By: Jake Thompson
Date: November 1, 2023
Image Credit: Alex Smith / Shutterstock
In the kitchen one evening, my partner, Sarah, and I were preparing dinner while our three kids enjoyed a movie in the living room. I turned to Sarah, feeling a familiar weight in my chest, and confessed, “I think I’m failing as a parent.” Sarah, dressed in her favorite flannel shirt and comfy jeans, folded her arms and shot me a look that said, “Really?”
“How could you possibly be failing?” she asked, her tone both curious and supportive.
Leaning against the counter, I sighed, “I just have this nagging feeling that I’m not doing enough right.”
As usual, I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly I was doing wrong; it was just a gut feeling that often rears its head. This feeling isn’t new for me—it’s been my unwelcome companion for years, thanks to my struggles with anxiety and depression. These challenges intensified in my late teens when I faced obsessive-compulsive disorder, leading to weight loss and a complete upheaval of my life, culminating in dropping out of college and grappling with dark thoughts.
Nowadays, I manage to lead a relatively normal life, but battling these feelings is an ongoing effort. I have my highs and lows, and now and then, I find myself telling Sarah I feel like I’m failing, and she consistently steps in like a seasoned negotiator, guiding me back from the ledge.
As we talked, she asked about work and the kids. I shared my thoughts: our middle child is a handful but full of love, our son needs to socialize more, and our youngest? She’s like living with a hyperactive raccoon, but she brings endless laughter.
“I just feel like I’m working too much,” I admitted. “I don’t think I’m the dad I want to be.”
“You’re doing great,” Sarah reassured me, and we began listing the positives. She reminded me about our upcoming camping trip with our daughter, and how I had surprised our son with the latest Harry Potter book, which he absolutely adored. Those little moments started to lift my spirits.
Her simple questions and encouragement helped me shift my perspective.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Yeah, a bit. Thanks,” I replied.
“Can I ask you something?” she continued, and I nodded. “Am I not making you happy?”
Sarah has always been my rock through our twelve years together, but I sometimes wonder if she truly understands my struggles. Her natural happiness and constant smile attracted me to her in the first place.
“No! No!” I exclaimed, raising my hands in protest. “You keep me grounded.” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “Honestly, when my anxiety began, I thought external factors were to blame—my dad’s addiction, my parents’ divorce. But in reality, it’s more complicated than that.”
I explained how I used to rely on medication to manage panic attacks, and how a doctor’s advice to exercise turned into a frenzy of working out that ultimately backfired on my health. “It was so irrational,” I said. “I was trying to escape from something that didn’t even exist.”
Trying to find meaning in my mental health struggles often feels like trying to put a tail on an invisible donkey.
I told her that seeking a reason for my unhappiness has led others to make impulsive decisions, like leaving their partners for no real cause. It’s a tough cycle to break.
“The best realization I had was acknowledging that I was the one with the problem,” I said. “When you help me see that my feelings of failure as a father aren’t based in reality, you give me the clarity I need.”
After I expressed this, I saw understanding in her eyes. “Yes, you do make me happy,” I clarified, “but it’s complicated.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying? Is any of this making sense?” I asked, seeking her reassurance.
Looking back at me sincerely, she affirmed, “Yes, it does.”
I often tell others how difficult it can be to explain mental illness, even to myself. It’s confusing and real, making parenting while dealing with anxiety even more challenging. You find yourself worrying about things that aren’t true, leaning on your partner for clarity. But perhaps that’s the essence of marriage, in sickness and health—supporting one another like two sides of an archway, ready to catch each other when needed.
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Summary
Jake opens up about the struggles of being an anxious parent, sharing conversations with his supportive partner, Sarah. He reflects on his journey with anxiety and depression, emphasizing the importance of communication and understanding in their relationship. By acknowledging his feelings of inadequacy, he finds solace in Sarah’s support, highlighting the complexities of mental health and parenting.