Is it ever right to break up your marriage to run off with your soulmate? BEL MOONEY revisits some of the most painful and moving dilemmas you’ve shared with her 

• Bel Mooney has been an advice columnist for 10 years
• Here she shares some of the letters that have affected her the most
• She says that she loves every one of her readers

By Bel Mooney for the Daily Mail

Published: 18:41 EST, 14 October 2015 | Updated: 20:59 EST, 14 October 2015

During ten years as an advice columnist I have often been asked whether I intend to compile an 'anthology' of problems and replies. My response has always been a decisive 'No'.

Then one day (after an especially loving letter of appreciation), I thought: 'Why not?' People frequently cut out my replies but then, inevitably, the cutting becomes misplaced.

So why not collect some of the highlights and follow-up stories in a book? My hope is that there may be enough to make you reflect on your own life, and possibly rethink. The miscellany of thoughts is punctuated by some of the favourite quotations I've used.

Bel Mooney, above, loves her readers and always preaches forgiveness as she feels they reflect her flaws

Of course the collection can be read straight through, but I'd like to think these (mostly) short passages will be dipped into, just to see what's there. I should emphasise that all names have been changed.

And, since I always advocate honesty, I must now confess something almost embarrassing: there are days when my own bruised spirit is healed by the realisation that I genuinely love my readers - these people I have never met. How odd is that?

Looking at them (I mean, of course, you) as if through a glass, I see my own flaws reflected back. Therefore what else can I do but 'preach' forgiveness?

Sometimes I may cast a metaphorical stone, but only because I feel that is the most helpful thing to do, not because I feel superior to the unhappy, confused person who has written in. Just more fortunate.

DEAR BEL 

After being in a comfortable but unexciting marriage for 14 years, three years ago I met my soulmate. For two-and-a-half years, we had a secret but beautiful affair. We said that if we'd met in the mid-Eighties, we'd have married and the children she had from a previous marriage would have been ours.

But a month ago she met another man who offered permanence. We met and it hit me hard when she said she wanted to move on.

I was devastated because until then I didn't realise just how much she meant to me and how much I loved her.

Bel Mooney never thought that she'd write a book

We have parted friends but the loss has caused me more anguish than I ever thought possible.

I want to know if you agree with me that you should Carpe diem - Seize the day. He who hesitates is lost, as I was - and still am.

MY REPLY 

There is a part of me that understands that when people are deeply in love they will hurt others - because that is (I'm afraid) an inescapable part of the human condition.

So, do I agree with your philosophy of 'Seize the Day'?

It was very much a part of the late Sixties to Seventies way of thinking that formed me, for better or for worse. It led to many mistakes, too, and much heartbreak. So now…I just don't know.

The thing is, Jake, all of us who write advice columns are forced to confront, every single day, the fallout from romantic selfishness.

I have no doubt that your letter is preaching to the converted in many cases, since untold numbers of men and women run away from their marriages to shack up with another love.

Some of those new relationships last, others don't. Families are hurt and sometimes the ripples from that big stone thrown into the midst go on making waves for decades. All I can say is this: you have no way of knowing if your relationship with the lady would have lasted even if you had thrown away your marriage to be with her.

You might have been blissfully happy, or you might have found that even an exciting 'soulmate' loses her shine when exposed to the mundane light of the everyday.

So you will do yourself no good by continuing to fantasise about Paradise Lost.

You must tuck away your memories in a special 'box' inside your head where you keep precious things, and imagine yourself turning a key.

Now live the life you have - and make it a good one.

DEAR BEL 

I am a broken-hearted mother and grandmother. My daughter Sue and her husband David lost their baby Tom at seven weeks, suddenly, the day before Christmas Eve. The whole family's grief has been vast.

She was so brave and insisted on a 'normal' Christmas Day for her other son Dan, aged two. How she gets out of bed each day is a mystery to me. Now although I miss my little grandson like anything, my heart aches most for my own 'little' girl.

Remembering the night he died, when she was screaming for him not to go, fills most of my waking day and all hours of my nights.

I still see her pleading with my dear departed mum not to let the baby go to her. I just want to ease her pain. As mothers we are programmed to care and protect our young, no matter what their age, but I CAN'T DO IT.

Sue seems to have occasional 'normal' days, then feels guilty because of it.

All the 'help' charities don't reach our remote area. She has struggled on as best she can, pouring herself into raising money for other bereaved parents.

Can you advise me how to help her? Maybe just writing this will help me a bit as I don't suppose you own a magic wand to take the pain away. Thank you for your time - whoever reads this.

Bel Mooney's book is a collection of past advice 

MY REPLY 

First let me assure you that I read every single letter; you are not writing to a team in an office, but to a real person.

What's more, to someone who cried at your short email, since this is an issue very close to my heart, although losing a stillborn son, even at full term (as I did so long ago), cannot be compared with holding and loving a baby for seven whole weeks.

If I say that the awareness of that love and anguish is all your daughter needs from you, I'm not ducking your question.

