When I try so hard to be positive, why is life still so painful?

DEAR BEL

THIS is Jane again, from Sussex. I have written twice before, both around Christmas. The first time (2016) I was in despair and considering Dignitas. My partner of over 13 years (Peter) had left me suddenly. In my mid-50s, I felt all hope and light had left with him. The future seemed bleak.

You printed my letter, responding with your customary warmth and wisdom, pointing out some shafts of light I could not see. Your readers also emailed with great encouragement and compassion.

So I picked myself up, accepted some support and rebuilt a semblance of my ‘new normal’. I found great solace in work, adventurous solo travel and voluntary work with prisoners in both the UK and the U.S.

Yes, there was life after Peter, but still I missed a special someone. So last Christmas, I wrote again. Festive periods exacerbate loneliness. You printed encouragement on my progress, making me feel my efforts did mean something. I felt cheered by your words.

Even the most private of us can find comfort in reaching out, whether to an individual like you we may have never met, or to an unknown audience, providing silent empathy. And maybe problems shared may offer insight to others.

But here I am again, Bel. Why? Well, over the past 12 months I have encountered more bad things. I was suddenly made redundant, leaving me struggling financially.

I now have health issues, which may need investigation, and I also know that Peter is very ill and about to marry — two things incredibly hard to come to terms with. It’s all distressed me enormously.

At the moment the world feels so full of sad things — so upsetting to read about the London Bridge terrorist attack. I sometimes wonder if there are any benefits in getting older, but I go on trying. I realise a change of direction and lifestyle may be necessary and will give anything a go.

I’m not religious but try to follow my dad’s Humanist principles. We all need a moral framework to guide us — especially when life throws bad things at us.

When I feel myself wobbling, I shout out: ‘Courage! Integrity!! HUMOUR!!!” Those are the three values I received from Mum and Dad and, on the whole, they get me through. I’m not bitter, but I can’t help wondering why life still throws obstacles in my way — when I try so hard to be positive. Will there ever be a light-filled time?

I still hope there’s someone out there for me, but I’m getting tired. What are your thoughts, Bel? I cannot be the only one who feels this way. Any hope you can offer would be wonderful. JANE

Welcome back to these pages, Jane — raising for all of us (perhaps especially at christmas) one of the oldest philosophical questions in the world.

The great writer and thinker c.S. lewis (who delighted generations of children with his Narnia stories) summed it up as ‘the problem of pain’.

Some people seem to lead lives full of good fortune, but most carry burdens of bewilderment, anxiety and sorrow — asking as they struggle along: ‘Why must it always happen to me?’

Naturally, I looked back to December 22 last year and saw Neil Webb’s beautiful illustration showing a woman (you) standing sadly by a winding road, then bending to pick up a flower and then flying upwards on glittering wings, ‘gliding towards her own guiding star’ (as I put it). That was my design for Neil to execute — a message of hope.

Sadly, I was wrong, wasn’t I? You are still struggling and have not met that special someone (as I really felt you would) to lift you out of loneliness. And so the search goes on. For you, as for so many.

I rifled through the huge pile of columns I’ve cut out since June 2007 when I began writing the mail’s advice column. could I find answers there for you? Well, yes and no. Naturally,

the same problems come round and round, yet they’re not ‘ the same’ — for every human soul suffers uniquely. That is both our tragedy and our glory.

The tragedy lies in the fact that we are all ultimately alone (I believe) even if surrounded by loved ones, and the glory comes when we realise the only hope lies in empathising with each other.

Your problems here cannot be ‘the same’ as those experienced by others, and yet I know for a fact that those countless others will be reading and saying either: ‘Oh, yes, I recognise those feelings’ or ‘ Oh, poor lady — she deserves to find love.’

LOOkIng at past Christmas columns, I notice how often I’ve asked neil to put a star into his illustration. The Christmas story is deeply embedded in my psyche and that light in the sky leading the Three kings on their long, cold journey seems so relevant to this column.

When contestants on ( for example) Strictly Come Dancing describe their progress as ‘a journey’, they’re often mocked by superior commentators, but I warm to the cliche — because it does describe our travels towards learning and understanding, doesn’t it?

But revisiting your previous letters, Jane, I think the image of the long and winding road is too simple. You sound more like somebody in a maze, first in total despair at being lost, then moving onwards cautiously, trying hard to find a way, doubling back on yourself, going round in circles, thinking: ‘I’ve been on this damn spot before’ — and always feeling those high, green, leafy walls closing in.

I’d like you to imagine you hear other footsteps in the next ‘lane’, and perhaps more further off — and realise that there really are others in this with you.

You ask me ‘Why?’ — but I have no answers, because I often feel lost in that maze, too. Believe me, I do. There are so many of us trying to see the light, trying to find our way.

Thinking of you, I opened C.S. Lewis’s book, The Problem Of Pain, at random.

This is what I read: ‘You would like to know how I behave when I am experiencing pain, not writing books about it . . . I will tell you: I am a great coward . . . when I think of pain — of anxiety that gnaws like fire and loneliness that spreads out like a desert, and the heart-breaking routine of monotonous misery, dull aches — or pains that seem already intolerable and then are suddenly increased . . . if I knew any way to escape I would crawl through sewers to find it.’ He goes on: ‘You know my feelings, they are the same as yours . . . pain hurts.’

Those honest words came from a Christian who tried to understand the reason for suffering (which, by the way, is key to the whole Christmas story).

I suppose we have no choice but to endure, try to come to terms with what afflicts us, and keep plodding on in the maze in the hope that we will look up and see the imaginary star that will guide us.

Of COurSe, it certainly does feel very cruel that despite all your efforts to be positive, to keep yourself busy and help other people, you have now been hit with a triple-whammy of redundancy, ill health and distressing news about the man you loved so dearly and who cast you off.

All I can suggest is that you carry on as you are — being miraculously positive. That may seem feeble of me, but contains a respectful recognition that you are beyond glib answers.

There is nothing for it but to cling to the thought that this will all pass, since all of us are part of a continuous cycle of change.

Yes, it all seems so hard. Like you, I despair at wickedness (you cite the London Bridge terrorist outrage for one) and feel moved to tears by the courage and goodness (also seen there) which represents the best of humanity, facing up to the worst.

When I look back at both your previous letters, I find tears in my eyes, because you sound so brave — shouting those three encouraging words to yourself when you feel lost.

I think you know how blessed you are to have had parents who gave you those values and this strength.

Your example — shining out in those three words — has reinforced my faith in humanity.

So my ‘hope’ for you, Jane, is that you realise just how much good you do by being in this sad and sublime world of ours.

Thank you for your gift to us all — sending, ‘Courage! Integrity!! HuMOur!!!’ ringing out like Christmas bells.

‘You are blessed and brave, Jane — a shining example to us all’