These days it’s become almost trendy to say you have no regrets.

I even have it tattooed on my wrist.

But the truth is, I have a lot of regrets, especially when it comes to my writing career.

They say regrets are harmful, because you can never go back, so you might as well move forward. But if we never look back, then how can we learn from our mistakes?

My biggest regret is not putting my writing first. From the time I was five years old, I knew I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. I was already writing books, such as they were.

After I graduated from high school, I didn’t get into the college I wanted immediately, so I worked as a waitress for a year in a small Northern community. Half of the kitchen table in my furnished apartment was for eating, the other half for writing. Did I write that year? Not a word, except maybe some poetry. Too caught up in interpersonal drama.

Then I got into college, a compressed program that taught journalism, advertising, public relations, and broadcasting. I was writing constantly, but for instructors, not myself. Though I did manage to finish a behemoth of a first novel in the summer between my first and second year for my final project. My advisor was too busy to read it–no one expected a student to come back with a 500-page, single-spaced novel. It’s too bad. I really could have used the guidance.

Once I became a journalist, that took over. I loved it, I was doing good work, and–most importantly–helping people. It was several years before I realized my mistake. I never should have built a career around writing if I wanted to be a novelist. It was too tough to carve out room and creative energy for both.

My writing career–the one I desperately wanted–suffered from lack of time and competing priorities. After getting an agent, the despair from having to fire her and having her completely kill the potential of my first book took years to recover from. Once I started working in public relations and communications, I wrote before work and stole time on breaks to edit and query agents, but the going was slow.

Even when I finally gave myself three years to work solely on my own writing by remortgaging my home, I couldn’t resist the lure of a steady paycheck. I became a teacher within the first year.

And now here I am, in what may be the final chapter of my life, writing from another kitchen table, this time in a Mexican fishing village. I sold and donated almost everything I owned to get here and buy myself time. Every now and then, the lure of the paycheck still beckons. I won’t lie–this is terrifying sometimes, not knowing when or if I’ll succeed.

But despite my occasional lapses of applying for part-time jobs (twice), I’m determined to stick this out and see where it goes. I don’t regret the experiences I had teaching international students, or handling public relations for a museum, or covering everything under the sun as a journalist. I’ve had incredible opportunities and met some amazing people.

But if I could go back in time, I’d return to that cold kitchen in Thompson, Manitoba, clear the dirty dishes from one side of the table, sit down at the other, and write.

If you want to help me succeed in achieving my crazy writing dreams in Mexico, you can check out my books here. Thanks so much for reading!

The purpose of the Insecure Writers’ Support Group is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds. To see a full list of IWSG authors, click here.