Dear Harry,
It’s never easy coming into a ready-made family of two teenagers and their mother, all still raw from the rupture of divorce. Never having had kids yourself, maybe it was harder still, when you didn’t really understand them or their situation. But try you did.
The breakup of my relationship affected both children badly, as these things do. But my son was doing his A-levels and felt particularly at sea. His usual anchors, pulled from their resting places, floating untethered and aimless. Maybe he didn’t know where to cling to any more. Maybe I didn’t either – and watching my once confident and happy teenager lose his sparkle, meant I lost my sparkle too.
You first stepped up in your new role as a friend, teenage-listener and confidant. Because you weren’t really their stepdad. Everyone was older when you arrived and they had a dad already. You never tried to be that either.
My son, who is bright, had engaged with and aced his GCSEs, but struggled with A-levels. Partly due to the stress of the split, and partly due to some other difficulties he was having at the time. When he was put into clearing and was thinking about lowering his expectations for uni, you sat with him, held him – just in a space, not physically at first – and listened. I left you both to it, as I could see him responding to the male energy of you.
I would pop into the room once you’d started talking to him, and hear snippets of your story, of how you hadn’t pushed yourself as much as you could have. Ending up in a university that didn’t give you what you wanted or needed. It was always your biggest regret, you said. Later that day he was on the phone to a highly ranked university, talking the talk with pre-divorce confidence. He was offered a place within a few hours.
Off he went and all was well for a while. But in his second year he had a falling out. Like someone flicking standing dominoes, each of his friends fell, siding with the other party and ultimately telling him he had to move out of their student flat. They say being ostracised is like enduring physical harm, and, to me, watching from the outside – the pain scribed into his beautiful face – that’s exactly what it was.
He came home and this time I knew it was serious, because nothing helped. My normal mum strategies didn’t sit right, and everything felt clunky and misshapen. But once again you were there. A listening ear. A calm presence, which if I’m being entirely truthful, is not always your default position. Maybe we’re all a better version of ourselves in a crisis.
Watching him being able to talk to you without judgment was like watching a wilted flower unfurl in sunlight. He’d been heavy with bewilderment, shock, but most harmful of all, shame. And I was no stranger to seeing someone struggle with shame, having lost one brother to addiction, and one to suicide. You go on high alert after someone decides to call time on their life and there were elements in this scenario that were heartbreakingly familiar. I was afraid. But watching you step in taught me that I didn’t always have to be the one to fix things and keep everything together. It wasn’t always my job; and that lifted a load and made me lighter, and probably easier to be around too.
With you at the healing helm, on went the games console. The walks in the forest. The cocktail masterclasses. Over the next few months, along with time, Fifa and spicy margaritas were also the great healers. But the most marvellous magic of all was your listening ear, your patience, your unwavering support.
There’s a famous quote: “There are no problems we cannot solve together, and very few that we can solve by ourselves.” And you helped me see that quite clearly. Mostly he didn’t want answers, just someone to understand him and sit with him while he hurt. And then healed. Which is what you did. And for that, I will be forever, and ever, your most grateful friend.
Love, Lola
*Not her real name
We all deserve someone who cares
That’s why at AXA Health insurance, we build our teams with people who care, so when you need it, we’re here to support you. We’ll help you access the care you need quickly. But more than that, we listen, we support, we care.
AXA Health Plan members can access our 24/7 mental health support line, where you can confidentially chat with a professional about your worries, offering a safe space to share how you’re feeling1.
And, if you add our mental health care option, you’ll get access to a range of services to help all kinds of mental health struggles from talking therapies to inpatient care. Please note that our mental health care is only available to those who haven’t previously had treatment for an existing mental health condition.
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In the UK and Ireland, Samaritans can be contacted on freephone 116 123, or email jo@samaritans.org or jo@samaritans.ie. You can contact the mental health charity Mind on 0300 123 3393 or by visiting mind.org.uk
