error.

And then there’s the burnout. I’ve felt it. So have many others. There’s something about running three hustles and still barely making ends meet that wears on your soul. The dream of financial freedom sometimes feels more like financial fatigue.

So, Where Do We Go From Here?

I don’t have all the answers — I’m in this with you. What I know is this: Jamaicans have never been strangers to hard work. We’ve always found a way to tun yuh han’ mek fashion. But as we chase multiple streams of income, let’s push for systems that protect us too. Let’s build skills, yes — but also build balance. Let’s celebrate our small wins and support each other in the process.

After all, in this ever-changing world, the hustle may be real, but so is our hope.

–Humanity ECW

Resilience—The Quiet Power of Holding On

It’s a word we hear often, especially when life gets hard. But what does it really mean? According to the APA Dictionary of Psychology, resilience is “the process and outcome of successfully adapting to difficult or challenging life experiences”. It’s not about avoiding pain—it’s about navigating through it, learning from it, and somehow, still choosing to stand.

There are days when life doesn't feel like a journey—it feels like a battle. Not a loud, heroic battle with swords and speeches, but the quiet kind. The kind where you fight just to get out of bed. Where brushing your teeth feels like a win, and answering a simple text feels like too much.

It’s easy to feel like you're failing when you're struggling. The world often praises strength only when it’s shiny and triumphant—when it looks like productivity, success, or resilience wrapped in tidy packages. But real strength? The kind that matters most? It often looks invisible. It looks like choosing to breathe through the heaviness. Like showing up when you’re unraveling inside. Like holding on when every part of you wants to let go.

What makes it even harder is how, in those dark moments, it can feel like all your choices have been stripped away. You may feel stuck in a job you hate, trapped in grief you can't shake, isolated in a crowd of people who don’t seem to notice you’re barely holding it together.

But here's what I’ve learned—something I’m still learning, honestly: Even when everything feels out of your control, you still have one sacred, powerful choice.

You can choose to stay. You can choose to keep going, even if it’s just moment by moment. You can choose to believe that this isn't the end of your story.

That doesn’t mean pretending everything’s okay. It doesn't mean forcing yourself to be positive or productive or to “bounce back” quickly. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is sit with the pain and still choose not to give up.

And I want to be honest—it’s not easy. Sometimes, holding on feels pointless. You might ask, Why keep trying when nothing’s changing? Why keep hoping when it just hurts?

I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this: there is meaning in the holding on. Every time you choose to stay, to breathe, to cry, to reach out, you are writing a line in your story that says, “I am still here.” And sometimes that line is the bridge to a chapter you haven’t reached yet.

You may not see the ending yet, but your story isn't over. The fog you're in now won’t last forever, even if it feels endless. Healing rarely announces itself with fanfare. Often, it’s a slow unfolding—a quiet return to yourself. A gradual remembering that you are worthy, even in your brokenness.

So if today feels like too much, let it. Sit down. Cry if you need to. Breathe slowly. But please—don’t confuse your exhaustion with the absence of strength. You are stronger than you know. Not because you have it all together, but because you keep choosing to show up even when it hurts.

That is what makes you brave.

So hold on. Even if it’s just by a thread. Even if the only choice you can make today is to stay one more hour. That choice is enough. That choice is hope.

And hope, even the smallest kind, can change. Being human is hard—but it’s also beautiful, even in the mess. Especially in the mess.

–Humanity ECW