Neda Ziabakhsh (she/her/hers), Low Entropy Volunteer Writer
Learning from my mistakes has always been one of the hardest, yet most rewarding aspects of my personal growth. When I look back, I realize that the things I did wrong often taught me more than the things I did right. Mistakes have a way of staying in memory, lingering longer than successes, sometimes whispering doubts and other times offering wisdom.
At first, I used to resent this. I wanted to forget the embarrassing moments, the bad decisions, the opportunities I mishandled. But memory doesn’t work like that. It insists on keeping the record, and eventually I discovered that the very persistence of memory is what allows us to learn.
Memory is not a passive storage system; it is active, shaping how we see ourselves and how we decide what to do next. When I replay a mistake in my mind, I am not only remembering the event but also reinterpreting it, giving it new meaning based on where I am now. The memory of a failed presentation, for example, once felt like humiliation, but now it feels like a reminder of the importance of preparation and humility. This shift is what transforms mistakes from weights that drag us down into foundations we can stand on.
Of course, there is a danger in how we remember. If I let memory become a loop of shame, I trap myself in the past. That is where the concept of low entropy comes in for me. Life is full of disorder, and memory can easily become messy, a pile of regrets without structure. To truly learn, I have to reduce that mental entropy, organizing my mistakes into lessons instead of leaving them scattered as raw pain.
I do this by asking myself specific questions whenever an old memory resurfaces: what was actually in my control? What could I have done differently? What patterns does this connect to in my life? Once I’ve pulled out the lesson, I try to file the memory away, like a document I might need later but don’t want cluttering my desk every day. This practice keeps my mind clearer and allows mistakes to serve me rather than sabotage me.
Over time, I have also realized that mistakes can act like renewable energy. A memory that once embarrassed me can later fuel determination. A project I mismanaged years ago, which at the time left me frustrated and ashamed, eventually became one of the best resources for learning about planning, communication and resilience. That memory no longer drains me; it powers me. And the beauty of memory is that it allows me to recycle those experiences endlessly, each time extracting a little more wisdom as I revisit them from a new perspective. In this way, my past mistakes are not barriers, but sources of growth that continue to provide value.
What all of this comes down to is foundation. Memory builds the groundwork of identity, and mistakes are part of that structure whether I like it or not. Ignoring them weakens the foundation because unacknowledged cracks eventually spread. Facing them, organizing them and learning from them strengthens the base I stand on. I don’t need a perfect past to move toward a better future; I just need to use memory wisely. Looking back, I no longer wish that my mistakes could be erased. I wish instead to remember them clearly, with enough honesty to see the lesson and enough compassion to forgive myself. That combination has given me resilience, perspective and clarity.
Mistakes are not the end of the story; they are essential chapters that shape who I become. And the most important truth I have learned is this: mistakes are not the problem. Forgetting their lessons is.
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