A woman whose friend has cut her off because she is dating her ex wonders what to do. Mariella Frostrup thinks life is too short for such petty jealousies
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I have recently started going out with a man who I am very happy with but who is also my best friend's ex-boyfriend from five years ago, when she was 17. They were only together for a few months and have remained friends but, despite her now having a boyfriend of four years with whom she is extremely happy, she has taken this news very badly. She has told me she finds the situation so difficult she doesn't know if we can remain friends. I don't see the problem as their break-up wasn't bad, it was so long ago and they have remained friends. She has completely cut contact with both of us. I lived with her for four years before we left university and we have been through a lot together. I am not sure if this new relationship is worth the destruction of an old one.

Mariella replies Why should you have to choose? Far be it from me to be judgmental, but your friend is being ridiculous. It's a predictable form of behaviour, but one I really struggle to get my head around. During my single days if a relationship didn't work out I was always delighted to be of service to a friend with an introduction.

Obviously it's not the first call you make after a break-up, but as soon as past romance has evolved into friendship, passing on old lovers seems only civilised. To me a basic requirement of evolved sisterhood is to share out what you don't need. Only the other night a couple I'd introduced 20 years ago, after I failed to make successful my own liaison with the male partner, were happily giving me credit for their union. Instead of jealousy I feel only pride at how well that bit of matchmaking went. As for my replacement, she is far the better woman for him and they have three great kids together to boot.

Mooning around, clinging on to past loves is just another way of cluttering up your life. Far better to find good homes for old lovers so you can live your life surrounded by people who care for you. Unfinished emotions are like an untidy underwear drawer, a hidden obstacle to the Holy Grail of stress-free living. Marking territory is for tomcats, not an evolved species like our own.

We have to decide whether partnerships are signed, sealed, stamped and impossible to escape or face the new reality that with freedom of choice and equal rights comes the ability to escape unsuccessful love affairs. Couple choice with longer life spans and few relationships that begin earlier than midlife are likely to last the distance.

This is the season of goodwill to all men (and women) and old boyfriends and girlfriends are a perfect gift for good friends. There truly is someone for everyone in this world so if a particular partner doesn't work there should be enormous pleasure in trying to find a better match.

You ask me if you should choose between this new boyfriend or your old girlfriend. My response would be that she shouldn't be making you choose at all. Whether her opposition is born of pride (most often the case), an unexplored jealous impulse or unrequited affection for this guy, it's her, not you who should be examining her conscience.

One of the greatest hurdles to fully fledged female emancipation is women's competitive insecurities when it comes to men. At a recent meal a girlfriend my age – in other words old enough to know better – was scared to leave her husband in conversation with the singleton next to him for fear she'd lure him into her seductive web. It was sad to witness such insecurity in a wonderful, clever, mature and beautiful woman.

Good relationships aren't spent standing guard over partners. The best unions are between two people who trust each other enough to enjoy independence. Allowing irrational emotional impulses, born of our own unconscious fears, to ruin relationships and make us mean and self-serving in friendship is to our detriment. Your girlfriend should be delighted that you are happily coupled and, instead of resenting it, eagerly drawing two people she clearly cares about closer to her.

Life is too short for small-minded jealousies and long enough to forgive almost all transgressions.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A mother who gave one of her daughters money for a house is no longer on speaking terms with the other daughter. Mariella Frostrup is shocked by her favouritism
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I have two daughters in their 30s. A few years ago, my elder daughter found herself in a desperate financial situation whereby she and her husband had to quickly raise a considerable sum of money to purchase the house they were renting. She turned to me for help (something she had never done before), but I would have had to remortgage one of my properties to lend her the money, so I refused. She accepted my reasons, and they managed to get a mortgage and stay in their home. Some time later my younger daughter was tragically widowed, and by then I was in a better financial position. I therefore gave her £50,000 to help her buy her first home, which she shares with a lodger. When my older daughter found out about this she was hurt and angry, and now refuses to have anything to do with me. She says it's not about the money, but I think she's being selfish, petty and resentful. I have not made any attempts to get in touch since the disagreement, as I don't feel I have done anything wrong. Why is she being so unreasonable?

Mariella replies Did you reread this letter before you sent it? You're strangely judgmental and cold about this child of yours. I'm dreadful with money – it pours through my hands like water and I've never managed to hoard, save or be particularly sensible with it. It's an admission I take no pride in but think it preferable to someone allowing the prospect of a remortgage to put them off when their child is in need. Displaying financial restraint in the face of a child's hardship when they've never before asked and you have the wherewithal to alleviate their problem is hard for me to contemplate.

Plenty of parents would gnaw off their own arm to be in your position, with "properties", in the plural, from which to draw down funds. Desperation is relative, and if your daughter was "desperate" when it came to buying her rental home I'm not sure what you'd call a shanty-town dweller in J'Burg whose shack is about to be bulldozed.

Let's forget about the amounts and look at the emotions. With two daughters, now grown, you can't be unfamiliar with the extent of sibling rivalry and the sense, no matter how erroneous, that you are the less- favoured child. What you appear to be describing is that scenario, with emotions exacerbated by the fact that instead of keeping an equally tight hand on your purse strings in both scenarios, in one you forked out a cool, non-refundable I presume, £50K and in the other you said a flat no.

Putting aside the matter of whether or not adult kids should be asking for financial help from their parents, yours remains an entirely ill-considered response. Neither child, judging by your letter, was to blame for her financial difficulties, and neither had a past record of taking advantage of your generosity, so why would you think that handing out largesse to one wouldn't cause upset to the other?

Most fascinating to me is the almighty high horse you now seem to be sitting astride, refusing to speak to your daughter simply because she's made you aware of her feelings about your choice and the secrecy in which you made it. This seems to be all about you and the manipulation of power: you're dispensing generosity in one direction, refusing it in the other. It's not exactly subtle psychology.

As an adult you'll know that no reconciliation can occur without dialogue, and no situation is ever resolved in silence. Give your own motives a forensic perusal, as there is clearly an imbalance in your relationship with your elder daughter which, even if you're not entirely responsible for, you're certainly doing a good job of aggravating.

In an ideal world our faults and our fortune would be shared out equally among our offspring. Sadly, we have no control of what faults they're born with and way too much over the flaws they develop during nurture. As for money, if you are one of the few out there with some to spare, for heaven's sake spread it equally. Socialism may be out of fashion, but within families equal distribution, or at least distribution relative to need, is the only way to make things run smoothly. Favouritism, like capitalism, causes division.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A young woman who enjoys being single wonders if she will later regret not having been in a relationship. Mariella Frostrup wishes more women had her confidence

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I am a single woman in my mid-20s. I value my independence and have never sought out romantic relationships. The lack of a serious relationship has never bothered me. I have good friends, a good life and a job I find rewarding, and I don't feel anything is missing in my life. Actually, I enjoy the freedom of being single, especially as I like to travel and live abroad. I am, however, increasingly aware of friends settling down and marrying, and I wonder if in 10 years I'll regret not having pursued a relationship. Should I be working harder to make space for someone else in my life?

