Dear Bel,
Christmas is almost here, and I’m struggling with a situation that must be far from unique. The festive season unfairly adds another layer of poignancy – dangling a sparkling vision of what could be, contrasted with the disappointing and frustrating reality.
First, some background. Three years ago, on Christmas Eve, I began a relationship with Andrew, a retired RAF officer. We had been acquaintances for a while, through work, but no more than that. Andrew’s wife, Rachel, whom he adored, died during Covid, and I had been on my own for a decade, my long-term partner having suddenly and distressingly departed with no apparent reason. I heard about Rachel’s death and suggested some outings to offer companionship.
Over months, our friendship developed into something much closer, something neither of us had sought or expected. Despite our differences –Andrew, an old-fashioned gentleman, loving military history, tweed jackets and real ale; me, a henna-haired bohemian, loving poetry, Motown and red wine – we found great happiness in our new chapter. Living over three hours apart, we’re happy to talk every day, spend weekends and holidays together, share friends and special occasions. Both in our 60s, we feel lucky to be given another shot at happiness.
So far, so good. But there is a problem which, try as I might, I cannot get to grips with. Andrew has two adult daughters, both with happy lives, gorgeous houses and excellent jobs. In the early days, I empathised with their desire not to ‘replace’ their mother and their caution about their dad forming a relationship with someone so different.
Our friends, and most family members, are delighted for us – but the daughters are not happy. At family gatherings I am greeted politely (often without my name being used) then ignored.
No effort is made to include me in the conversation. I am a good listener, and always ask questions, smile, comment and try to engage. But it is never reciprocated. The girls are intelligent and responsible people, and I would love to get on with them – as a friend, not as a substitute mother!
Andrew is so keen to see us all together, enjoying Christmas as one big, blended group – and, as I love him, I want to see him happy. We think back to that first Christmas Eve, full of excitement, hope, and anticipation. We soon started to dream of future Christmases together. But, again, I will be spending Christmas with my family, and Andrew will be spending it with his daughters.
Do I put aside my own awkwardness and join a Christmas gathering to which I am not altogether welcome, or do we continue to go our separate ways during this special time of the year? I just want to see Andrew happy, but it is difficult to know how to manage this. One day, surely, we can spend a Christmas together at last?
JENNY
Bel Mooney replies: Without doubt, you’re right to say your situation is far from unique. That’s why I read your letter with a strange mixture of real sadness and rising frustration. Which I’ll come back to a bit later.
But first, the good news is that you met somebody after a long time alone. It delights me that you make so much of your differences (although you both sound like people I’d get on with!) because that fact confirms something I have often mentioned in this column. When people decide they have a ‘type’ (‘I’m only attracted to tall men’ or ‘I want to meet a bubbly blonde’) they might as well stick up a tall fence around themselves, deliberately keeping out various lovely souls they could have fun/find happiness with. Don’t do it!
Keeping an open mind and a generous, questing heart is the key to all relationships, whether sexual, familial or friendly. And if readers are muttering, ‘It’s all very well for her to write that’ I’ll retort, hand on heart, that in my life I have practised what I preach. It’s not so very hard, once you make up your mind to make the effort.
Nobody ever said these things are easy. Plenty of people have to witness a son or daughter in a relationship with somebody they really don’t care for that much. If they’re wise they’ll tread carefully, silently hoping the relationship fizzles out. But what if it doesn’t?
A friend of mine confessed she never really took to her beloved daughter’s husband, but knows she has to make the best of it. What choice is there, especially if there are children? It’s that or living with an unpleasant atmosphere. Or worse.
You and Andrew are at the other end of the age scale, yet the issue can be just as acute.
You do understand that the relative speed of Andrew’s affection for you must have shocked his daughters. They were still grieving for their mother when their father was suddenly dating another woman. I doubt it was anything personal; they just thought it too soon.
But three years on? Yes, surely it’s time they pushed their feelings to one side in order to facilitate their father’s happiness at this stage in his life.
Here’s where my imagination hears the old chorus: Why should they? Regular readers know it’s my bugbear – that common refusal to do something you don’t really want to do, because it will make somebody else very happy indeed. Oh, the stubborn mean-spiritedness of it!
Why, oh why, can’t people bring some light to the darkness of life by forgiving, forgetting and forbearing? Why not acknowledge how terrifyingly short life is and just reach out a hand – even if it costs an effort? Why not be kind?
Why not act with welcoming warmth, even if your heart doesn’t really feel it? You’d be surprised at the effect that little helpful charade can have, on all concerned – rather like the established fact that when you make yourself smile you find your spirits grow lighter.
This would be my Christmas message to all readers. I often become depressed (after 19 years of writing an advice column) by the smug negativity of people who (frankly) need to get over themselves and realise they add nothing to the joy of the universe by being critical and cold.
You know, I once had a letter concerning three adult (although that’s a questionable term) sisters very nastily at war over one item from their dead father’s possessions. Can you imagine? You’ve no idea how savagely people can peck at each other – like chickens in a too-small cage …
But I digress. Back to you, Jenny – and, at least from time to time, you do see and talk to these daughters. You’re not banned from any gathering. Your problem is the lack of warmth and interest from them.
But you mention your own ‘awkwardness’, so the situation is not all one-sided, is it?
The trouble is, in expecting them to behave coolly towards you, I suspect you just might behave in a similar way. It would be natural. But you ask what you can do about it, so I suggest (which you may not like) that you have to make the running in the future.
What are the alternatives? Carry on as you are, having separate Christmases. Decide to go on an upmarket cruise (or similar) next year and have a very different Christmas together, even though it might pain Andrew to make that break.
Or resolve, with him, to spend Christmas Day with him, his daughters and the grandchildren and jolly well make up your mind you’re going to make it a success.
You see, you can’t do much about their minds but you can take control of your own. It’s a tough truth.
There are no magic wands. There’s just the holding out of warmth and affection, at the same time as accepting the necessity of some self-sacrifice …for all of us.
Yes, this is my heartfelt message of peace and goodwill – and perhaps the harder it seems, the more beautiful it turns out to be.
And finally…
Make a Christmas list with a twist
Never mind the raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens (although both are lovely) and I’m not sure about those ‘girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes’. But this is the time for ‘warm woollen mittens’ – so maybe a list of favourite things might warm your heart.
And if you jot down all the things you most like, it could inspire you to keep a gratitude journal next year. As the song from The Sound Of Music says, ‘When I’m feeling sad/I simply remember my favourite things/And then I don’t feel so bad.’
So let me share some of mine and see if any of them strike a chord with you…
- Decorating the Christmas tree with the same old baubles and tinsel while playing traditional carols on CDs. To that, add listening to music all year round.
- Putting the wrapped presents underneath the fairylit tree and thinking that even though life can make you sad, gifts in Christmas paper are always exciting.
- Walking into an art gallery or museum, anywhere.
- Talking with good friends about everything under the sun, preferably over a glass or four of wine.
- Chatting to my son and daughter about their lives. (How come they grew up?)
- Witnessing how happy the grandchildren are with us.
- Being in our cosy home, even though the kitchen hasn’t been painted for 15 years.
- Reading my crisp, new Daily Mail every single day over breakfast.
- Trees, flowers, fields, birds, clouds … the beauty of our countryside. (Shall I do pet hates like wind turbines and solar farms in the new year?)
- Dancing to my 1964 jukebox.
- The clinking as my kind husband makes me a drink in the kitchen – usually a vodka and tonic. Cheers, good health – and a very Happy Christmas to you all!
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