Four years ago, my mother died in tragic circumstances and my father committed suicide a year later. I found his body. We were a very close family. At the time, I had a successful and happy career, and was confident and dynamic. I tried to approach life positively and took a new job. It meant uprooting the family, but I was sure the children would benefit. It started well, but I soon felt bored, so I took another position, which didn’t work out. Each time I took a new role, my confidence and self-belief seemed to be eroded. I now have another good job, but am fearful I will be “found out” and my lack of confidence will start to show. I can’t seem to relate to people any more or cope with criticism, and I become overly disappointed with the smallest things. It’s almost as if all my values, confidence and joy have been destroyed since my dad died. My wife has been amazing, and although I talk to her, I’m fearful she’ll think I’ve become a complete loser and will bail out. What happened to that smart, witty man I used to be? Can he ever come back?

I am sorry; truly and deeply sorry. That must have been, and still must be, very hard for you. I’m sure you are used to, and are quite possibly bored by, expressions of sympathy. They change nothing, do they? And what you want is for things to change. Or, rather, what you want is for you to change. My feeling is, until you really acknowledge the terrible losses you have experienced and extend some compassion towards yourself, nothing will change. I am all for approaching things positively, but sometimes we can turn positive thinking into a stick with which to beat ourselves. We bury grief, turn our backs on emotion and refuse to allow ourselves any compassion. We confuse self-pity (as in your phrase “complete loser”) with self-care. We refuse to show sympathy for our own pain. The trouble with this approach is that strong emotion demands to be acknowledged and processed. Ignoring it won’t make it go away. Quite the contrary, in fact.

That smart, witty man you used to be is still there, but he is only a part of you. There is another part of you and this is the part — wounded, grieving, traumatised — that is trying to find expression. Repressed emotion doesn’t always show up in obvious ways. I wonder, for example, when you say you were “bored” by the new job, whether the underlying emotion was one of emptiness or lack of meaning. Rather than look at the real cause, you ascribed your dissatisfaction to the job itself and took a new position, and then another. Every time, your confidence and self-belief were eroded. What seems to be happening is that all the grief and trauma you’re refusing to acknowledge is emerging as an underlying depression — hence your feelings of emptiness and lack of confidence. When we swallow our feelings, they emerge in other ways. That’s why depression is so often described as anger turned inwards (and your anger at what happened to two people you love very much must be intense), or trapped emotion. On top of that, depression is often precipitated by loss, whether of a beloved parent or a job (not to mention the sense of identity we attach to those things), so it’s no surprise that’s what you’re dealing with now — or trying to deal with.

We can go on coping (or apparently coping) until, eventually, our minds say, that’s enough, and we start behaving in ways we think are uncharacteristic — or seem to have nothing to do with the people we like to believe we are. You give a perfect example in your description of not being able to relate to others, finding criticism difficult and becoming disappointed with the smallest thing. That doesn’t make you weak. That makes you human. I’m sure your wife is amazing because she thinks you’re amazing. Perhaps you could extend some of the compassion and respect she shows to you towards yourself and ask for help. You cannot do this on your own. Nobody can. Some bereavement counselling would be helpful, or therapy to work through the trauma of the death of your parents. Suicide is a particularly traumatic event to deal with.

Other than talking to somebody in a safe place, there’s a book I’d like to suggest that you may find helpful. It deals with the newest form of therapy. Combining Buddhist compassion and mindfulness with more traditional forms of therapy — cognitive behavioural therapy — it addresses negative and self-critical thought patterns, including those “I must be better”, “I must get over this” sticks we use to beat ourselves with. It contains various exercises and meditations that I’ve found enormously useful in combating the episodes of depression that occasionally cripple me. Showing compassion to ourselves and our suffering is most emphatically not self-indulgent. It takes great courage to face our pain and to work through it. You sound like a good man who’s trying to do his best for his family. Now, please, try to do the best for yourself.

The Compassionate Mind by Paul Gilbert (Constable £20). British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy; bacp.co.uk

If you have a relationship question for Sally, e-mail sally.brampton@sunday-times.co.uk. In case of publication, names will be withheld. We’re sorry, but Sally cannot answer letters personally

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