Dear Bel

I’ve been married to my wife for 25 years and have two teenagers who’ll be gone from home soon. Her social life is always busy.

I love my wife. She’s great with people. Friends everywhere. Always talking, arranging stuff. I’m not like that.

I’ve always been part of large social circles, though often on the periphery rather than the core. I show up, share a drink, and laugh at the right moments. Yet, it never feels intimate—never the sort of gathering where real conversations happen.

When I go for a haircut the guys always talk about sport as if that’s the only subject worth considering. It drives me mad.

In face-to-face settings, I can manage. But when it comes to WhatsApp groups, I struggle. I attempt some banter, but it’s usually off the mark. My posts often meet silence, so I withdraw.

I’ve drifted apart from old companions, not due to conflicts but simply life. My current friends are linked to my wife; she maintains those bonds. And if she isn’t fond of someone, we don’t meet them. Watching her interact so easily, I feel a twinge of envy—not in a bitter way. I just wish socializing was that effortless for me.

She walks into a room and she’s part of it all without having to try. She can make conversation about anything.

Sometimes, I worry about how I’ll be once the kids leave home. She’ll still have her robust social network (and likely expand it), and I don’t want to just follow her lead.

What if her social life is so full that I’m left behind? I’m not shy. Just not good at the group thing. I’m always out of step — or so I feel.

I don’t know how to make new friends now. Or how to get closer to the ones I’ve got.

And I’m also not sure I care, but I’m writing this so I must care a little bit. Is it OK to be like this? Or do I need to be different?

Alan

Many congratulations on having earned the silver salver; 25 years is a long time – but you’ve a way to go yet! 

It’s crucial to perceive your marriage as evolving stages, each one as significant as the last, laying a groundwork for the future. While often challenging, it remains essential.

Here you are, ready to understand yourself better so that by the time you reach 30 years (that’s when you buy her pearls) you feel stronger.

Your words convey a sense of isolation from a lonely heart, yet also hint at a sulky, self-pitying demeanor. I distinguish between the two because I empathize with the former but find the latter trying.

First of all, many people feel withdrawn in social occasions and hate small talk. They might be happy in themselves but suspect others are looking askance and considering them a tad boring. This is perfectly normal – and why should everybody be the same? Why assume that the chit-chatterati are the ones who’ve got it right?

It’s certainly tough for schoolkids who just don’t fit in, but as you go through life I reckon you should celebrate difference and not apologise for it.

To tell the truth, parts of your description sound rather like my husband – but he has perfected the art of what I’ll call ‘quiet cool’: happy to watch (while looking great, by the way: clothes matter) and just chat when he feels like it.

You need to tell yourself that you are fine just as you are and stop worrying.

Maybe it’s time to reconnect with old friends with whom you share history and can hopefully have the one-to-one conversations you clearly long for.

Make this a project for the coming months. Be in charge of creating your own social life. Moving on from lack of confidence/social shyness, I happen to believe that loneliness is at the heart of the human condition.

Few of us can expect to be fully understood, therefore learning how to be alone, contented in your own company – even if you feel philosophically melancholic much of the time – is a key part of coping with life.

Anyway, many people are desperately lonely within the marriage bed.

Which brings me to your fabulous wife – and the part of your letter that worries me: ‘I don’t want to just trail after her. What if her social life is so full that I’m left behind?’

Those are the words of a defeatist. Why should you ‘trail’ when you can stand, quietly but strongly, beside her and bask proudly in her glow?

Might she fill up her social life because her husband has become something of a droopy moaner with nothing to say for himself?

What if she is longing for you to ‘really talk’ to her – finding new subjects – so that she stays interested? You need to be careful and think creatively about the next stage in this relationship.

If you let the jealousy grow alongside your lack of self-confidence then, I warn you, a chasm could open up in your marriage.

How to make new friends? By being interested and interesting and not dismissing people.

How to keep your wife? By finding out new things about her and making sure you create the means to grow together.

I like the fact that you care, so try on the ‘quiet cool’ identity until it fits. 

