It wasn’t always this challenging. Before tying the knot, I often felt down, shed tears, and believed I had no friends. Our wedding day was a mental ordeal for me; overwhelmed by anxiety, I turned to alcohol to cope with the pressure of being the center of attention. Despite feelings of unease, I managed to complete my graduate studies while grappling with undiagnosed ADD.
We enjoyed vacations together, although my anxiety initially marred our trip to Ireland. However, I managed to bounce back after a few days. We explored Rome not once, but twice; fostered rescue dogs; and even kayaked through class II and III rapids. Then came pregnancy, and everything changed dramatically. My mental state deteriorated from manageable anxiety and mild depression to crippling sadness and severe anxiety that rendered me nonfunctional. Medication offered temporary relief, but soon the cycle of worsening symptoms returned, leading me to a day-treatment program.
During these tough times, my mental health often took center stage, overshadowing everything else—my husband’s job, our children, and even our marriage. This was an incredibly taxing experience for all involved. My husband had to adapt to multiple roles: caregiver, cook, comforter, and more. Though he often handled things solo while I managed the kids, as soon as he returned home, he assumed responsibility for the household. I was often too exhausted to engage, needing to retreat to bed to recharge, cry, or even sleep.
In these moments, he became The Great Comforter, providing solace during my darkest hours, as I clung to hurtful thoughts about myself: “I’m unattractive. I’m a terrible parent. I’m ruining our children’s lives.” It was painful to realize the burden I was placing on my husband. “This doesn’t feel like a marriage,” I would lament. “You’d be better off without me.” I even voiced suicidal thoughts, attempting to rationalize my reasoning as the best choice for everyone involved, while he could only respond with “No, I love you. I love you.” Those three words became his sole defense against my despair.
The experience of watching your partner struggle with severe mental health issues is isolating. My husband had no one to confide in. How could he explain that his wife was spiraling, and he was holding everything together? Meanwhile, I became The Patient, needing careful navigation around my emotional state, medications, and doctor appointments. There were moments of panic when I worried he might take our children, but he never would; I was never in a position severe enough to warrant such actions.
This dynamic fostered both dependency and resentment. I relied on him for stability, which sometimes led to feelings of bitterness toward him. He loved caring for me, but there were moments when he resented me for not getting better or for not being able to grasp reason.
Date nights were a distant dream. By the time he returned from work, I was often too drained, and even getting dressed felt like a monumental task. Instead, we found ways to nurture our relationship differently. He would insist on outdoor walks, disguised as mental health outings, where we would stroll with our kids and hold hands. Initially resistant, I eventually discovered these moments became vital lifelines.
We also sought common ground through shared reading. During a particularly rough phase of medication withdrawal that left me in a depressive spiral, we both dove into Bernard Cornwell’s Saxon Stories, filled with historical battles in Britain. This shared experience led to inside jokes and a lightness that lifted us above my mental struggles, creating moments of laughter that were unrelated to my health issues. Whether it was a TV show or a book, it didn’t matter; finding something we could enjoy together was crucial.
Ultimately, we emerged from the darkness. Those light-hearted exchanges about fictional swords and battles helped bridge the gap created by my mental anguish. As time passed, and with the right medication, I gradually improved. We shed our rigid roles and rediscovered our true selves. Once I began to feel better, we made it a priority to go out on dates and reestablish intimacy in our relationship.
Navigating a mental health crisis within a marriage isn’t a straightforward journey. You cling desperately to one another, assume unexpected roles, and grapple with resentment. You strive for forgiveness, holding onto the belief that this too shall pass. It’s essential to have faith in your marriage and for at least one partner to maintain that belief until the storm subsides. Sharing experiences, whether trivial or profound, becomes a lifeline. Most importantly, you must nurture a mutual belief in each other.
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