Mariella replies Heavens no! I only wish I'd had half your self-confidence and functionality as a twentysomething. We need more young women to grow up enjoying your perfectly formed sense of self-containment.

Did I just say "young women"? It's a historic moment, the first time I can recall voluntarily distancing myself from a social group I still find it hard to accept I no longer belong to! Pertinently, in your case, the only things that really change between youth and full maturity, apart from the wrinkles, are often matters of emotional fine-tuning, impacted by a form of behavioural evolution that we must hope for as the years pass by.

The unlucky become needier, sadder and unhappier; the blessed choose to benefit from their accrued experience by becoming more comfortable in their own skins, which is often half the battle to achieving contentment. Now here's you, fast forwarding that process and making me question why I, too, couldn't have saved myself decades of romantic turbulence before coming to the conclusions you've reached.

Far from being unsuitable for romantic engagement, you are ripe for the picking. Contrary to popular mythology, the best and most durable relationships are based not on vulnerability or passion but on a conjugation of positive attributes, a meeting of mind, body and soul that is all the more powerful as it is not weighed down with neediness and unreasonable expectation. It remains culturally credible for girls, brought up on a diet of princesses being rescued, to grow up waiting for someone to save them from the somnambulance of their single life. Far too many individuals are out there scrabbling for any tidbits of affection, terrified to be left with the life they've created for themselves.

What an unappealing responsibility that is to lumber any prospective lover with: the need to be a saviour, not simply an equal partner. In so many young women a lack of self-esteem and confidence in their independence and abilities remains puzzlingly in evidence despite nearly a century of emancipation. Far too many girls' and women's romantic relationships are formed around a negation of their own worth and attributes rather than a confirmation of them.

Meanwhile many men are understandably trying to dodge a curiously preserved expectation of a lifetime of support, emotional and financial, rather than a meeting of like minds and capable companions. It's a quagmire of misunderstanding. Too often we forget that an ideal partner is someone who enhances an already full existence. Someone who complements, rather than is at odds with, your social and working life.

You display a clear eye for what is important to you, and that makes you perfectly prepared for a potential relationship. I'm confident that when you do meet the person who tempts you to proceed further than you have (which you undoubtedly will, no matter how much you are resistant now) their appeal to you will be for all the right reasons.

If we could only ensure that every young girl grew up with your independent spirit and confidence the world would change immeasurably for the better. You are the kind of woman our mothers dreamed would one day populate the world and, hey presto, here you are. My overwhelming desire is to one day see my mailbag overflowing with similar correspondents. Meanwhile, I'm not sure why you've written, as it's the rest of us who have all the problems.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk.Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman whose partner is a widower feels second best to a wife who died 18 years ago. Mariella Frostrup says no one can compete with an idealised memory

The dilemma I have been in a relationship with a widower for nearly three years, but I'm having difficulty understanding it. His wife died 18 years ago and he still has a large photo of her hanging in his room and an even bigger one in the lounge with a candle under it. I love him dearly, but he has not taken them down even though they make me feel uncomfortable. He reckons they brought him comfort through the years. He says he loves me and I believe him. Am I being gullible, and will I always come second to a ghost?

Mariella replies Death makes saints of us all. Some, like the late great Nelson Mandela, deserve to find themselves canonised when they slip off this mortal coil; other less deserving candidates might be amused to see their tenure immortalised as being beyond reproach.

The truth is you can't compete with a memory, and neither should you feel compelled to. Aside from his couple of memento moris (and yes, I agree, the candle has to go) it sounds like you two get along just fine. Most of us have to make room for a lot more of our partner's baggage than a couple of cherished photos.

To digress for a moment, a new book called Stuffocation highlights the problem of this overload of accumulation, suggesting that in a consumer age our inability to let go is driving us to the edge of reason. While a couple of framed portraits doesn't define your partner as a sufferer, the message the book carries about a need for all of us to learn to let go (and stop compulsive purchasing, too) is pretty apt. Perhaps a copy in his Christmas stocking? It's far subtler than a manual on bereavement counselling and doesn't pit you against his dead wife's cherished memory in a battle you can never truly win.

There is also a bright side to your predicament. Your partner clearly has the capacity to commit himself and love deeply. How much more worrying it would be if all the memorabilia of his wife were stuffed in a bin liner and dumped with a cry of "out with the old, in with the new". I'm sure neither you nor she would be pleased to find yourselves so easily erased. Instead, this man you are dating sees fit to do justice to his first wife's memory by preserving a place for her in his home and his heart.

Call me a hopeless romantic, but I'm rather moved by his devotion. One of the aspects of human behaviour that continues to puzzle me is the conviction we have that we are unique. Presiding over a postbag like mine may be full of surprises, but conversely it relieves any trace of belief in the originality of man. Despite some spectacularly bizarre problems arriving in my inbox, I've yet to come across a dilemma that isn't reminiscent of others – aside perhaps from the drunken husband who snogged his male neighbour and immediately decided to leave his family and cruise gay bars. That's a whole other story though!

This universality of suffering should act as a comfort to us when we are beset with emotional problems as it's all too easy, when you're under a dark cloud, to feel its shadows are reserved for you solely. I can totally understand why you don't want to live out your days with a dead woman peering down at you, but acknowledging her memory is a lot healthier than trying to banish it. Personally, I'd try to make peace with my predecessor.

We are contrary creatures, and I'll bet that the less this man feels you are trying to squeeze his dead spouse out of the picture the more he'll make room for you to step into his life. You are alive and kicking, which gives you a distinct advantage in this situation. Your predecessor is a cherished memory. Think kindly toward your partner for his capacity for enduring affection and thank your lucky stars that you have found such a man.

To paraphrase the popular song: if you're a candle in the wind, it's only a matter of time before the flame burns out. My guess is that the less attention you give his little altar the sooner maintaining it will become a reluctant chore and finally a memory itself. Remember, too, that secret weapon of yours: you are alive, so you can afford to be generous to the deceased.

A man believes his grandmother's will should be changed in favour of his aunt. Mariella Frostrup says this is about his father

The dilemma My gran is 90 and she has told me about her will – 50% goes to my aunt, her main carer, and the other 50% is between me, my brother and my dad. When my mother died five years ago, she left an unsigned letter asking her solicitor to change her will so that 75% would go to me, 25% to my brother. My dad, we believe, destroyed this letter in order to take the money himself, which he did. My argument isn't about money – I'm successful and happy – but my problem is that my mum's dying wish for her children has not been met. I want to convince my gran that she should change her will so that my father's share goes to my aunt (who has MS, has to drive every day to visit my gran, gets few benefits and has been a full-time carer for my gran since my mum died). She deserves a break – my dad would spend it on cigarettes, whisky and petrol, just like he has done with my mother's money.

