The Unfinished Business of Regret

A Personal Perspective: An art therapist's journey through creativity and completion.

Reviewed by Abigail Fagan

I’ve always been a starter. Ideas spark in my mind, vivid and promising, but the follow-through often falls short. A half-finished painting hangs in my studio, its colors muted by the dust of time. A book, its chapters scattered across my desk, remains a mere outline. I’m a collector of beginnings, a hoarder of unfinished business.

This tendency isn't unique to me. In the Black community, where the pursuit of dreams often intersects with systemic barriers, the unfinished business of life can loom large. We carry the weight of unfulfilled aspirations, of opportunities missed, of lives cut short. These unfinished narratives, like the paintings and books I leave incomplete, haunt us.

The concept of unfinished business is deeply rooted in our cultural history. From the forced captivity of enslaved Africans to the ongoing struggles for racial equality, Black Americans have often had their lives interrupted, their journeys cut short. This legacy of unfinished business has shaped our collective psyche, leaving us with a sense of longing and a yearning for closure.

Langston Hughes’ poem "Dream Deferred" captures this tension. He writes, “What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?” His words resonate deeply with the Black experience of interrupted dreams. The unfulfilled aspirations of our ancestors, passed down through generations, have left a lasting mark. Yet, regret is not a dead end. Regret can be a catalyst for change, a motivator to address unfinished business and heal.

For many of us, regret can lead to feelings of guilt, shame, and self-doubt. This is compounded by the additional challenges of systemic racism, making it more difficult to move forward. But acknowledging regret is a vital step in reclaiming our narratives. The journey of facing regret requires resilience, courage, and a willingness to confront the past. But once we begin, we have the potential to create new meaning in our lives, for ourselves and for future generations.

In moments of reflection, I’m reminded of Cathy Malchiodi’s Circle of Capacity, which encourages the expansion of our ability to hold and process emotional experiences. Malchiodi’s work emphasizes that healing is more than just coping or enduring. It’s about identifying and practicing experiences that allow us to shift from states of hyperactivation—where stress and anxiety overwhelm us—or hypoarousal, where we become disconnected or numb. Healing involves building the capacity for regulation, finding moments of calm, and expanding our ability to stay present through difficult emotions.

For me, that unfinished painting on my wall is more than a reminder of creative projects left behind. It represents an internal struggle—one I’ve often seen reflected in the lives of clients I work with in art therapy. It’s the tension between what we hope to create and the interruptions that prevent us from doing so. Sometimes it’s disappointment, sometimes the state of the world, or personal loss. In these moments, our creative spirits can feel wounded, even frozen in time.

Art therapy offers a way to reconnect, not just with our creativity but with our deeper selves. The Power Threat Meaning Framework (PTMF), developed by Lucy Johnstone and Mary Boyle, provides a lens through which we can view these experiences. Rather than asking, “What’s wrong with me?” PTMF encourages us to ask, “What has happened to me?” It shifts the focus from pathology to understanding. In the case of unfinished artwork, the real question may be, “What has interrupted my creative flow? What external pressures or personal disappointments have made me feel stuck?”

By framing these moments through PTMF, we begin to create new meaning. The artwork that remains unfinished isn’t a failure—it’s a reflection of what we’ve experienced. Engaging with it intentionally allows us to explore these experiences without judgment. In this way, the process of creating—or not creating—becomes an avenue for self-understanding.

Viktor Frankl, in Man’s Search for Meaning, argues that even in the face of suffering, we have the ability to find purpose. The world may feel overwhelming, but the power to create meaning lies within us. This is where somatic self-regulation comes into play. In art therapy, we use the body to manage emotional states, to find balance and grounding. The act of creating—whether or not it results in a finished piece—can regulate the nervous system, calming hyperactivation and bringing us back from a place of avoidance or shutdown.

Art-making becomes a way to reconnect with ourselves, to soothe the body while also exploring the mind. As we engage with the unfinished canvas, we may notice how our body feels more settled, our breath more even. This isn’t just about expressing creativity—it’s about finding stability through intentional action.

Malchiodi’s Circle of Capacity reminds us that healing involves expanding our capacity to hold unfinished business without being overwhelmed by it. This applies not only to art but also to life. As I reflect on the unfinished projects in my studio, I realize they’re an invitation to explore, to reclaim the process of creation on my own terms. There’s freedom in allowing the unfinished to simply be—without judgment or expectation.

In a way, the unfinished work offers us the opportunity to reimagine what it means to create. It’s not always about the end result. Sometimes, the power lies in the process itself, in the space between beginning and completion. By expanding our capacity to sit with the unfinished, we begin to reclaim agency over our own narratives, our own creative journeys. In this process of recovery and exploration, we learn that the meaning we seek isn’t always found in the finished product—it’s in the act of creating itself.

And perhaps, in both art and life, that’s enough.