I came home from prison determined to make a fresh start, to reconnect with my family and leave the past behind. I’d found solace in my faith, rebuilt myself through the prison chaplains and bible studies, and was ready to take on life. But life had other plans. Mum’s passing hit me like a tidal wave, leaving me questioning everything – especially my faith. 

The guilt was crippling. I’d been inside when she started showing symptoms, and I wasn’t there to help her. What if I’d been there? Could I have spotted the dementia sooner? Got her help earlier? The what-ifs swirled in my head, threatening to consume me. I felt like I’d failed her, failed myself. 

I felt betrayed. I’d cloned onto my faith in prison, used it to rebuild myself, and now it felt like it’d been ripped away. Why would God take her from me? Why would He put me through this? The anger and hurt were suffocating, making me want to turn my back on everything – faith, God, the lot. I’d had enough of being strong, enough of trying to make sense of things. 

But something stopped me. Maybe it was the tiny spark of resilience I’d built in prison, the knowledge that I’d survived darker days. I remembered the chaplains, the bible studies, the sense of community. I remembered how it’d helped my mental health, how it’d given me a purpose. I thought about the people I’d met, the ones who’d struggled and still struggled, and how they’d found ways to cope. 

The thing is, when life gets tough, it’s easy to give up. To say, “Screw it, I’m done.” But that’s exactly when we need to hold on tighter. Not just to faith, but to anything that keeps us going – be it therapy, mates, exercise, or just getting out of bed. Mental health’s a messy, non-linear thing. Some days are sh*t, and that’s okay. 

I didn’t turn my back on my faith because, in the end, it’s not about God being cruel or kind – it’s about finding strength in the darkness. It’s about knowing that, even when life doesn’tmake sense, you’ve got tools to get through it. And mine was faith. It wasn’t a magic fix, but it was something to cling to. 

Mum’s gone, and the guilt still eats at me. But I’m not broken. I’m not defined by this pain. I’m still standing, and I’m still finding my way. I’m learning to live with the guilt, to acknowledge it without letting it consume me. I’m learning to find joy in the little things – a good cuppa, a sunny day, a mate’s laugh, and time with my wife and family. 

If you’re struggling, know you’re not alone. Hold on to what helps you, and know that this too will pass. Don’t give up on the things that keep you going, no matter how small they seem. And don’t beat yourself up over the what-ifs – they’re just thoughts, not facts. 

Final thought: 

Healing’s not about “getting over it.” It’s about learning to live with it and finding strength in the darkest places. 

written by Darren Parker

blogger @poemstellium