Mariella replies Whoa, let's take a step back. You may be successful, but I'm not convinced you're happy at all. This isn't a letter about money but about the weaponry you have at your disposal. Where's the sense of sadness at your mother's passing or your grandmother's presumably imminent demise?

Instead of thinking about things of real value, you are caught up in a fiscal fiasco. As we both know, an unsigned letter is not worth the paper it's written on, so instead of harking back to a perceived past injustice, let's look at the situation as it stands.

First, you are neither her carer nor the beneficiary of more than a small portion of your gran's estate. So why are you so hung up about it? There's a very simple way to ensure that your aunt who has MS is properly rewarded, and that's to give up your share of this coming inheritance. If you feel so strongly about your aunt being taken care of, pass on your portion and try to convince your brother and father to do likewise. I suspect you'll be outraged by that suggestion.

Mentioning the 75% you lost out on when your mother died suggests that either the money does mean something to you or your emotional temperature is attached to figures and not your feelings. Your letter suggests you feel short-changed, both in terms of what you say was designated yours and also by your father, who is more focused on his own vices than his children's virtues.

The long and short of it is that you are not holding the purse strings, so it's not in your gift to dole out and withhold as you see fit. Instead of worrying about who your grandmother leaves her savings to, how about re-evaluating your relationship with your dad? It appears that he has let you down enormously and instigated what feels like a compulsion to punish him with whatever tools you can lay your hands on. Ultimately, as you say, he'll spend his money as he sees fit, and if he doesn't get this lump sum he'll still continue in similar dysfunctional vein.

Maybe it's time for you to take stock of what you really value instead of firing off like a machine gun in all directions. If it's money you're sore about, then you need to admit that to yourself, not least so you can stop your saintly aggrieved stance in time to address upcoming monetary matters. My feeling is that the money isn't the issue here, except as a way of trying to exert control in what looks like a long family tradition of using purse strings to make puppets of you all. If you are after the emotional high ground, all you need do is transfer your inheritance to your aunt the moment you receive it, but don't do so in the expectation of forcing others to follow suit.

Perhaps there are also unresolved issues between you and your brother. Start thinking about how to address those challenges. Having money to hand down is an all-too-rare privilege. You should be expressing gratitude for a place on that food chain, not concern about who deserves a share of an inheritance that isn't yours.

To have the potential for happiness you need to break from this unsavoury family tradition of working out loyalties in sterling percentages. I'm not sure why your mother would have opted to divide her estate so unfairly between her two children, but thankfully she failed to endorse that choice. Why it should continue to prey on your mind is a question you'd do well to answer.

A mother who had her sons adopted wonders whether to keep contacting the one who now refuses to talk to her. Mariella Frostrup says yes – but not to justify her decision

The dilemmaI gave up my twin sons for open adoption when they were four, thinking I was giving them a really good future with a well-to-do couple.  I am prone to depression and after an emotionally abusive childhood did not know if I had it in me to give them a happy life. It was a wrench, but they DID turn out so well it could almost have been worth it. One of them is in contact, but it's not a close relationship, maybe because I don't know how to be close, though I think of him incessantly. We meet for birthdays, Christmas, exchange texts and so on. The other has refused contact with me since he was 16. I have news of him through his twin and know he is happy and doing well, but despite letters and emails explaining why I had them adopted (it was an open adoption so I could see them, even once a week sometimes) he refuses even to take a call. I still send him a birthday and Christmas card.  Should I let it be and leave him in peace or keep sending the cards? Ironically he was the one I think who loved me most when he was young. 

Mariella replies What a painful choice you made. It's one almost everyone will have an opinion on, but no one can fully understand unless they were in your shoes at the time. In some circumstances the greatest sacrifice and bravest choice a parent can make is to acknowledge their inability to care properly for their children.

The trouble is that's seldom how the kids in question see it. From the outside it's easy enough to see flaws in your decision and I daresay that's the view your estranged son has chosen. Naturally, this deeper sense of abandonment is writ large in the child who needed you most. For him the complicated choice you made is incomprehensible and his way of coping (and perhaps punishing you) is to banish you from his life.

I suspect that the last thing he wants to hear from you is continuing protestations of innocence because that's just a further abdication of responsibility in his eyes. He may never change his position, but if you were to stop defending your position and make your contact with him unconditional, he might slowly come round. An ability to empathise with what feels in childhood like rejection arrives with maturity and hands-on experience of life's emotional challenges.

Early adulthood is marked by a conviction that we know everything and a sense of outrage that others fail our self-righteous standards. You've said your piece and explained your reasons; repetition won't improve the credibility of your story. Seeking absolution from a young man who feels his most important formative relationship was wrenched from him is far less important than convincing him that your love for him is overwhelming and constant. The more you tell him you had no choice the more he'll fight back with his only weapon, scepticism about your version of his life story.

The background you describe, coupled with your mental illness, suggests you made the right choice for you, but it doesn't mean that others, including your sons, will see it that way. Giving up your children when you are alive and well and living close by is a decision that attracts judgment from all directions. I daresay your son sees terms like "open adoption" as semantics – in his mind he wanted his mum and you weren't there. I'd continue the cards and attempts at contact; not in search of forgiveness, but to remind him you'll never stop loving him.

Meanwhile focus your attention on improving the relationship you have with his brother. Shrugging your shoulders and saying you are not capable of being close isn't good enough. Our ability to change doesn't end until we take our last breath. The closer you make your relationship with one boy the likelier the other is to be compelled toward you.

To ensure clarity of purpose decide what's motivating you – a desire to build something better out of the legacy of the past or to feel better about the choice you made. My guess is that if you opt for the former, all three of you will find it worth investing in.

Email Mariella at mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A man whose wife has a high-profile job is worried about her stress. His concern will help, says Mariella Frostrup, but what she – and he – needs is a sense of perspective
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma My wife has an important and reasonably high-profile job which she enjoys, but it is causing her a lot of stress. Apart from lying awake at night fretting about things, her confidence has taken a knock and often basic situations become difficult. She worries about what to wear and is frequently late for work because she stares at her wardrobe for ages trying to decide. Her ability to shop has suffered and she often ends up buying something that is not right and so suffers even further. Packing for a business trip sometimes has her in tears. She can be short tempered it's difficult to discuss things rationally. I am worried about her, as I cannot see how this state can be sustained.

Mariella replies Jason, is that you? Apart from the "important" element of your wife's job, this letter could easily have come from my own husband. Entertaining demons while your family snores is an all too common scenario among the female of the species once we reach full-blown maturity.

Forgetting an item on a grocery list can take on the magnitude of bankruptcy in the small hours, the size of the worry seldom relevant to the depth of the angst. Such futile fretting, when restorative sleep would be so much more beneficial, is pervasive among menopausal friends and ubiquitous among high achievers the world over. There's little on the self-induced scale more damaging than lack of sleep, so if there was a cure I can assure you I'd be on it.

