Struggling with the guilt of a happy life while the world burns? Me too. Until this week...

Maybe its a Catholic thing, but the guilt of feeling happy whilst so many other are suffering has been weighing me down. Trust a Catholic to turn to a nun for help.

Last weekend I sat in my kitchen, sun streaming through the open bifold doors. Husband pottering in the garden, two happy teenager daughters giggling, spraying sun cream and sharing banter before heading out for an afternoon of fun. Even Coco the cat seemed to be enjoying the day, spread eagle under the table, the perfect spot to bathe in equal amounts of shade and sun. I felt content. And that is not a feeling that I have been used to throughout my life. Contentment for me has been hard earned.

Content. Whisper it quietly, happy even. I felt grateful for the life I am leading, the people (and cat) who make it so full, so full of love. Not lucky. It has not been luck getting to this point. It has been, quite frankly, a slog. And now. A happy moment. A good life. Rich in the things that matter (who pays off their mortgage nowadays anyway?).

Like a butterfly, not a rare and exotic one, just an everyday fluttery Cabbage White, this beautiful feeling hovered momentarily. A precious moment. A chance to bask in the glory of a loving family. To feel safe, peaceful and fulfilled. But, butterflies, like feelings, are often difficult to hold onto. The flutter of everyday contentment soon passed and was replaced by the odious flapping of the dark moth of guilt.

Who was I to enjoy this blissful moment when the world is full of such torment? Why am I sat here, admiring my full bellied children when women in Gaza are watching their children starve? How can I look forward to a blissful summer with my family, when Israeli mothers are tortured, waiting for their own beloved families to return? How can I enjoy the sounds of my children’s hope and laughter, the birds chirping, my husband humming, whilst other mothers are deafened by the sounds of raining bombs and death seeking drones? Why did I get this life, and they got theirs? That is lucky.

And I felt guilty for the luck. Guilty for enjoying iced coffee in a clean and cozy kitchen, lounging on the sofa whilst the world burns. Why aren’t I out on the streets, protesting, making noise, battering down doors, screaming for change? I would want the women of world to do that for me if the tables were turned.

This dilemma is not new to me. I am constantly torn between wanting to stay informed and wanting to lock myself away with my family, throw away the key and never face the world again. I feel guilty for being happy at a time of so much pain, anguish and uncertainty. I feel I must do more, but the overwhelm can render me impotent. I want a normal life, I have sweat blood for one. But nothing feels normal anymore.

For the rest of the week I couldn’t write. What’s the point? Anything other than campaigning and rallying the troops felt self-indulgent. I managed to publish a piece on Monday about how much Trump fucks me off but to be honest I could write a piece like that on the hour, every hour. What about the other things I wanted to write about?... the light-hearted observational pieces, the personal stories, the empowerment essays and the health-related articles. All seemed pretty self-serving. My life seemed, well self-serving and that was an uncomfortable feeling for me.

I dabbled with the thought of writing a piece which included links to petitions, contact details of MPs to hassle and websites of campaigns to join. I still think that’s a good idea, but it did not seem enough. I became deflated. The dark moth lingered. I felt paralysed by the state of the world, my inability to do anything meaningful and my fear that I could never again revel in the joy of my now simple but beautiful life. I begrudged myself the little corner of homely heaven I had worked so hard to build. I needed a way to make this better. I needed a sign. It was Thursday before the universe provided one.

Late on Thursday evening I was doing my last scroll of the day on Substack. I didn’t know what I was looking. But that didn’t stop me from finding it. I found this:

This was not just any insta/facebook type platitude. This quote was something I have heard before. I hadn’t realised just how much I needed to hear it again. Mother Teresa, the diminutive Albanian-Indian Catholic nun who dedicated her life to caring and loving the sick and needy, had featured quite heavily in my early life. I welcomed her return with open arms.

As a child of devoted Catholic parents, I felt the calling to be a nun (that’s how it works, it chooses you, you don’t choose it). Mother Teresa was a big influence on my life, and I genuinely cried when she died. I did not however go on to become a nun. I swear like a trooper. Holy orders ultimately were not for me but I still value the wisdom and compassion of such an amazing woman.

Her sage words beat the dark moth of guilt into a hasty retreat. So much of my wanting to change the world, to end the suffering, to advocate for better and to bring hope has been based around the fight. Using the anger, the rage, the fear and the loathing as fuel for my engine, the energy that keeps the blood pumping through my body and drives me on to do more. Its exhausting. And any retreat from it can feel guilt laden, self-indulgent, ignorant and neglectful.

There is, however, another way. Not an alternative. More of an adjunct. Mother Teresa’s way. Love. And that I can do and have been doing. Relentlessly. And for all my life. To love our families, nurture our children in safe and loving environments; to extend this to our friends, our neighbours, colleagues, strangers even, is changing the world.

Growing love, in a time when hate and fear are oxygen to the fire of eternal suffering is meaningful and much needed. To challenge the narrative of greed and selfishness with care and comfort is an act of resistance. Where better a place to start than at home? Where better to start than with our children? Raising a securer, stronger, kinder and philosophical future generation will not erase the pain of today but might prevent the sufferings of tomorrow.

The drive for a world free of war, brutality, murder, pain and fear goes on. And we need to capitalise on our armoury to fight. But creating loving environments is a valuable ‘weapon’. And not one we need to feel guilty about. Loved children go on to spread love. Happy, secure people bring more stability and happiness. It is ok to find the joy in that and find joy in one’s own peace. It does not detract from anyone else’s and helps soothe and rejuvenate us for the more difficult, but necessary feelings of rage and anger as we fight for better.

Will I be raging in the street when Trump comes to visit the UK? You bet I will. Will I use every bit of fire in my soul to put a stop to the rise of psychopaths and sycophants? Yes, to that too. Will I be writing tirelessly for women’s rights and vulnerable groups such as the mentally ill? Three in a row.

But now will I also be basking in the glory of love, the love of my family, the simple pleasures of a peaceful family life and the joy of living a life quietly filled with love? Yes, I will. And Mother Teresa would approve. The weekend has come round again. I am sitting in my kitchen, and I can feel the beautiful butterfly coming back. I will allow myself to observe it and sit with it. I wish you the very same.

*With thanks to

Tracy Chrest

for the original note and

Frances

restacking.

Please feel free to like, comment or restack. Spread the word. I really appreciate your support. Many hands make light work for this woman. X