BEL MOONEY: Can I risk falling in love after my devastating split?

Dear Customer,

I’m Jane from Sussex here again. For the past eight years I have written in her column and her wise and compassionate responses have brought me great comfort.

Now something new presents me with an enigma. Remind . . . Eight years ago my partner Peter suddenly and surprisingly left me after 13 years.

While we were shopping for our vacation, he told me that he hadn’t loved me for several years. His swift departure followed the death of my parents. The accumulated loss caused deep grief and shock.

At my lowest point, unable to live with the pain, I even contemplated suicide. I am grateful that your compassionate response has brought me back from the brink and encouraged me to see that my life was worth something to myself and to others.

Past years; I worked for a charity, supported prisoners, trained as a crisis counsellor, and started traveling again, often alone. Life began to offer me light, fun, and warmth again, and I was grateful. But there was still a gap and I wrote to you again, because I doubted that, at 60, I would meet someone again.

His answer made me think: it pointed out how much I had done to help myself and others and made me realize that I should recognize achievement, friendship, and courage. He also reminded me that it’s important to believe in the possibility.

A year later, I was writing again, just before the lockdown ruined our lives. She was struggling on several fronts: her health, her dismissal, and Peter’s upcoming marriage. I kept trying to be positive, but the London Bridge terrorist attacks had just happened and the world seemed bleak and dark. I asked why (when I try so hard) there are so many obstacles.

His response was honest, pragmatic but compassionate. You used the excellent analogy of being lost in a maze, and you emphasized the need to keep going, to try to adhere to the values, inherited from my parents, of courage, integrity, and humor. Because what else can we do? So that’s what I’ve been doing: continue. Then the unexpected happened: exactly one year ago I met David. We knew each other a bit through our work, and I tried to offer him support when his wife died too soon. He is charming, and we make each other happy.

We travel, we share values; I teach him to cook, he fixes my computer, we enjoy the big things (champagne in Paris) and the little things (arguing about the cryptic crossword puzzle). There is so much we would like to do. . .

So what’s wrong? To me. I find myself pushing him away, keeping an emotional distance and almost making up disagreements. I’ve longed for affection, romance, security, but I refuse to believe it’s genuine.

I’ve talked to David about this and he’s understanding, but it hurts that I don’t trust him. I do, but I just can’t believe he deserves any good, or that things won’t fall apart again.

Shall I risk it, Bel? Or should I cut my losses now?

Jane

This week Bel talks to a woman who is concerned about the risk of falling in love again after their devastating separation.

A question I am often asked is if I receive news from readers whose letters have been published. The answer is yes, and it is always encouraging.

I am especially grateful to you for keeping in touch, because your story (which you sum up perfectly here) is both deeply personal and movingly universal.

You are a strong and inquisitive individual, but at the same time you can hear the voices of others lost in the maze, asking: ‘Where am I going? How I follow?

Very often readers find solace and guidance in the problems of others, and I am sure many will identify with their long search for solace and love. You’ve kept going, writing to me along the way, and you’ve never given up hope.

Hurrah! But (here I have to be as honest as you are) other readers may be exasperated by what they will see as a deliberate denial of happiness.

Rejoice in what you have, woman, they will say! Me, I can see both sides, so let’s make our way, unraveling as we go.

As a child, my father faced the annual struggle with the fairy lights on the Christmas tree. My brother and I watched, thrilled, as he carefully unraveled, covered, lit, and… . . any.

I would patiently test each bulb, try again, test again, adjust a bulb, try again. . . increasingly exasperated and biting his tongue, while his children complained, ‘Why don’t they work, Dad?’ and the lights stayed dark.

But he kept trying (there really was no alternative) and in the end the little artificial tree glowed scarlet, green, orange, blue and yellow, illuminating the brilliance of the baubles and tinsel and creating a thing of such beauty that it took our breath away. .

Decades later, I can still relive the miracle of darkness made light. The disappointment faded once more.

