Setting the Scene – Part 4: Guilt and Loneliness: A Decade of Pain

“Guilt is a useless feeling. It’s never enough to make you change direction—only action will do that.”

Shannon L. Alder

In 1992, Queen Elizabeth II described her personal year, and that of the Royal Family, as “annus horribilis” — a terrible, disastrous year. What followed for me can only be described as decennium doloris — a decade of pain.

Merging two families is difficult — really difficult. My girls were seven and nine at the time, and my two new stepsons were ten and twelve. At first, it was a novelty for both sets of children to have new siblings. Life felt peaceful, even fun, and for a time the girls and I found security. My destructive companions of lying, shame, and guilt fell silent. I was empowered by the money I received from selling my little house and my share of the farm, which was rightly passed to my elder brother who had always been a farmer at heart. My creative side found an outlet in designing and overseeing the build of our new family home. I even indulged my love of horses again, buying a beautiful horse for myself and a pony for my girls. Life was hard work with four demanding children, but for a while I felt I had a sense of freedom — our own version of the “Brady Bunch.” The kitchen table, which in my childhood had been marked by silence, was now filled with chatter, laughter, and the everyday noise of family life. For the first time, that table felt alive.

But as puberty arrived for the boys, new and painful dynamics overtook our home. The boundaries my new husband and I drew were vastly different. Having come from an extremely strict upbringing, mine were far more stringent, with respect for adults at the core. But cultural differences, and his parenting out of guilt from his divorce, meant conflict quickly followed. The boys’ behaviour took over our lives. My two girls and I seemed to orbit around the constant arguing and vicious fights between them. Deep within me, a strong urge began to surface: that the boys should no longer stay with us on the week-on, week-off rota agreed with their mother. I told myself it was because of the chaos and the fights, but the feeling grew stronger and stronger, and I couldn’t ignore it — even though I couldn’t yet name it.

And so my life shattered again — and with it, the lives of my two girls, who were very fond of their stepfather and the boys. To friends and family, what I was doing was unexplainable – I couldn’t understand it myself. I lost friends. I disappointed family. 

Guilt – my quiet companion – had a field day. It took centre stage, and it brought with it a new companion: loneliness. Together they shaped what became my decennium doloris — my decade of pain. I was truly on my own. Even the friends who stayed had no idea who I really was or why I had done what I had. When you are misunderstood, and loneliness joins the crew of bad companions, the burdens become overwhelming.

I once heard it said in a TV series that shame is self-absorbed, about how you see yourself. But guilt is different: it’s about owning and feeling the pain you’ve caused others. That distinction made sense to me. The pain I felt for the sake of my two girls was excruciating — the deepest pain I’d ever known without being physically hurt. 

Yet again, the three of us had to move to a new area, and for them, a new school. The family home that we had built was sold, along with the horses, and I felt like I had lost everything. Looking back now, I can honestly say that if it had not been for my two girls, I may not be here today to tell this story. But somewhere deep within me was strength and courage — just enough to keep going, one foot in front of the other. Years later, I came to understand that my intuition to leave had been right, that my girls and I were being protected, and I learnt never to ignore that instinct — that pull in the gut, that deep inner signal. 

I do not celebrate being right in my actions, and I take no pride in it. Dear reader, you will need to forgive me, as there are parts of my life I cannot divulge. Some experiences, and their consequences, are not mine alone to share. What I can say is this: taking my girls away from that situation — however painful it was at the time, and though it marked the beginning of my decennium doloris — is not something I am ashamed of.

But it wasn’t the end. My heart kept crying out: life wasn’t supposed to be like this. I began to ask questions — of myself, of life, of the universe. In the depths of that decade of pain, something unexpected began to stir. Loneliness was still there, heavy and consuming, but light was starting to seep through the cracks. Small at first, fragile even — but enough to show me that my story was not finished.

And that is where the next part begins: the journey from loneliness to light.