Nevertheless it's nice of you to write. Many partners in your position would be running for cover to escape the onslaught of irrational, insomniacal ire. Instead you're consulting strangers in your wide-reaching search for answers to your wife's predicament. Such basic kindness is certainly part of the cure. She's trapped in a miserable cycle where her stress-induced lack of sleep exaggerates her worries and causes the bad temper that in turn puts distance between you.

In youth-only exams, redundancy and heartbreak keep us awake. Later on, a bad day at work, a disagreement with a friend, the irritating glow of a clock radio, an uncomfortable mattress or the faint rattle of a distant door can leave us wide-eyed and dreading the long night ahead. Once the tsunami of cortisol starts coursing through our veins very few master the self-control to breathe deeply and "Om" the bad thoughts away.

What to do about it is the million-dollar question. There's always medication – the reason sleeping pills are more coveted than cocaine by those past midlife. But none of us wants to end up like some Hollywood diva, popping something to sleep and something to wake up and a little something in between just as a sharpener.

If only someone had told me in my 20s how much sleep I'd crave in my 50s I would have had a few more early nights. "You don't know what you've got till it's gone," sang Joni Mitchell – and she has a point.

Of all your wife's quandaries the insecurity about clothes is the most easily solved. After decades of similar fretting I simply ran away to the country. Now choosing which bobble hat to top up my wet weather gear is my only sartorial challenge. I appreciate not everyone wants to take such extreme measures, but escape from the city has cured more than just my wardrobe dilemmas. This year's howling gales have seen the internet down more often than up in our rain-drenched, wind-scoured valley and my mobile phone has no signal. Whole days of unfettered techno freedom have radically improved my ability to sleep.

Luckily encroaching technology and 24/7 jobs are only as stressful as we allow them to become. Pausing long enough to put yourself in context can prove a timely cure. Think about removing your wife from her unnatural habitat, however briefly. Remind her of the taste of the sea on her cheeks, the bare beauty of a winter walk, or, if finances allow, a Wi-Fi-free minibreak. There's nothing like being exposed to the elements to remind us of our own transitory insignificance and make long restful sleep an impossibility to resist.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman who is easily hurt by others wants to learn to toughen up. Mariella Frostrup says she should get busy and read fiction instead of psychology.
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I always get told I am "too sensitive" and need to stop taking everything so seriously. On good days I'm fun and gregarious and on bad days I'm nervous and anxious, getting easily hurt by what others say and sometimes what I think they're thinking. It affects friendships and relationships (all three of my past boyfriends have cited it as a problem). It can be a good trait – I am loyal and compassionate – but the bad side is it drives me and others crazy. I can't handle criticism and take things too seriously, getting overly upset, overthinking things and cutting people out of my life. I want to be able to roll with the punches and take life lightly! I meditate and read psychology books, but I just haven't been able to shake it.

Mariella Replies Oh dear, you definitely won't be speaking to me by the end of this column! I've been accused of riding roughshod over others' emotions and I admit when I feel a friend is being over-indulgent my patience is in short supply. That's all very well when the person in question is drowning in a well of self-pity, but in cases of real depression it's taken me a long time to understand that tough love is neither constructive or kind.

What's interesting about you, and quite unusual, is that you're not claiming depression, or even mitigating circumstances for your sensitivity. It's a very good start. Normally the thin-skinned have an endless array of excuses for why their workaday interactions are so much harder to bear for them than for the rest of us. In the eyes of the self-suffering they are being victimised, used and always abused when they're actually experiencing exactly the same body blows as the rest of us.

You're already on the mend because you have a perspective on the irrationality of your responses. Often those who bruise easily spend too much time thinking about themselves. I'd go so far as to say that oversensitivity is a privilege of the underoccupied. The majority of people don't have the time to lavish care on emotional wounds – they're too busy getting on with living.

It's an issue highlighted by therapy culture, as all too often patients end up not cured but justifying their qualifications as fascinating cases. There are more than enough people with serious mental issues who really do need professional help without all the other Toms, Dicks and Harriets rushing to the therapist's couch. Happily, the craze for mass self-examination has been all but obliterated by new technology's facilitation of the 24/7 working week. Fewer and fewer people have an hour to squander gazing at their navel when their smartphone is blinking like a hazard light in their hand.

So back to you and how to toughen up your emotional epidermis. Activity is top of my list of useful distractions. The more time you spend doing and the less thinking the easier it is to shrug off perceived put-downs and imagined insults. You say you've read psychology books in your pursuit of emotional equilibrium, can I suggest you turn to fiction instead?

Understanding what makes other people behave the way they do can help minimise the impact their actions have on you. I've learned as much about the world from made-up stories about it as I have by living in it. Through great novels you can better understand everything from a stranger's suicidal impulse to the far-reaching effect of the Holocaust on the descendants of survivors.

I'd recommend The Grass is Singing, by the late great Doris Lessing, anything at all by Alice Munro, the heart-wrenching Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels and perhaps Dirt Musicby Tim Winton. The best fiction strikes at our heart, reminding us that we are flawed and fabulous, unique and much the same as everyone else, and that ultimately our duty is to live well and leave a residue of goodness with those we love, not squander time fretting about the perceptions and slights of others.

Putting irrational issues in proportion by increasing your empathy and broadening your horizons is the best way possible to reduce their power to diminish you and stop you living bravely. You won't look back.

Email Mariella at mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A mother who threw her aggressive teenage daughter out of the house is devastated. Mariella Frostrup says, despite the bluster, her daughter needs her more than ever.
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemmaMy 16-year-old daughter has gone to live with my mum. We have always had a difficult relationship, but recently the arguments have become more vicious and violent. I really don't know how we can resolve the last one. I live with my partner of 15 years and our two other children. I am devastated by the situation. My middle child has health problems including growth hormone deficiency and dyspraxia. The most recent episode started with my eldest daughter calling her a "retarded cunt". I completely lost it and threw her out of the house. She stayed at a friend's house that first night and I took her to my mum's the next day. As I was leaving she said she hopes the children get taken into care. Otherwise, we have a happy home and I don't know what to do.

Mariella replies Thanks for writing. Looking at comments following my weekly column, it's clear some people think I've set myself up as a qualified expert, dishing out orders to the meek and feeble. Nothing could be further from the truth. The dynamic you've put on the table is one of the hardest to resolve and so emotionally complex that I must reconfirm that I am as human, flawed and prone to mistakes as the rest of my species. Nobody is compelled to write and my advice is meant to precipitate a discussion, not be prescriptive.

So let's talk. The often fractious relationship between mothers and daughters is a regular source of woe, and if I had a snap solution I'd be on a world tour dispensing my wisdom for the global benefit of mankind. Instead, I'm holed up at home, desperately hoping my daughter and I, also often at loggerheads, won't go on to repeat the tragedy of my own dysfunctional past in this area.

Your situation is exacerbated by the fact that your girl feels out on a limb and may have nursed her grievances secretly since, at a year old, her first half-sibling arrived. You don't mention her biological father and I wonder if they have any relationship. If so, now is the time to call him up for parental duty.

