I fear that I’ll never move on from my first love

DEAR BEL I HAVE been reading your column for the past six years since my own long marriage (23 years) ended, and found great solace in your advice to others.

You always answer honestly as a true friend would do, even if the truth is not what some people want to hear. I cried when I read about the loss of your Bonnie, as my beloved dog died a year after my marriage collapsed.

No one can underestimate the unconditional love a dog gives; I truly don’t know what I would have done without her.

Now I need advice, as I’m so confused. My question is: do you ever really move on and let go of the past, i.e. my first marriage?

I was only 21 when I got married. He was my first sexual partner and my rock and maybe I leant a bit too much on him at times.

When I discovered his affair with a colleague my world was shattered. He said they were just friends, but I knew different.

The marriage soon collapsed and I fell into a severe depression and was suicidal for some weeks. Looking back, I know I wanted death in order to be at peace. However, love for my children (in their 20s now) somehow kept me going and eventually I slowly started to rebuild my life.

In the early days I found dating again quite difficult.

Although some men I met were genuine, there were many who were ‘players’ — married or just not nice people. I ended two significant relationships when I knew they wouldn’t last.

Now, my lovely partner and I met nearly three years ago and have lived together for 20 months. I really do love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him, but at times I find myself feeling really low and tearful about the loss of my first marriage and my ex.

I can’t discuss this with any of my friends, as I feel as though I’m betraying my partner. If I’m truly honest, part of me still loves my ex-husband.

Tell me, do you ever really move on totally or will a part of me always be stuck in the past?

I need your wisdom.

LIANNE

There are two ways to look at the much-used contemporary phrase, ‘moving on’. First, it is a well-meaning but usually rather fatuous piece of advice, dished out to people in pain by others who truly (if they were honest) can no longer bear the sight of that pain.

Does that sound harsh? It’s not meant to be, because I know the intention is kind.

Imagine a bloke in a pub, miserable, drinking too much because the girl he wanted to marry has just ditched him, and his mate claps his shoulder and says: ‘You gotta move on, mate. No choice!’

Or a woman still mourning a failed marriage, soothed by a friend who whispers: ‘honestly, sweetie, he’s gone and good riddance and now you really have to think about moving on.’

In each case the wounded soul tries to nod bravely, all the while panicking within and asking: ‘ How?’

The second way of looking at the phrase is my preferred one. It’s not so much a case of ‘moving on’ — which implies a straightforward route; it’s more a matter of ‘moving through’ — which implies obstacles, like when you try to move through a crowd of people, stepping aside, being pushed back sometimes, then maybe changing your mind and deciding to try another route.

This is how human beings move. Daleks trundle straight on and on. Men and women look for ways through dense, scratchy thickets — and often fail to find them.

But we can flip that negative and point out it is the seeking that matters. Once I use that word ‘seek’, it’s a

short step to viewing this whole process as the kind of Important Quest central to fairy tales and myth. Are you starting to see what I mean?

‘Moving on’ is a bit one-dimensional. But viewing your whole life as a quest lifts it to the realm of the angels — hard to believe in, maybe, but beautiful nevertheless.

All thinking, feeling human beings are trying to seek answers under a guiding star, often realising, with relief, that there may be no answers but still . . . the journey is exciting, even glorious.

Christmas is a time of year when many people are beset by memory. The old and lonely may think of a time when young faces smiled; young men and women might recall the thrill of stockings and less complicated times; the bereaved remember those they have lost and wonder how anyone can celebrate; the happiest family may be touched by sadness and the liveliest person afflicted by a momentary fear at suddenly not being the youngest at the party.

That is how it is. The human condi-tion — thrown into the spotlight by the bright lights of the season.

Honestly, I would be astonished if you didn’t feel sad to think of what is lost. I advise you to take a deep breath and accept your feelings, refusing to see them as any betrayal of the good man you are lucky enough to be with now.

After all, we humans are capable of feeling more than one thing at once, and there are many different types of love, which do not cancel each other out — and don’t always end when they ‘should’. Why should they? Some loves glow for ever — even if hidden, like scars.

Yes, some people do remain ‘stuck in the past’ — but that’s not you, Lianne.

ALL of us accrue experience — rather as a snowball, rolled along, picks up more and more snow until big enough to form the basis for a lovely fat snowman. In that way, I believe we are the sum total of all those we have loved, all the experiences that made us laugh and cry, all the suns we have seen and the starry nights that made us catch our breath with cold. When you roll a snowball along, it gets bigger and bigger — and so do we, encompassing all our experiences, good and bad, and allowing them to teach us and make us grow into bigger people.

And so here you are — like so many of us who understand exactly how you are feeling. You have stumbled through bushes in a dark wood, been scratched, taken wrong paths, and now you find yourself in the open again.

Instead of worrying about what’s happened, celebrate it. Yes, complicated feelings and all. Don’t think about ‘moving on’, but staying still and calm — rather like a nice rounded snow lady in a beautiful field, reflecting the light of that guiding star.