Dear Beloved Children,
Every day, I strive to be the mother you deserve. I’ve learned the words to your favorite stories, the ones we read repeatedly. Your artwork proudly adorns our refrigerator, a display of my pride in your creativity. We have fun with glitter, bake cupcakes, and I even let you crack the eggs, knowing I’ll have to fish out bits of shell later. We race Hot Wheels together, and I always aim to share in your joy.
But, my sweet darlings, sometimes I falter.
You see, there’s a battle waging within my mind. Picture this: there are magical potions that spark happiness in our brains. Most people have a steady supply of these potions, allowing them to laugh, dance, and enjoy games without a second thought. Unfortunately, my potions have run dry. This is what depression feels like. It’s an invisible weight that makes joy seem out of reach, even when I desperately want to experience it. I cry at times, unable to control the tears—this is how depression works.
This struggle means that, at moments when I want to be kind and patient, I often fall short. It adds stress to our days, causing me to raise my voice more than I wish. I know that even a sharp tone can feel like yelling, and I’m sorry for the times I’ve reacted that way. When you simply ask for a glass of water in a whiny tone and I respond with a curt “Fine!” in an unkind voice, I regret it. I never intend to hurt you. It creates a cycle of sadness for both of us, and I wish it could be different.
There are times when I become upset over trivial matters. As children, your playtime naturally results in messes, but when I’m battling depression, those messes seem overwhelming. I find myself demanding you clean up frequently, even threatening to take away your toys. This leads to frustration for both of us, and it’s heartbreaking.
You might catch me crying sometimes. I do my best to hide it, often shedding tears in the shower, but there are moments when it spills over. Just the other day, amidst the chaos of your arguments, your pleas for help, and the overwhelming noise, I broke down. You quietly retreated, unsure of how to handle my tears. It’s not your job to comfort me, and I don’t want you to feel that burden. This isn’t how it should be.
Some days are particularly dark, with the weight of depression lingering from dawn to dusk. On those days, I resort to quick meals like PB&J, and you end up watching far too much TV. I lack the energy to read books with you or enforce our usual rules. Instead, I let you build forts from laundry baskets and indulge in activities typically off-limits because I simply can’t muster the strength to say no. That’s what depression does to me.
But I want you to know that depression doesn’t erase our moments of happiness. We can still make cupcakes and splash in puddles. We can share watermelon for breakfast and play tag in the front yard. I promise to pitch baseballs for you when I can. Yet, there are days when depression looms large, making it tough to embrace joy. It leaves me feeling angry, stressed, and empty.
I’m so truly sorry for the struggles you face because of my depression. We’re actively seeking help, and I believe that one day, we will find the right solution. This isn’t a forever state.
However, there’s one thing that depression cannot take away: my immense love for you. I love you to the moon and back, and I promise that brighter days are ahead. Together, we’ll navigate this journey, and I will be better.
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In summary, while I grapple with my mental health, I remain committed to loving you fiercely. We will face these challenges together and find our way to brighter days.
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