Judging by your description your daughter feels isolated and angry, and sentences like "we have a happy home" which sets her outside that unit are not helpful. Your middle child needs extra care, but that doesn't make it any easier for the child who feels shortchanged. It will certainly be a factor in your eldest's sense of injustice.

We imagine it's in their early years that children need maximum care, but as mine grow up it's becoming clear that the real challenges begin when the hormones start raging and, vulnerable as baby turtles trying to make it to the sea, they head towards independence. This stage usually coincides with a period when they are at their most aggressive, mean-spirited, myopic and downright unpleasant.

Having left home at 16, I know how bloody minded a precocious and damaged teenager can be, but also how much of the bluster and rage is really a desperate cry for help. I suggest you take this respite, while your girl is at your mum's, to organise a third party to help you negotiate and mend your relationship. Any other adult she trusts, whether godparent, friend or relation, could help or, better still, perhaps your GP can recommend a counsellor?

Much as you feel the aggrieved party there's likely to be an avalanche of historical baggage contributing to her behaviour. Taking the time to throw aside preconceptions and judgments to talk your way through the past will pay you both huge dividends in the future. No child wants to be set adrift by their parents, but many end up estranged as they struggle to articulate their feelings making sympathy hard to muster.

Possibly you and your partner have done everything right, though that would mark you out as unique. More likely misunderstandings and miscommunication over the years have led to the impasse you now face. The going will be tough but, despite appearances, right now your girl needs you more than ever. Try to rise to the challenge of keeping communication ongoing and open. What's left to fester will shadow your relationship forever.

Email Mariella at mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman of 40 who asked her boyfriend to move out has discovered she is pregnant. Should she keep the child? Mariella Frostrup says she has to think of herself.
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I am 40 and I've been with my boyfriend for two years, but have never been madly in love or in lust. Last year I became pregnant and lost the baby at 16 weeks. We were both deeply upset. I have now discovered I am pregnant again – just after asking my boyfriend to leave the house we share (which I own). He agreed and has moved out for us to think about what we want to do. He is a lovely, decent, honest, kind man. The rows have been instigated by me and my brattish behaviour. My boyfriend has now told me he "did not sign up for this", that he would like me to abort the child as he has tried many times and we always get to the same hurtful place. He doesn't want a child in a broken relationship and I suspect he wants to be free of me. I have started counselling, as I'm negative, bullying and rarely show love verbally. I have a long road to go to become open to good, loving emotions, but in the meantime I am being asked to get rid of a child, which – at nearly 41 – I fear I will never have the chance to have again. 

Mariella replies And it's a valid fear. You may not be saintly in your emotional responses, but you are brutally honest, which is greatly to your credit. You've discovered what the Ancient Greeks knew to be true: fate mocks mere mortals. You are running on emotional adrenalin and the surging hormones of early pregnancy – neither conducive to rational thought.

Let's unpick and isolate the threads of your story that matter. First, the baby business. You are right – in your 40s getting pregnant, let alone carrying to term, is a challenge. In this country, rather disgracefully, NHS IVF is only available on a one-shot-and-you're-out basis after 39.

You've already had a miscarriage so you know how precious this chance is. Having an abortion could squander your last chance of motherhood and equally depressingly it's still possible you may have another miscarriage. I know men out there will groan, but right now you have to think of yourself.

Neglecting to use contraception is a choice, if a slightly fuzzy one. You've been pregnant once so the fact it has happened again shouldn't be too much of a surprise to your boyfriend. In the normal course of events the best time to choose not to have a baby is before it's conceived. While the situation is far from ideal for him, he has the opportunity to become a father for many years ahead. You don't have that luxury so you have to make up your mind based on what you, yourself, really want.

If you decide to go ahead it may be without his blessing or support, although as you describe him he seems a man unlikely to shirk his responsibilities. You don't have to be together to jointly participate in your child's life, but being a single parent is extremely hard work. These days, dazzled by choice, we struggle to make firm decisions and when to have a baby is one of the many things we find hard to commit to. It may sound peculiar but in some ways you are lucky. You've managed to conceive, you have a man with whom, if you alter your behaviour, you may be able to make a future and you have a very firm grip on where you are going wrong.

Having a baby won't save your relationship, but it certainly focuses the mind for a couple of decades. Being "madly in love or in lust" seem silly ingredients for choosing a mate. Viewed pragmatically, your feelings for your ex offer far more valid attributes in considering a life partner. Is it possible to stop torturing him for not inspiring the slightly goofy feelings you hunger for and appreciate him for all the good, resonant stuff he adds to your life?

Equally possibly, if you never have a child you may live perfectly happily as many who make that choice do. Only you know what you are capable of navigating. Making an informed decision and living with it is part of being a responsible adult. Bizarrely you might be grateful for this impasse, as it may well be the making of you, whatever route you choose.

Email Mariella at mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A young woman is distraught after being left by her boyfriend. Let him go, says Mariella Frostrup, and you'll soon realise you are better off without him. If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

THE DILEMMA My boyfriend broke up with me yesterday after several months of living together. He hasn't been the perfect man, as he would often go Awol on nights out, but I love him nonetheless. He says our relationship became too intense and I was too restrictive of what he did. The thought of never being his girlfriend pains me so much. His phone is off and I desperately want to speak to him. He has left me with some false hope that some space and time apart might be good for us, and who knows what will happen in the future? I am now clinging to this and hoping he'll take me back soon. 

I sincerely hope he doesn't, and here's why. I don't need to ask your age because your letter is suffused with the raw emotional vulnerability of youth and sent me spiralling back to my own similarly painful early romances. I recognised immediately that unhappy tendency to set your personal value by the object of your affections and the awful self-destructive insecurity that ensues when a relationship goes awry.

What you don't realise when you are young and raw, not a hardened old walnut like myself, is that love is wholly irrational so attaching any level of our self-worth or self-image to the reflection we get from a lover is a big mistake. Ironically, the happiest relationships you'll experience are when you know absolutely that you can survive without your partner, but remain together as a choice. Setting up home with someone you imagine you can't live without puts way too much pressure on your partner and your partnership, and creates a state of dependence that is never conducive to happiness.

I'm not sure if the pig-headed young woman I once was would have wasted a second listening to some old self-invented sage telling me that love makes monkeys of us all, that the more we cling to it the faster it slips away and that the best relationships are based on kindness and respect and a wholehearted desire to make the union work despite the many great obstacles arraigned against that eventuality. In short, your ex-boyfriend's behaviour offers little hope of a healthy, happy union. A guy who doesn't want commitment, who goes Awol, who is prepared to hurt you and make you feel vulnerable and unloved, is not the right person to set up home with.

No matter how lonesome you feel in your once-shared home, I promise you'll feel better far sooner without him and much worse if you keep trying to entice him back. He isn't ready for a committed relationship and you can't persuade him to love you the way you deserve. No matter how hard you try, I doubt you will achieve that goal. The only way you'll encourage him to see you in a different light is by astounding him with your resilience and independence. That means no late-night calls, no pleading and no promises of letting him enjoy a looser arrangement.

