Sir Anthony Hopkins, a name synonymous with captivating performances and a career spanning decades, reveals a deeply personal struggle within the pages of his upcoming memoir, *We Did Ok, Kid*. It’s a story not of red carpets and accolades, but of a marriage fractured by darkness and a fear he barely understood.
The actor, celebrated for roles in films like *The Silence of the Lambs* and *The Father*, recounts the unraveling of his first marriage to actress Petronella Barker. Their union, from 1967 to 1972, was shadowed by his own internal battles. Evenings dissolved into a haze of whiskey, a desperate attempt to quiet a “boundless” depression.
He paints a stark picture of their dynamic: he, consumed by brooding; she, erupting in rage. The realization that they were fundamentally incompatible arrived too late, coinciding with the news of Petronella’s pregnancy with their daughter, Abigail.
The strain extended beyond their individual struggles. His wife openly resented his working-class parents, pointedly absenting herself during their visits. Yet, Hopkins acknowledges his own failings, admitting he was “impossible to live with,” lost in a darkness he couldn’t articulate or escape.
One night, the tension reached a breaking point. Returning home exhausted from filming in Scotland, he was met not with welcome, but with scorn. Before he could even remove his coat, Petronella unleashed a torrent of contempt, branding him with a cutting remark.
It was in that moment, confronted with such visceral revulsion, that a terrifying realization dawned. He had never been violent, but a primal fear gripped him – fear for himself, and for her. The potential for something irreversible loomed large.
He made a swift, decisive choice. After a final goodbye to his fourteen-month-old daughter, he packed a bag and walked away. The ensuing years brought limited contact with Petronella and Abigail, a separation he now describes as the “saddest fact” of his life and his “greatest regret.” Yet, he remains convinced it was the least damaging path for all involved.
The echoes of this estrangement reverberate even now. Recent inquiries about his relationship with Abigail have been met with a quiet resignation. Despite his daughter’s silence, an attempt by his current wife, Stella, to bridge the gap went unanswered.
Hopkins refuses to dwell on resentment. He acknowledges imperfection, the inherent flaws within us all. “Life is painful,” he reflects, “Sometimes people get hurt…But you can’t live like that. You have to say, Get over it.” He’s made peace with his past, choosing to focus on the present rather than chasing ghosts.
When asked if he hoped Abigail would read his memoir, his response was blunt: “I don’t care.” He quickly added, with a clear desire to protect her, “Please. I want you to. Because I don’t want to hurt her.”
He admits to knowing little of Abigail’s life now, a distance that seems to hold a quiet sadness. He’s learned to accept the choices people make, even when those choices lead them away from him. It’s a testament to a hard-won wisdom, born from a painful past and a resolute commitment to moving forward.
