Living with depression hasn’t always made me the best friend, sister, daughter, or partner. In fact, it often turns me into a not-so-great version of myself. I tend to withdraw from those closest to me, escaping to a corner of my house – usually the bathroom (why is it always the bathroom?) – hiding behind locked doors. I find myself curled up on the cold tile floor, enveloped by darkness, seeking comfort beneath an unwashed towel.
When the clouds of depression roll in, I disconnect from everyone and everything. By the time I resurface, the damage has already been done – harsh words exchanged and tears shed. Yet, amidst all this turmoil, there’s one silver lining I can attribute to my struggles: my growth as a mom.
Let’s be honest: parenting while battling depression is incredibly tough. It can feel nearly impossible. I often force smiles and struggle to maintain my composure. I find myself on the brink of anger when my little one throws a tantrum or flat-out refuses to wear her diaper.
Lately, my daughter has taken to tossing her food and swatting my hand when I try to tell her that such behavior isn’t okay. It’s a challenge to transform that frustration into understanding and compassion instead of letting it spiral into tears.
Even in those calm moments – like walking to the park or cuddling on the couch to watch Elmo – I face my own battles. Silence can make my mind race, amplifying my anxious thoughts. I often feel detached, even when my daughter is right there with me, her head resting on my lap, her tiny feet on mine.
But not every day is a struggle. On good days, I’m affectionate, clear-headed, and ready for fun – enjoying playground adventures, blowing bubbles, and coloring outside the lines. (I color dinosaurs purple and the sky green because why not?) On those days, I am the mom I aspire to be, full of generosity and laughter.
So, how does depression enhance my motherhood? Well, my experiences, including my mistakes and emotional outbursts, teach my daughter about the importance of apologies and accountability. She’s learning about forgiveness, empathy, and that it’s okay to ask for help or express emotions.
My struggles allow her to witness behaviors I’m not proud of, but instead of wallowing in guilt, I’m choosing to embrace vulnerability. I’m learning to communicate that mommy isn’t always okay, and that’s not her fault. Sometimes my illness makes me sad or irritable, but I’m committed to sharing my truth instead of shutting her out.
I’m discovering that admitting my shortcomings doesn’t mean apologizing for who I am; it’s a step towards healing. Living with depression isn’t what I envisioned, but despite the challenges, I strive to be the best version of myself for my daughter.
So, here’s to you, my dear depression. While you’re still a burden and undoubtedly complicate my life and motherhood, I wouldn’t trade the lessons you’ve taught me. You’re helping me become a better mom, and more importantly, you’re shaping my daughter into a compassionate human being.