When I was in the beginner stages of my romantic life I lived briefly with a man I thought I'd rather be dead than lose. When he chucked me my mum had to come and rescue me, so devastated was I by the prospect of my then long life stretching ahead without him. Within a couple of years our dynamic was the total opposite and I can say, without any degree of self-congratulation, that he spent at least two decades regretting his desire to "spread his wings". It doesn't give me any pleasure to know that – he was actually a really great guy – but it's important to put such tragic, agonising experiences into perspective. If you can do so in the immediate aftermath, or at least summon up enough pride to move slowly on rather than stalk and beg, your recovery will be all the swifter.

I promise you there are shoals of fish in the sea and it's only a matter of time before some fine specimen swims up alongside, gives you more than a sideways glance and you're off in a different direction. Meanwhile, I suggest you hole up, play sad songs, bore your girlfriends and mourn your loss. The pain will pass and the lesson you'll learn about choosing a partner who values rather than tolerates you will put you in good shape for future encounters. This much I really can promise.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. To have your say on this week's column, go to theguardian.com/dearmariella. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A wife and mother desperately wants to become a nicer person before it is too late. Mariella Frostrup sympathises and suggests she slows down; the modern world is full of things which make us angry. If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

THE DILEMMA I'm not very nice to my husband often (and also my son, sometimes). Yet I love them both deeply.

I find myself getting irritated by the most trivial of events, which leads me to lose my temper and lash out and say horrible things. I keep thinking I must try to control myself, but I don't change. I have a responsible job and manage a team of people, and at work I am mostly calm, though I have a bit of a reputation for being fiery. My husband is the most patient and kind person and I feel like I'm taking advantage of his generous nature. Am I goading him into a reaction and, if so, why?  I'm worried that I'll drive him away. Often I feel ashamed of my behaviour, but rarely apologise. It's just not nice being like this. I want to be a nicer person.

Don't we all! Quite honestly, what's not to be angry about? We live in a maniacal world where almost everything seems set up to bring us to the very edge of reason, so it's little wonder it seeps back into our homes.

The sort of human interaction we've enjoyed for thousands of years is fast slipping from our grasp, replaced by an invisible but unbreachable technological wall. It seems a sick joke that the potential for increased virtual communication is what we're all celebrating when the real thing is less prevalent than ever in our history. Trying to negotiate the labyrinths that most corporations have become is a major contributing factor. I wouldn't willingly strike up a conversation with my super-smart Samsung washing machine, but that's exactly what Network Rail expects me to do every time I try to get through. Whether it's online banking or incorrect billing, internet shopping or computer meltdowns, the vast majority of people in the developed world are locked into daily combat with inanimate objects.

If you were able to view our tragic self-inflicted demise dispassionately, like a computer say, or an alien, you'd laugh at the stupidity with which we're racing into our own self-perpetuating nightmare with only the pleasure of sharing pictures on Instagram with strangers to show for it. Everybody is angry and nobody is talking about it. Ironically, it's a major difference between the first world and the rest of the world. It's only in our privileged corner of the globe that you can see perfectly placid people erupt like volcanoes over minor incidents and witness strangers' stress levels rise faster than spring tides on one-sided mobile telephone conversations on public transport.

I say all this only to point out that when it comes to rage surges we're experiencing an epidemic and so it's no surprise that it's invading our homes and making bullies of the put upon.

When Ruby Wax first started banging on about mindfulness I stuck my fingers in my ears and thought: new-age nonsense. Now I'm convinced she is the Messiah. We all need to slow the hell down, take a deep breath and remember where the pleasure of being alive is to be found. Watching a sunrise, seeing your kids smile, enjoying a joke with friends, experiencing the sound of silence all bring profound pleasure; not spending an afternoon in a technology store being blasted by bad music while buying yet another device you'll need a degree to master. So much of what happens in our domestic lives is the result of stress that we import unwittingly from outside the front door.

There are experts in anger management to talk to and it's worth consulting a doctor, as there can also be physical reasons for emotional outbursts; underlying depression or menopause are just two of a long list. But you've written me a letter, you know you're in the wrong, so I suspect you're already on the road to recovery. Rage is as instinctive as fear and as unpredictable as love, but, like all our emotions, it can be honed, deflected and diffused.

Make it your mantra to pause, ponder and only then react; it works often enough to make it worth the struggle.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. To have your say on this week's column, go to theguardian.com/dearmariella. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman fears she'll never be happy in a relationship, as she's locked into a cycle of meaningless sexual liaisons. Mariella Frostrup urges her to seek counselling.
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I am 29 years old and I've recently left the UK to live abroad. I've only ever had one relationship, between the ages of 18 and 21; he was my first love and this relationship came at a difficult point when my mother was terminally ill and died. Though I've always got on well with men, I've struggled to form any relationships since my first love and, until recently, I struggled to let him go. Now I'm living abroad, I find myself willing to go with any man that shows the slightest ounce of interest. Worse still, it's always men who aren't available that catch my eye, even if they are in another relationship, live in a different city or plain-out don't fancy me. I know it sounds silly but I can't help fear I'm becoming a woman I don't like and that I'll never settle down with someone who actually likes me and is genuinely a good match.

Mariella replies We are contrary creatures, that's for sure. Here you are in one sentence saying you've only ever had one relationship and in the next admitting to quite a number. It's all down to definition, isn't it?

Latterly you've not been allowing anybody the chance to get within a mile of you. Making yourself sexual booty, available to be picked up and dropped at will, certainly doesn't increase your chances of meeting a like-minded lover. No sensible human being is going to commit to someone who places such low value on themselves and I think you know that.

So why are you so profligate with your physical charms while denying your true ambitions for love? I'm thinking that if you opened the gate to your emotional self, there'd be a flash flood. Sorry about the watery metaphors, but living in Somerset it's hard to escape visions of apocalyptic deluge at the moment!

What your letter suggests is that during an emotionally devastating passage in your life, while saying a final farewell to your mum, you were lucky enough to find a kindred spirit to help keep you afloat. It was a lucky break. You probably needed all the support and love you could grasp hold of to stop yourself slipping into the abyss. Romance doesn't occur in isolation and I daresay that first love of yours will have been as much defined by the misery of losing your mother as it was by youthful passion.

Most relationships struggle under the weight of intense emotional passages and many are subsequently doomed to failure. Whether it's a health crisis, bereavement, redundancy or other hardships, when we're under extreme pressure it exacts a price from bystanders, too. No wonder it's taking you a long time to recover and you are not in the clear by any means. Your mother's demise will have been intricately caught up in the same emotional web, making it difficult to separate one level of mourning from another. Now that you are still struggling with both losses, I imagine you're testing how low you can go, making devil-may-care choices just to compound your self-punishment.

