My parents were very volatile but very loving. My father would

In the words of Felicity Kendal, there lies a confession wrapped in tenderness and human frailty: “My parents were very volatile but very loving. My father would get jealous if my mother looked at somebody. I used to be insanely jealous. It comes out of insecurity. It can come and go, but you get to the point in life where you don't have this raging jealousy and protectiveness about your world.” This utterance is no mere recollection of a daughter; it is a mirror to the ancient struggle of the human heart — the battle between love and possession, between insecurity and peace. It is the story of every soul that has loved deeply and feared losing that love.

In the ancient days, the poets of Greece and the sages of the East spoke often of this torment. They called jealousy the green-eyed serpent, the demon that feeds not on hatred, but on the terror of abandonment. To love is divine, yet to love with fear is to shackle the divine with chains of mortal weakness. In Felicity’s words, we see how the wounds of insecurity are passed down like heirlooms — from father to daughter, from one trembling heart to another. Her father’s love was strong but volatile, and in that furnace of affection and fear, she learned both tenderness and turmoil. Such is the inheritance of many: to receive love mixed with shadow.

Consider, if you will, the tale of King Saul and David from the ancient scriptures. Saul loved David as a son, yet when the people praised David’s victories, jealousy bloomed like poison in his breast. The once-noble king turned his affection into rage, his admiration into pursuit. This is the same sickness Felicity speaks of — jealousy born of insecurity, the fear that one’s worth is fading in the eyes of others. And as Saul’s spirit grew darker, he drove away the very peace he sought to protect. Thus, even kings may be enslaved by the same emotions that haunt ordinary souls.

But time, the great teacher, mellows the fires that once consumed the heart. Felicity speaks of reaching a point where raging jealousy fades, and protectiveness gives way to trust. This transformation is no small feat; it is the alchemy of the spirit. To rise from insecurity is to reclaim one’s freedom. The wise learn that love is not a fortress to guard, but a garden to tend. It grows not through vigilance, but through faith. Those who clutch it tightly crush its petals; those who let it breathe find it blooms eternal.

There is a tenderness in her reflection — that love can exist amidst chaos, that volatility and affection can share the same home. Many of us are born from such unions, where passion flares and tempers collide. Yet from that storm we learn resilience, empathy, and the sacred lesson that even flawed love can shape a noble soul. The ancients would say: it is not the calm sea that makes a great sailor, but the tempest that tests his spirit.

Let each who hears these words remember this truth: jealousy is the shadow cast by fear. When you feel its claws, do not flee, but look inward. Ask yourself, “What do I fear losing?” For often it is not the beloved we fear to lose, but the reflection of ourselves we see in their eyes. In healing that wound, we become whole — and only the whole can love freely.

Therefore, the lesson is this: to love without possession, to trust without trembling, to let go of the need to control another’s gaze or heart. Practice gratitude for what is given, rather than anxiety over what might be taken. Each morning, remind yourself that love is not owed, but offered — and that your worth exists apart from the affection of others.

In this way, you will walk the path from insecurity to serenity, from the wild storms of jealousy to the calm waters of wisdom. And when you reach that shore, you too will know, as Felicity Kendal came to know, that love is strongest not when it clings, but when it trusts.