Dear Little Wonders,
I strive to be the best mom I can be for you. I’ve committed your favorite stories to memory, the ones we read on repeat. I proudly display your masterpieces on the fridge, and I even let you unleash your creativity with glitter. We whip up cupcakes together, and yes, I let you crack the eggs, even when I know I’ll be fishing out shell bits later. We race Hot Wheels, and I aim to be filled with joy for you.
But, my dear ones, sometimes I just can’t.
You see, there’s a glitch in my brain. Picture this: there are magical potions that fill your mind with happiness. Most people are blessed with these potions, enabling them to laugh, dance, and enjoy games. Unfortunately, my potions have run dry. I don’t have enough, which makes it tough for me to join in on the fun. This lack of “happy potions” is what they call depression. When I’m feeling this way, it’s hard to laugh or dance, even though I desperately want to. Occasionally, tears come, and I can’t always control it. That’s what happens when someone is dealing with depression.
There are moments when I want to be sweet, but I just can’t muster it up. My stress from depression can bubble over, and I may yell more than I’d like to. I know that even a sharp tone can feel like yelling to you. When you innocently ask for a glass of water in a whiny voice, I might snap back with a frustrated “Fine!” I’m truly sorry for that. I never intend to make you feel unwanted, but it’s a complicated mess of emotions. My depression adds layers of sadness to our lives.
Sometimes, I find myself getting worked up over things that shouldn’t bother me. You’re kids, after all, and kids make messes while they play. Normally, messes are just part of the fun, but when I’m struggling with depression, everything feels like a big deal. I might yell at you to clean up more than I should, and I might even threaten to take away your toys. It creates a whirlwind of anger and frustration for both of us, which is no fun.
There might be times when you see me cry. I try to keep my tears hidden, usually shedding them in the shower. But there are moments, like when you’re bickering about cleaning or when the chaos of sibling squabbles overwhelms me, that I just can’t hold it in. I remember that day vividly when I was overwhelmed and you both came to me with your apologies and hugs. You shouldn’t feel as if you have to comfort me. I don’t want you to bear that burden. In a perfect world, my depression wouldn’t interfere with our moments together.
There are days when the darkness of depression lingers longer than I’d like. On those days, I might resort to quick meals like PB&J, and I know you end up watching way too much TV. I may let you build forts out of the laundry baskets and bend the rules because I just don’t have the energy to say no. Depression takes that energy away.
That said, depression doesn’t mean we can’t find joy. We can still make cupcakes and jump in muddy puddles. We can indulge in watermelon for breakfast and play tag in the yard. I’ll happily pitch baseballs for you! But there are days when depression makes it hard to engage in those fun activities, leaving me feeling frustrated, sad, and empty.
I’m truly sorry, my darlings. I apologize for the burden my depression places on you. I’m actively working to manage it, and one day, I promise I’ll feel better. This isn’t forever.
But through it all, one thing remains unchanged: my love for you is limitless. I love you to the moon and back. I promise that one day, I’ll be brighter and more present.
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In summary, I’m doing my best to manage my depression while loving you fiercely. We can still find joy together, and I promise brighter days are ahead.