All I wished for was my son’s well-being this Christmas. In previous years, when my husband and kids asked what I wanted, I would often say, “just a day without sibling disputes,” or “nothing at all.” Occasionally, I’d mention running low on lotion if I felt inclined to give them a hint. We’ve generally managed to meet our basic needs—sure, some years were tougher than others, but we have always gotten by, and I can’t recall ever having a strong desire for anything material.
This year, my primary concern is simply for my eldest son to be okay. While I’d love for him to be happy and healthy, I’d settle for merely alright. I desperately want him to be free from pain, sadness, or depression.
For the past year, I have walked the difficult path of a mother with a teenager battling depression. It’s an isolating and frightening experience that no one should have to endure. My worries for my son are constant. My husband and I, already facing challenges, have drifted further apart during this crisis. The demands of ensuring my son’s safety have left little room for friendships. Coupled with judgment from my mother, I’ve isolated myself from any support network while navigating this harrowing chapter of my life.
This profound loneliness has driven me to share my story, hoping to reach out to other mothers who may feel the same. A decade ago, I experienced a miscarriage during a time when discussing it was still considered taboo. There was a stigma attached to bringing it up before reaching that elusive 13-week mark.
Back then, I lacked the love and support that is more visible today, where social media offers a platform for mothers who have suffered similar losses. Society is gradually embracing these women who endure unimaginable grief. I believe that support could have made a difference in my experience, which inspires me to extend my compassion to another group of mothers.
For all the mothers out there with children facing mental health struggles, I stand with you. I understand your pain, and I wish I could alleviate it. You are not alone in this journey. I was there when you cried during your commute after the adrenaline wore off, leaving you vulnerable. I felt your heartache when you examined your child’s arms, which seemed more like a lattice than skin. I understood when you stashed away over-the-counter medications and household scissors, all in the name of safety. I was with you when you began to decline social invitations to keep a watchful eye at home, transforming into the overprotective parent you never intended to be.
I experienced the fear when strangers returned your child home in the middle of the night after he wandered off without a phone or coat, knocking on doors in search of help.
Over the past year, I have shed more tears over my son’s struggles than at any other point in my life. I would do anything to change his situation. We’ve sought therapy, started medication, worked on sleep routines, increased supervision, and communicated with teachers—all in hopes of improving things. Yet, at times, it feels as if we’re worse off than we were a year ago.
But I did receive a glimpse of my wish this Christmas. My son was alright. He watched television with me on Christmas Eve, we shared laughter, and he engaged with family during gatherings. We even went to a musical, and he found joy in it. When asked about his favorite memory of the season, he had one to share.
While we may not be at a place of complete happiness and health, and I’ve had my share of tears writing this, I find solace in knowing he is doing better and, for now, is “okay.”
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Summary
This heartfelt piece explores a mother’s emotional journey as she navigates her son’s struggle with depression. It reflects on the isolation many parents feel during such challenging times, while also offering a message of solidarity and support to others facing similar challenges. The author shares her longing for her child’s well-being and recounts small victories that bring hope amidst the ongoing battle.