It’s hard to watch Prince Harry these days without feeling a mix of sadness, frustration – and yes, even maternal concern. This latest outburst – pointed accusations, simmering resentment, public grievances aired in yet another long-form interview – has become a predictable pattern. And I say this not as a royal commentator, nor as someone with an axe to grind, but as a mother, and as someone who knew and deeply respected your own mother, Princess Diana.
Harry, you are at a crossroads. You’ve made bold choices – to leave the royal fold, to forge a new life in America, to protect your family as you see fit. All of that took courage. But what began as a necessary escape is starting to look dangerously like a crusade. And the collateral damage is stacking up.
When I met Diana in the 1990s – and in private moments over the years – she was clear about one thing: her boys were her anchor. Her love for William and Harry was ferocious. Protective. Profound. Whatever else was happening around her – the press frenzy, the palace politics – she returned always to her sons.
And here’s something else that matters, Harry: your mother never portrayed herself as a victim. Yes, she hurt. Yes, she was betrayed. But victimhood was not her identity. She spoke out, she made mistakes, she took control – but she never confused suffering with moral superiority. As a mother, she would never have taught you that victimhood equals victory. She believed in rising above, not sinking into blame.
I often think about how she would feel now. She understood hurt, better than most. But she also understood when to stop bleeding in public. She had learned, sometimes the hard way, that dignity wasn’t silence – it was restraint.
Harry, it’s not that your pain isn’t valid. It is. You suffered a grievous loss at a tender age. The nation mourned Diana, but you mourned her as a child robbed of a mother’s arms. That leaves a scar. And yes, parts of the press have treated you appallingly. You have every right to set boundaries. You should fight for your family’s safety.
But there’s a difference between finding your voice and burning every bridge with it. Your recent comments – lashing out at your father, your brother, and ‘The Firm’ yet again – aren’t liberating. They’re exhausting. For everyone. You’ve become trapped in a feedback loop: say something provocative, spark a media frenzy, then blame the very coverage you generated. That’s not healing. That’s theatre. From one mother to another’s son, I say this gently: your mother would want you to live, not just react. She’d want you to thrive in your new life – not spend it relitigating the past.
This isn’t about choosing between the royals and the Sussexes. It’s about recognising that peace is not the same as silence. And being a private citizen means, sometimes, keeping things private – even if they still ache.
There is a nobility in putting the sword down. Diana, for all her heartbreak, eventually sought her own version of that peace. She didn’t get the chance to live it. You do.
You have a beautiful family, Harry. You have causes you believe in. You have global reach and enough money never to worry about a mortgage. So use that privilege wisely. Stop defining yourself by those you’ve left behind.
And William? He’s not your enemy. He’s your brother. Whatever the distance, whatever the wounds, there is still something worth saving there. Don’t let time calcify hurt into hatred. Too many families know that story.
Finally, remember this: your children will grow up. One day, they’ll read your books, your interviews, your headlines. Make sure what they see isn’t bitterness, but bravery. Not vendetta, but values.
You once said you wanted to make your mother proud. You still can – not by echoing her battles, but by choosing a peace she never got to enjoy.
The world will keep watching. But you don’t have to keep performing.
Come home to yourself, Harry. That’s what she’d want. That’s what any mother would want.