I'm not sure if grief counselling is available in your adopted home, but I'd recommend it. You're like a rudderless ship at present, blowing from one encounter to another and lacking the essential equipment to choose your own direction. Your dysfunctional approach to love – confusing sex with emotional connection – is, as you well know, not the road to happiness at all. You're in the grip of a persistent psychological demon, urging you to continue to treat yourself as flotsam and pushing you in the direction of those who value you least.

Sorting this out on your own is entirely possible, but professional help would definitely speed the journey time back to a less crippling level of self-esteem. I'd be tempted to step back from any form of dating until you can trust yourself to make less masochistic choices. Enticing though it may be, the brief sense of intimacy you get from such sexual encounters won't fill the void left by losing your mum.

I recognise all too well your instinctive response to the emptiness you are left with after such a loss. Scrabbling around for such scraps of affection after my father died in my mid-teens never came close to replacing him and I doubt will do any better for you. Healthy future relationships, which I have no doubt you will enjoy, depend on our ability to separate meaningless gymnastics from emotional intimacy. Developing skills to opt for healthy instead of hurtful dalliances may not be easy at first (the devil is quite the seducer), but once you master the art, the future is full of real romantic potential.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman is struggling to help her troubled friends and wants to do better. Mariella Frostrup says other people's miseries have been her route to happiness.
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma The group of girls I consider my best friends are all having a difficult time and, instead of turning towards each other, we seem to be turning away. I care deeply about my friends, but I resent them at times. I understand that when I express my sadness it can sometimes come across as "crying wolf" because I tend to dramatise my emotions. We are a group of girls, one dumped, one sacked, one lost, one who loves unrequitedly, but we have no one to turn to in our sadness. I want to fix this, but I don't know how. I feel like I need to change my behaviour, so they will be able to confide in me.

Mariella replies I'll let you into a little secret. In my time in this agony chair I've come to realise that other people's problems are the path to personal happiness. Little did I know when I first sat down at the briefcase-sized piece of technology that was then known as a portable PC and started penning responses to Observer readers' letters what a healthy impact it was to have on my own state of mind. My dependence on my regular inbox sometimes makes me feel like a vampire, reliant for my survival on a diet of my fellow humans' misery. I'll come clean – the past few months haven't been great for me and there have been moments when sitting down to dish out advice to others from the quagmire of my own existence has felt fraudulent.

Regular readers will recall a letter a couple of weeks ago from the mother of an angry, errant 16-year-old. She wrote this week to thank me (and all of you who went online to comment) saying that she and her daughter were on a slow but steady path to reconciliation. Despite it being a particularly bleak day for yours truly, reading it couldn't have made me happier than a surprise transfer into my bank account. I actually burst into tears when I read her email. Maybe I would have been equally happy with the cash, but still…

Such euphoric moments aren't necessarily results based, though there's no question that being told you've made a positive impact on some complete stranger's life is pretty hard to beat. Being compelled to sit down and think hard about what might be bothering someone other than yourself is tremendously therapeutic, even when it fails entirely to turn into positive action. I've come to realise that far from tipping me over the edge, my inbox puts the world in perspective.

The particular satisfaction my job provides is available to all, but without the perk of observing emotional issues from an eagle's perch with an unobstructed view. Finding answers is far easier when you're emotionally unengaged and it's the most plausible reason why people still bother to communicate with the likes of me. My window to the wholly unique way in which each of us responds to often universal dilemmas offers confirmation that there is never just one side to a story or one way to view a problem.

You describe your friends by virtue of their issues and that might be the first thing to rectify. The troubles we face are not what define us but how we deal with them. It sounds as though you are reliant on a particular script, which may work for a sitcom, but not on a day-to-day basis. When life is in turmoil friends provide a safe place to sound out your problems, expand your understanding and seek advice. If you can't do that within your peer group, how on earth do you expect to thrive and survive in the everyday scrum of living?

You need to be proactive – arrange a weekly crisis group, observing the Chatham House Rule, where you can all talk frankly and offer support and possible solutions to each other. You'll be amazed how much easier it is to see a path through the jungle when you're not stuck in the thick of it. "Friends" isn't just a term for those you text, but a demanding relationship that comes with responsibilities and expectations. It would be ironic if what we've become in this era of mass communication are entirely self-serving organisms lacking compassion and time to help each other. It's definitely not what I'd call progress.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman whose bisexual partner wants the freedom to sleep with men doesn't think it can work. Too right, says Mariella Frostrup. Commitment takes sacrifice…
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I'm 31 and in a relationship with a bisexual man. We've had a tempestuous on/off "thing" for the past three years (including a year when I regularly cheated on my then boyfriend) with both of us being unwilling to commit. Five months ago I realised I loved him and wanted a monogamous relationship. He told me he was willing to try and we were happy for three months, but he recently told me he needs to explore his sexuality further – which means sleeping with men. This is something he has done in the past, but he carries an enormous amount of shame about it and feels that the only way to "make peace" with himself is to confront it. I agree with him! But he wants us to stay together while he does this, which I don't think I can face. I've tried to tell him that we should split up, but he insists that his future need to sleep with men doesn't interfere with his love for me and that he wants to make this relationship work.

Mariella replies Pu-leese! Life is complicated enough without people demanding not only their proverbial cake but a range of toppings into the bargain. Marriage may not be the only creditable union, but some of the demands it makes offer a decent benchmark for a healthy relationship. "Till death us do part" is increasingly difficult to live up to as we endure for decades longer than our original die-by date, but "in sickness and in health" is still worth a punt and certainly "forsaking all others" makes for a far less complicated lifestyle.

I write for a liberal newspaper with a broad constituency, among whom there are plenty who have chosen alternative approaches to their relationships – and, for a minority, it works. As in all things there are always exceptions to the rule, but while guarantees of success aren't possible when we are coupling up, indicators for disaster are easy to spot. A lover's desire for polyamory is one of those warning signals.

There are few among us who want our partners involved in a series of "intimate relationships", which is what the word describes. Guidelines on how to conduct your romantic life are not rules, but they do suggest personal boundaries beyond which you may not want to stray. In matters of the heart we all have a different watershed, but you seem to be setting the bar unrealistically high in terms of what you will tolerate. Meanwhile, your partner is taking the opposite position and putting pleasing himself at the top of his to-do list.

I'm not saying he doesn't love you, isn't credibly conflicted and may not come around to a workable union in the long term, but I'm not foolish enough to hold my breath. If I were in your shoes, as a 31-year-old woman with her future stretching ahead, I'd want to jettison the flotsam and get on with my life. Accepting bisexuality in a partnership and creating a safe environment in which respective individuals can explore their desires is one thing; sitting at home keeping the fire burning while your lover sates his sexual desires where he pleases is quite another.

This man appears to be hedging his bets, a practice you were guilty of when you were stringing your ex along. It's a practice that offers some protection in global financial markets, but none in the field of romance. Relationships require constant health monitoring, demand enormous sacrifices and only succeed with gargantuan levels of determination and dedication. Love at first sight is the stuff of fairytales and there's good reason why most of those tales end at the beginning of a relationship. As stalwarts will tell you, the price for a sustainable and enduring partnership is high – it's not a path for the under-committed.

