“Would you go back and change anything if you could?”

It’s a question we’ve all been asked at some point—and I used to hesitate. My mind would scroll through a highlight reel of pain: the childhood bullying, the betrayals, the losses that hollowed me out. The things I said. The things I didn’t. Surely, I thought, given the chance, I’d fix all the broken parts.

But something has shifted in me over the years. Slowly, and then all at once, the answer became clear: No. I wouldn’t change a thing.

That doesn’t mean my life has been easy. Far from it. I’ve carried grief like a second skin. I’ve stumbled through self-doubt, wrestled with fear, and, like so many of us, learned to hide parts of myself just to feel safe. I’ve buried...

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