Updated: April 24, 2020
Originally Published: April 22, 2016
My eldest child, Ethan, is 9 years old, and I find myself observing him closely as he navigates the complexities of childhood. However, he tends to keep his emotions to himself. Occasionally, I catch him in his room, staring blankly at a book with a distant look in his eyes, making me wonder about the thoughts swirling in his mind. I can’t shake the concern that he may be grappling with depression, a struggle I faced at a similar age.
Ethan is part of a family with a history of depression and anxiety, particularly on my side. My mother has dealt with these issues, as did my father, who turned to alcohol and painkillers before passing away at a young age. My paternal grandmother relied on medication for her struggles, while my maternal grandmother preferred isolation. It weighs heavily on my heart to think that my children might inherit my mental health challenges. The thought of potentially passing on such a burden feels akin to transmitting a disease without realizing it. I often grapple with what I can do to prevent this cycle.
Children Are Full of Surprises
Children, however, are full of surprises. People frequently comment on how much Ethan resembles me; we share similar physical traits like short, slender hands and blue eyes. Yet, our personalities differ significantly. He exhibits a level of patience and focus that I didn’t possess at his age, engaging in activities like reading and origami—skills I still struggle to master. Unlike me, he is more introverted and contemplative, traits he seems to have inherited from his mother.
My wife, unlike my family, doesn’t show signs of depression—at least, not that I’ve noticed. We are blessed with three kids: two daughters and Ethan. I hope her positive disposition will help balance the genetic predisposition to mental illness. But when I think of “normal,” I question what that even means, as I have often felt anything but normal myself.
The Actor Playing a Part
Living with depression has always made me feel like I’m an actor playing a part. My greatest hope for my children is that their baseline emotion will be happiness instead of fear, as that is my greatest struggle. I often perceive happiness as a distant peak, one that requires constant vigilance to avoid slipping back into darkness.
Despite our differences, I often find myself projecting my past experiences onto Ethan, especially when he exhibits signs of frustration or sadness. For instance, I may chastise him for not cleaning his room properly, assuming he shares the same motivations I did at that age, although his reasons are likely different.
The other day, I found Ethan lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling fan with watery eyes, reminiscent of my own moments of despair. “How are you doing, buddy?” I asked. He looked up, beaming, and excitedly shared a story about a friend who can do two cartwheels in a row, even mentioning the dizziness that follows. In that moment, I realized he might not yet grasp the depths of true sadness. He has experienced disappointment and frustration, but I doubt he has faced prolonged feelings of hopelessness as I have.
Perhaps It Is Too Soon to Worry
Perhaps it is too soon to worry. Maybe his youth buffers him from the burdens I carry. My own struggles with depression may stem from an absent father and the stress it placed on my mother. If that’s the case, perhaps Ethan will be just fine.
Some of my happiest moments have occurred while spending time with my children. They often uplift me with their innocent humor or warm embraces. My wife and I share a strong bond, and my father’s early death instilled in me a reluctance to engage in self-destructive behaviors. I avoid substances like drugs and alcohol, and I hope that being present in my children’s lives, combined with my awareness of mental health, will help them navigate any challenges they face.
Will Joy Spare Him from Depression?
If I provide Ethan with a joyful life, will he be spared the depression that has plagued me? I remain uncertain. Yet moments like the one we shared on the couch make me question whether my worries are unfounded. Living with anxiety often leads me to magnify small concerns, turning them into overwhelming fears.
I laughed with Ethan, relieved to hear him declare he wasn’t feeling sad. “Good,” I replied, “that makes me happy.”
This article originally appeared on April 22, 2016.
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In summary, as a parent with a history of depression, I grapple with the fear of passing on my mental health struggles to my children. I hope that by being present, fostering joy, and recognizing our differences, I can help them navigate through life unburdened by the shadows of depression.