If your boyfriend hasn't yet decided what sex to go for, let alone an individual to direct his passion towards, he shouldn't be attempting a long-term union. Whether you fancy a future with this guy or not, the solution is the same. Torturous though it may feel, your emotional wellbeing depends on setting him off on his journey of self-discovery unfettered and with no guarantee of a reserved spot in your life. He has every right to say he's not ready to commit, but none at all to expect you to wait in the hope he does choose you. Equality is the essential ingredient in the pursuit of harmony and with the balance of power so hopelessly off-kilter a positive outcome is unlikely. Until the scales are weighted more in your favour, my advice is to call it a day.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman whose alcoholic father died and whose friend ran off with the man she loves finds herself turning to drink. Mariella Frostrup says it's time to take a positive path.
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma My father died in June of chronic alcoholism and, in the same year, a close friend started a relationship with a man she knew I was in love with. This escalated and resulted in a particularly horrible incident in which the man attacked me. I have taken antidepressants for some time, but this past year has left me depressed and utterly disillusioned with the capacity of human beings for love, compassion and loyalty. I feel overwhelmed with a hopelessness and bitterness towards even those who are kind to me. I, in turn, have come to see red wine as a substitute for human company and I spend most of my time alone. I fear this cynicism and growing coldness will engulf me and ruin my ability to have meaningful relationships. 

Mariella replies You're absolutely right. If you opt to crawl into a hole, pick over the carcass of the crimes committed against you and live on little but self-pity and liver-threatening levels of red wine you're unlikely to thrive. Luckily that is not your only choice.

Knockdown blows come to us all – either you bounce back up, idiotic though it may seem, and embrace the new opportunities that come along, or you crouch as low as you can to keep your head below the radar. Only the former has the promise of a rich life. It's not hard to see what's driven you to feel like this and you certainly deserve a period of emotional R&R. There's nothing wrong with withdrawing from the proverbial ring and nursing your wounds, but it should be a minibreak rather than a lifestyle choice.

The death of your father can't have been unexpected – chronic alcoholism and longevity aren't compatible. You'll have witnessed first hand the terrible toll of his addiction and inability to cope and sadly picked up a few tips about self-abuse along the way. That doesn't mean it's compulsory to pick up where your father left off. Parents set all sorts of examples for us, good and bad, but it's an insult to our abilities as free-thinking individuals to suggest we can't choose our own path. So why make such copycat self-destruction your life's work? It would be pretty worrying if it weren't for the letter you've sent me.

I'm convinced that if you were deluded enough to think you were on the right path or felt confident that your current way of coping was sustainable you wouldn't be writing. You know already that cowering in the dark and using a wine bottle as a prop is not the answer. I'm guessing you just want me to spell it out.

So let's talk a bit about this unrequited love affair. Marking out territory in matters of the heart doesn't work and it's hard to insist on if it's simply a case of your feelings trying to trump someone else's. Just because you want it doesn't mean you have a right to it – whether animal, vegetable, or mineral. Your friend may have been disappointingly disloyal, but there's no law that says you can ring-fence the object of your desire. It sounds like you had a lucky escape anyway, while your friend may have got her comeuppance. No matter what the circumstances, "attacking" you is unacceptable. Instead of winding up with a bully, you've managed to escape that fate while your dishonourable friend is living with the legacy of her choice. If that isn't cause for celebration I don't know what is.

No one would have wished for your father's early death, but we've all got to go some time and his demise, along with the end of your hopes for a relationship with the man you mention, means you are actually free. Instead of shaping your world around the mistakes of others, why don't you open your eyes to the possibilities that have opened up? Two dysfunctional and destructive emotional influences no longer loom large on the horizon. This frees you up to change your life, not relive your parent's mistakes.

If you think you've suffered unduly you might want to immerse yourself in some misery memoirs to open your eyes to the extent of suffering experienced by others. Personally I prefer to believe in the power of redemption than wallow in the mire. Your father should be your role model – not as an example of how to live now but as a reminder of how not to squander your time. Of one thing I'm sure – stick a cork in the bottle and embrace a positive path, and those who have hurt you will recede into the distance.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

The dilemma I have been dating my boyfriend for a year and five months. He is the youngest of four boys, who are married with children, and he is the only one at home. I met his mum two weeks after we started dating and I have been living with them since we got together. His mum is 61 and has been through quite a lot. She looks very old for her age. She smokes, drinks and gambles heavily and moans about everything. She's abusive towards him and constantly shouting at him. She expects us to take her to the casino at least four times a week and pick up all her supplies: cigarettes, alcohol, lottery tickets etc. My boyfriend is used to it, and it kills me when she swears at him. I can't go on like this; he and I are starting to fight. I feel like our lives revolve around this 61-year-old woman. We babysit her; she's rude, never wrong, needs my boyfriend and has made it very clear that she doesn't want to share him.

The dilemma I'm in my late 20s and have been friends with a woman for the last 10 years. I am increasingly thinking that I should cut her out of my life, but I am reluctant to do so as I feel sorry for her and at times she can be a good friend. She has always been quite selfish and jealous and this recently came to a head when I told her I had set a date to marry my partner. She greeted it with indifference and my infrequent attempts to discuss the wedding are met with mumbling and a change of topic. Every time I see her she is negative and I always leave feeling down and angry. We went out recently and she drunkenly told me she wished she had met my partner first which I thought was really inappropriate. I have no doubt that given the chance she would sleep with him. She spent the rest of the night crying on my shoulder about how unhappy she is. Part of me feels that I can't cut her out of my life, as it must be terrible for her to be so unhappy and insecure. I am rubbish with confrontation and challenge, so a fresh perspective would be welcome.

The dilemma I've been with my partner for seven years. I have suffered from mental illness for most of that time. I'm making a good recovery now, but my partner is burnt out from supporting me while I was ill. We still love each other enormously, but she says she isn't sure whether she can have a "normal" relationship with me now she doesn't know if she can transition from being more than a "carer". I can't go back and fix the damage my illness has done and I'm putting all my efforts into being well, and being there for her, but I don't feel it is enough. I don't know how to help her move past it, or how to heal the huge amount of resentment she feels towards me. I love her with all my heart and it seems tragic to lose her when we are (at our best) so good together.

The dilemma I only seem to be attracted to unavailable men, which has turned into a real issue and is making my life miserable, as it has been nearly a year since I last had sex and I'm becoming frustrated. I am a  24-year-old woman and I came out of an abusive relationship at the beginning of the year. For a few months I have been attracted to a man who works in a bicycle store opposite my uncle's shop I can't stop thinking about him and fantasising. He most likely barely knows I exist. My uncle and his family know each other, but aren't close. As it stands, this man and I have no reason to communicate. I can't seem to fancy anyone else and I want to be able to start looking at available men. All my friends are in real, adult relationships, and I feel immature and delusional. Please help me.