Dear Bel,

Sadly, my wonderful brother passed away six months ago. Though there were ten years between us, we had a very close relationship; he was always my little brother and I looked out for him.

I can’t believe he died at 60 and I’m finding it hard to accept. His cancer was very rare and aggressive.

I always believed he would get over it and was in denial about losing him. I go over it in my mind, asking if I could have done more – listing things I should have done and said.

I know he knew how much he was loved and valued the special bond we had. My wife and I were with him at the end in the hospice and it was truly awful.

I try to move on but I’m aware that other people have forgotten what we went through. I get quite angry that they think I’m fine. Also, my faith has been tested and I have no idea what to do about that.

Being kind to someone who has suffered a loss means so much, and asking them if they are OK really helps. But why do people forget this?

Or do you think I am wrong to expect so much from people who seem incapable of giving it?

Trevor

Don’t we all ‘expect too much from people who seem incapable of giving it’ – at least, most of the time?

It’s worth flipping the question and asking: ‘Do people ever expect too much from me and feel disappointed that I seem incapable of responding to them?’

I’m grateful because it made me wonder how many times I’ve let people down, without noticing. You display that awareness when you point out that people put on a brave face when they are suffering inside. Exactly. So what you have to do, when trying to come to terms with grief, is understand how what’s true for you may be true for them.

This is where my personal mantra can be so useful. Accompanied by hand movements, I say: ‘Breathe… allow… forgive… become.’ Try it. With hands lying on your chest/heart, you breathe deeply, saying the first word aloud. Then steeple those hands prayerfully and say ‘allow’. Then let your hands fall open (as if expecting a gift) and say ‘forgive’.

Last, open your arms as if about to hug somebody and say ‘become’. These are my own four steps towards accepting the shortfalls in people and thereby feeling my heart ease.

What can we say about a bereavement like yours? Nothing useful. But think of those widened arms as a virtual hug from the world that understands loss.

Because built into our human DNA is the inescapable knowledge that just as the leaves fall in autumn so, too, do we and our loved ones fall. No power can halt those cycles, nor any gods either – so maybe we shouldn’t expect too much from that quarter.

There’s a crucial sentence in your letter which must stop all your futile regrets about what you did or didn’t say or do. You write: ‘I know he knew how much he was loved.’ So there you are. Please allow your beloved brother that peace and stop forcing guilty, regretful hauntings.

And please don’t expect to ‘move on’ – if by that you mean ‘getting over’ sorrow. You won’t – so why not try to cherish it as a powerful monument to love? But time can shift our feelings, so that a day comes when you find the pain is not so acute.

Allow yourself to belong to the hidden sadness as well as the joy of others.

Sorry, but I simply had to lie low

I have been inundated with messages (especially on Facebook) describing how devoted readers repeatedly searched through last Saturday’s newspaper, and online readers clicked away, all looking for an absentee column. I’m so sorry.

Because of requests from those who feel they really need this weekly ‘fix’, I usually say when I’m going to have a (rare) break.

But this wasn’t planned. I was happily doing my usual exercises at home on Monday morning when (irony) something ‘went’ in my lower back. Spasm. Ouch. Sulk. More ouches. Self-pity. Negativity. Seized up. That’s more or less how things spiralled

You get those days, don’t you? There I was, trying to fight osteoarthritis and face ageing with good movements and a determined mind when my body tripped me up.

So, feeling incapable of writing, tired and gloomy and (of course) with a dull, stiff ache, I decided a week of reading and thinking would be useful.

So was it? In many ways, yes – since taking time to lie low and lick your wounds is a good therapy for all ages. Sometimes a bit of brooding is needed!

We can all become mentally and physically drained, as well as spiritually exhausted – and that’s when your body will often call out: ‘Enough.’

After all, we are – each of us – a whole being and therefore stopping to think about our lives holistically is necessary.

It’s hard when you’re busy, spend too much time online, get angry about political issues and feel beset by family and other worries (I tick all four).

But that’s when the universe sends something to make it happen.

Onwards and upwards. I feel revived and I’ll tell you what helped. I’ve been using the little exercise I suggest to Trevor in today’s second reply.

It really works for me.