Updated: Aug. 3, 2016
Originally Published: Aug. 16, 2015
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 retreat from my loved ones, finding solace in the quiet corners of my home—usually the bathroom (why is it always the bathroom?). There, I curl up on the cold tile floor, seeking comfort in the darkness and hiding behind a locked door. I shut myself away, and by the time I emerge, the damage has already been done: harsh words have been exchanged, and tears have fallen.
However, there’s a silver lining to my struggle: I believe my experiences with depression have made me a more compassionate mom.
Let’s be real—parenting while battling a depressive episode is a Herculean task. Putting on a smile feels like a performance, and keeping my cool can seem utterly impossible. When my little one throws a tantrum or stubbornly refuses to wear her diaper, I find myself teetering on the edge of frustration. Recently, she’s developed a habit of flinging her food and playfully slapping my hand, and it takes every bit of strength to transform that anger into tears instead.
Even during those rare moments of calm—whether we’re strolling to the park or cuddling on the couch, watching her favorite show—I still grapple with my emotions. The silence in those moments can send my mind spiraling, turning minor annoyances into monumental crises. I feel distant, even when my daughter is right there, nestled in my lap, her little head resting against me.
But those depressive episodes aren’t my everyday life. On the good days, I’m filled with love and clarity. I cherish trips to the playground, blowing bubbles, and coloring with her—making the sky green because, hey, why not? On those days, I embrace my quirks, my generosity, and that lovable klutziness that makes me, well, me.
So how does depression contribute to my growth as a mom? It has taught my daughter valuable lessons about life and emotions. Through my moments of frustration, she’s learning how to apologize, to take responsibility for her actions, and to practice forgiveness. She’s discovering that it’s perfectly okay to ask for help or to shed tears.
My struggles with depression allow her to witness the not-so-pretty sides of life. Rather than letting guilt consume me, I’m choosing to share my experiences with her. I explain that sometimes, mommy isn’t okay—not because of her, but because my illness can be overwhelming. I’m learning to open up instead of shutting down, to keep that bathroom door ajar, and maybe even flip on the lights.
I’m realizing that saying sorry for my actions doesn’t mean apologizing for my struggles. Living with depression isn’t what I envisioned, but I’m navigating this journey nonetheless.
So, here’s to you, dear depression. You’re a heavy load, and you make motherhood a challenge, but you’re also shaping me into a better mom. More importantly, you’re helping my daughter grow into a more empathetic human being.
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In summary, while depression may complicate my life, it also enriches my role as a mom, fostering lessons of empathy and resilience in my daughter.