Don't Fear Failure, But be Terrified of Regret.

Would you rather fail publicly or regret privately?

Messing up gets a bad reputation. Somewhere along the way, we were taught that failure is embarrassing, permanent, and something to be avoided at all costs. Like if you stumble once, the universe pulls out a clipboard and writes your name under “Not Cut Out For This.” But real life doesn’t work like that. Real life is messy. Real life is full of half-finished ideas, awkward conversations, launches that flop, relationships that don’t last, and plans that look great in your head but collapse in the wild. And yet, despite all of that, failure is rarely what actually hurts us long-term. What hurts is regret. That quiet, slow-burning ache that shows up years later when you’re replaying moments in your head and wondering why fear got to vote instead of you.

Failure usually comes with bruises, sure—but it also comes with feedback. You try something, it doesn’t work, and now you know something you didn’t know before. You learn what not to do. You gain perspective. You gain resilience. You gain stories. You gain proof that you can survive discomfort. And most importantly, you almost always get another chance. Maybe not the same exact chance, but another one. Failure tends to say, “Okay, that didn’t work. Adjust and try again.” Regret, on the other hand, says, “That door closed, and you never even touched the handle.”

Think about how common this is right now. Someone wants to start a small online business. They watch other people on social media doing it—selling digital products, running Etsy shops, launching YouTube channels, starting podcasts. Some of those people fail publicly. Low views. No sales. Crickets. But they’re learning. They’re tweaking thumbnails. They’re rewriting product descriptions. They’re figuring out what resonates. Meanwhile, someone else sits on the sidelines for years, consuming content, saving posts, telling themselves, “I’ll do it when I’m ready.” Fast forward three years, and suddenly the regret creeps in. Not because they failed—but because they never tried.

Failure is loud. Regret is quiet. And that’s what makes regret dangerous.

Failure tends to show up right away. You feel it. You deal with it. You talk about it. You move through it. Regret waits. It’s patient. It lets life keep moving while it grows in the background. It shows up when you’re scrolling late at night and see someone living a version of the life you once imagined. It shows up when your kids ask why you didn’t pursue that dream you always talked about. It shows up when a former opportunity becomes unavailable—not because you weren’t good enough, but because time ran out.

Look at how this plays out in everyday relationships. Someone wants to say how they feel. They rehearse the words in their head a hundred times. They wait for the perfect moment that never comes. They don’t want to risk rejection, awkwardness, or changing the dynamic. So they stay quiet. Years later, they hear that person moved on, got married, or simply drifted out of their life. That’s regret. If they had spoken up and been rejected, it would have stung—but they would’ve healed. They would’ve learned. They would’ve known. Regret offers no such closure. It just replays the “what if” on loop.

Failure teaches you who you are under pressure. Regret just teaches you what fear sounds like in hindsight.

Even professionally, the contrast is everywhere. Someone applies for a job they don’t fully qualify for and gets rejected. It’s disappointing, but they gain confidence for the next application. They learn how to interview better. They refine their resume. Another person never applies because they assume they won’t get it. Five years later, they’re still in the same role, still underpaid, still wondering what could have happened if they had just clicked “submit.” One path builds momentum. The other builds excuses.

And excuses are sneaky. They sound responsible. They sound logical. They wear disguises like “now isn’t the right time,” “I need to learn more first,” or “I don’t want to look foolish.” But most excuses are just fear in professional clothing. They’re fear trying to sound mature.

Failure doesn’t mean you’re incapable. It means you’re participating.

Right now, more than ever, comparison culture amplifies regret. We see highlight reels everywhere—people announcing promotions, engagements, business wins, fitness transformations, creative breakthroughs. And instead of thinking, “Good for them,” our brains quietly whisper, “That could’ve been you.” But here’s the truth we don’t talk about enough: behind almost every visible win is a pile of invisible failures. Missed attempts. Bad drafts. Awkward launches. Uncomfortable conversations. The difference isn’t talent—it’s willingness to show up imperfectly.

Failing at something says, “I took a shot.” Regretting something says, “I talked myself out of it.”

And when you really zoom out, regret doesn’t just steal opportunities—it steals self-trust. Every time you don’t try, a small part of you learns that your fear gets the final say. Over time, that adds up. You stop believing you’ll follow through. You stop trusting your own instincts. You stop dreaming as boldly because you’ve trained yourself not to act on those dreams anyway.

Failure builds character because it forces you to engage with reality. It humbles you. It strengthens you. It makes you adaptable. Regret builds stories you tell yourself to feel better about staying safe. Stories like, “It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway,” or “I’m just not that kind of person.” Those stories might comfort you short-term, but they quietly limit your life long-term.

And here’s the life hack most people miss: courage isn’t about confidence. It’s about permission. Permission to try before you feel ready. Permission to be seen before you feel polished. Permission to mess up without making it mean something about your worth. When you give yourself permission to fail, you take away regret’s power.

Look at fitness journeys as another relatable comparison. Someone starts going to the gym, tries to eat better, and falls off after a few weeks. They feel frustrated, but they learn what triggers their setbacks. They try again later with better systems. Another person never starts because they’re afraid they won’t stick with it. Ten years later, their regret isn’t about failing workouts—it’s about not prioritizing their health when they had the chance.

Failure says, “I learned something.”
Regret says, “I stayed comfortable.”

The irony is that most people fear failure because they imagine it will haunt them forever. But what actually haunts people is inaction. Ask anyone later in life what they regret, and you rarely hear, “I tried and failed.” You hear, “I wish I had gone for it.” You hear, “I played it safe.” You hear, “I let fear decide.”

So take the risk. Say the thing. Send the message. Apply for the job. Launch the idea. Start the project. Have the conversation. Not because success is guaranteed—but because self-respect grows when you honor your curiosity instead of silencing it.

Failing means you showed up.
Regret means you didn’t.

And between the two, only one of them helps you grow.

Be Positive, and have a fantastic day.