It's so hard for parents to accept that no specific action can be taken, or words suffice to protect our children from pain.

Being there, helping with little Dan, letting her know that you understand and letting her talk about Tom as much as she wishes … that is what's needed. You are doing your job as a mum and doing it so well. Your letter is proof.

As you say, there is no magic wand, although I am a great believer in the power of prayer (or Will or Visualisation, if you like) and that time does change the way we experience pain. It isn't that it goes away, it just becomes a part of who we are, like a vein running beneath the surface of the skin.

The fact that your daughter has thrown herself into trying to raise money for bereaved parents is (perhaps) the start of that process, but these are very early days.

She will experience periods of relative equilibrium, then plunge into despair, but go on doing the best she can for Dan's sake. What else can she do?

You say you live in a remote area, but the Child Death Helpline (childdeathhelpline.org.uk) offers a valuable freephone service for anyone affected by the death of a child - 0800 282 986. The Compassionate Friends (tcf.org.uk) is another brilliant organisation with a similar service - 0345 123 2304.

I urge you to look at the websites and pick up the phone when you need to talk.

The (trained) bereaved parents who operate both phone lines know what your daughter has discovered - that a child (of any age) who has died goes on being loved for ever, and that such love can go on miraculously enlarging the lives of those who feel it.

In a sense, that is the deepest 'magic' … that the little spirit cannot die.

DEAR BEL 

'Iris' wrote to tell me that, three years earlier, in the spring, her daughter (44) threw herself off the cliffs at Beachy Head.

'I feel so guilty. I should have been able to help her. I'm her mother. I knew she suffered from depression, but didn't know how to help.'

Grieving Iris lives 300 miles away and has never been back to the spot since the funeral.

MY REPLY

Somebody who is driven to commit suicide (whether from quiet despair or anger) blasts apart the lives of family and friends.

Underpinning the terrible grief is confusion, guilt and even anger - all merging into the question, 'How could they do this to us?'

There is agony in wondering whether, if you could race back to the early years, there might have been conversations that would have increased your understanding and prevented this outcome.

Am I right?

You say, 'I'm her mother' in the anguished belief that you of all people should have been able to reach Sally and prevent her death. But how could you? Backed into her cul-de-sac of disappointment, grief and despair (you list some of the reasons) she no longer wanted to live and so refused the therapeutic interventions that just might have helped her.

That is no more your responsibility than is the rain which falls from the sky. Mothers will always blame themselves. But all the parental love in the world could not save Sally from the fact that she chose to turn her face towards death - and succeeded on her third attempt.

Therefore, I wish I could take you by the shoulders, look into your eyes, and whisper,

'This is not your fault.'

You have written because you want me to tell you how to move forward. Quite rightly you say that talking to a therapist doesn't take the pain away, but it can help you come to terms with issues such as guilt.

Should you make a pilgrimage to Beachy Head? Yes, I think you should. First, visualise Sally at a happy moment in her life, perhaps walking her beloved dog (who died before her, adding to her woe) through fields and woods. The sun shining, birds singing.

Breathe deeply and focus hard on that image when you feel distraught from grief. I'm not telling you not to be upset, just asking you to see light in the darkness. It is essential that you find some consolation where you can, and the way to do that is to reflect that Sally is now at peace.

You could create a special place at home, perhaps a shelf where you stand her photograph and some small things that remind you of her, and light a scented candle. Such little shrines bring calm.

Perhaps you should promise yourself to go back to Beachy Head on the next anniversary of her death (if not before) and throw flowers, telling Sally that you will always love her and that you know she is no longer in pain.

Imagine that she can see you and hear the sea birds and the wind and the sea. That she can sense the grass, the flowers, the rocks - and is there within them all, forever. You could even take a letter with you, in which you have poured out all your feelings of guilt, and take a trowel to bury it right there, where it belongs.

Pick up a pebble or a fragment of chalk and carry it home to place on the shelf. You will weep, but you will also come to feel that love and beauty are as indestructible as those great white cliffs.

ONE MONTH LATER: The good news is Iris herself wrote again after the column appeared, truly grateful. She intends to follow my advice exactly as laid out and face up to her sorrow by making a pilgrimage to the place of her daughter's death: 'I will go in the spring when all the daffodils are out and take some for her.'

She ends: 'I'm crying now as I write this letter, but it's been so good to tell someone how I feel.'

Patricia Thomas writes to tell me about her organisation Survivors of Bereavement by Suicide. She described the comfort people find through attending a local group and 'over time realising that their overwhelming feelings of guilt are a natural part of their bereavement'.

The website is uk-sobs.org.uk and the helpline is 0300 111 5065. I know that for many people it is daunting to pick up the phone to a stranger, but I know for a fact that it can be very comforting.

Bel Mooney's Lifelines by Bel Mooney is published by Biteback, priced £9.99. To order a copy for the special offer price of £7.49, visit www.mailbookshop.co.uk, or phone 0808 272 0808. p&p is free on orders over £12. Offer valid until October 18.

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