Setting the Scene Part 3 – When Regret Finds a Friend in Guilt

“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, ‘It might have been.’”

Kurt Vonnegut

Looking back, I can see that shame was my constant companion in those years. It clung to me like a second skin, shaping my choices long before I understood its power. Regret didn’t enter the picture until much later—only two years ago, when my father died and the reality of what I’d lost could no longer be avoided. Until then, I had carried shame alone, mistaking it for part of my nature.

Shame stayed with me as I moved from childhood into my teenage years, and it followed me into adulthood. It whispered that I wasn’t enough, that I didn’t belong, and it steered my decisions more than I ever realised at the time. I was still chasing the same things—freedom, peace, and some elusive satisfaction in life—but without direction or boundaries, I drifted: from boy to boy, school to school, never knowing what I wanted to be and feeling no particular passion for anything.  Even all the horses were sold, as although my love for them was still there, I wasn’t able to give them the commitment they required.

I don’t want this series to read like a sob story, but the truth matters. To understand who I am now, you have to see where I’ve been—messy, restless, and searching for something I couldn’t quite name.

I tried Agricultural College, thinking that being a farmer’s daughter would ignite something in me. It didn’t. Instead, I found London—the glitz, the glamour—and fell in love with it. Some of my fellow students came from titled, wealthy families, and during the week (or whenever we couldn’t face the lecture of the day) we would drive the two hours to London for pub crawls and parties. That lifestyle seemed like freedom to me then—a quick fix, even though it left none of us truly happy as we were all running away or to something unknown.

It was during this time that I let money become another one of my bad companions—always offering a quick thrill but never real satisfaction. I spent and borrowed far beyond my means, and when the bills came due, my parents bailed me out. I am grateful they did, but looking back, I wonder if it would have been better had they refused—forcing me to learn the hard way. Instead, I carried on chasing those fleeting bursts of happiness that came from spending on cars, clothes, and things I didn’t really need but desperately wanted.

When college ended, I worked in London for a while before deciding to travel. Australia and New Zealand were magical—feeding the adventurer in me. I returned home eager to sit at the kitchen table and share my stories with my parents. But instead of joy, I was met with the news that they were separating. The reasons are not mine to tell, but I was consumed with anger at my mother, who wanted to leave. She moved to the nearby city, and our relationship such as it was, fractured even more.

London called again, and this time I moved there to escape the sadness. I chased a lifestyle far beyond my means and eventually secured a job on the trading floor of a global investment bank—a world as far from the farm as I could imagine. To survive there, I had to become a chameleon. On paper, I had been honest about my lack of academic achievements, but in every other way I lived a lie—pretending to be someone I wasn’t. It was exhausting. Lying became a habit—both to keep attention and to protect the persona of Jo Bloggs.

But in the midst of all this, something unexpected happened. When I visited my father, I began to find him changed. I’d walk into the farmhouse to the sound of classical music and the smell of his cooking which was limited to full English breakfasts or boiled eggs or toast. He seemed lighter, happier—surrounded by friends, hopeful single ladies, laughter, and card games. For the first time, I saw him thriving. My brothers and I loved it.

My mother, however, did not. She resented our continued connection to the farm, and her visits became more frequent. My father, ever the gentleman, allowed this with her slowly moving from day trips to overnight visits in separate rooms. My trips to the farm became less frequent as the warmth between my father and me cooled as she would never allow me to be there without her – turning up uninvited – and he became quiet again, letting her take over, and I felt the loss all over.

During my time at the bank, I attended a birthday party—one of the rare times I remember my father urging me to go somewhere. That night I met someone I then believed to be my soulmate. Today, I’m not sure what I believe about soulmates, but I do know that certain people are sent into our lives for a reason.

Our relationship moved quickly. We married two years later and had two beautiful daughters. There were many good times during the marriage and many bad times as well. We both had unresolved childhood issues and eventually reached a point where staying together was doing more harm than good. I was still Jo Bloggs—the same woman who hadn’t found peace—and then I suddenly became a single mother, responsible for two young girls, feeling very lost and alone.

Feeling the shame of divorce and the effect it was having on my daughters, shame found a friend—guilt. At first, guilt was the quieter of the two, whispering about what I had done and what I hadn’t. But its voice grew steadily louder. I was struggling to keep my head above water, terrified of being solely responsible for two young lives, while my old companions—lying, reckless spending, and now these two relentless shadows—tightened their grip. When I met a single father of two boys and his warm, extended family, I thought I’d found the place where my girls and I belonged and the security I craved at the time. We merged into one household, and for a while, I believed it was working and was the answer.

But what I didn’t see then was that I had stepped into the darkest season of my life—one where guilt stopped whispering and began to roar. It seeped into every corner of my world, shaping how I saw myself, how I mothered, and how I loved. There was no ignoring it now. 

And that is where the next part of this story begins.