A cheap bottle brush and old lights totally transformed by the patience of an ordinary young man who always strived to do what was best for his family, even if he got angry along the way.

Why am I telling you this? Because I know you’ll understand where I’m taking you, you who still mourn your own father and treasure the lessons he taught.

How sad she would surely feel if her daughter refused to continue unraveling her life. Could he be a little frustrated by the woman who stubbornly refuses to believe that the lights can work?

You know that your cruel treatment at the hands of Peter was meant to have a lasting effect. If I remember correctly, there was a previous marriage that failed, which would hardly have helped your confidence.

Looking back at your first letter, I see how badly Peter treated you for a long period, an indifference that you (astonishingly) accepted.

That suggests a woman capable of presenting a brave face to the world who has traveled without fear, but a weak and scared girl on the inside who doesn’t think she is worthy of kindness.

You wear a heavy mask of defiance to hide your tears and drive people away. How can I convince you to leave him?

Over the years, in this column, I’ve written a lot about change, that constant process that leads us inexorably toward spring even as we celebrate Christmas, preparing for the winter solstice.

I am again drawn to the sayings of the medieval Persian poet and philosopher Rumi, who advised: ‘Do not think that the garden loses its ecstasy in winter. It’s quiet, but the roots are down there, in turmoil.

In fact, the change process can be very painful, as you are discovering. You have to allow it to happen, which means opening yourself up to painful truths, just as the Earth has no choice but to let itself be cut in two by a deep green.

Do you realize that by not believing in David’s affection you are allowing Peter to continue destroying who you really are? Don’t you see that by refusing to believe yourself worthy of a good man’s love, you are allowing the ‘bad’ man to continue writing the narrative?

Isn’t it time you stopped using past unhappiness as an excuse? Another gem from Rumi: ‘Stop acting so small. You are the universe in ecstatic motion.

It’s unbelievable that eight years later you’re still bowing your head in punishment, so it’s time for a change.

Finally say ‘Yes’ to being happy! Both you and David have known great pain, and now you have the opportunity to share as much, if you’ll let it.

Of course, love is always a ‘risk’. Even those who live a glorious life are finished by a cruel death, or rather, not ‘finished’, just put in a different form.

People who fear pain of any kind may as well never leave the dark room in which they hide.

So vow to make 2023 the year you learn to turn on the lights inside.

Let the balls and tinsel shine as you celebrate new love. Open a bottle of soda for me and enjoy it.

And finally… Share the happiness around you

The wonderful cards, letters and emails I receive from you are early Christmas gifts and I am very grateful. This one, in particular, I loved so much that I wanted to dance for joy:

Dear Bel

I turned 18 this year and for my birthday my mother gave me my old books from nine years ago as a precious gift. Among them I found your KITTY AND FRIENDS book series, which was the biggest part of my childhood and I almost cried last night. I just wanted to thank you for being in my memories and reminding you of your value.

Best wishes for you.

With love,

wake

Can you imagine anything nicer for a writer? We always expect to have an effect and from time to time we are lucky enough to get proof. So thank you, Stella! (and mom).

Those years as a children’s author, in which I had some 35 books published and went around the country speaking at schools and festivals, were immensely happy. I thought that when the grandchildren arrived, a new inspiration would arise, but it did not. So a reinvention happened in 2005… . And here I am saying Merry Christmas to you in the shiny Daily Mail.

This year will be my first as an ‘orphan’ and that (and other family issues) is quite difficult for me. But we must always be prepared for change.

As I wrote our Christmas cards, turning the pages of the old Filofax, I saw how many people had lost touch, moved, or (unfortunately) died. It happens, doesn’t it? You may not want to do the things you used to enjoy.

Children grow, times change, we change with them and we have to accept the process. Life takes you in new directions, so try to make the most of them. Meanwhile, there’s the quiet satisfaction of living in the present and sharing what happiness we can. Like Stella, the real star who warmed my heart on a very cold day.