By: Jane Thompson
As a child, I watched my mother struggle with depression after her divorce, and I often felt like I was somehow to blame for her pain. I believed that if I had done more, perhaps I could have eased her burden. I never want my son to experience that kind of guilt. With his third birthday approaching, I find myself contemplating how to explain my mental health struggles to him as he grows older. To address this, I’ve decided to write him a letter that he can read in the future.
Dear sweet boy,
One day, you’ll start to notice my reactions when others say hurtful things to you. You might question why I won’t let you bike alone to your friend’s house or why I’m always asking about your day and your feelings. You may find it peculiar when I clean the house repeatedly or get upset with your dad for something as minor as forgetting to buy laundry detergent. At times, you might wonder why I shed tears when you unwrap your birthday gifts each year.
You may feel embarrassed when I stand up for you against a teacher or another parent, even when you haven’t noticed any wrongdoing. You may also ask why I prefer to wake up early on weekends or why I sometimes mix up your name with our pets’ names before getting it right—this is just my mind racing through thoughts. There will be moments when you might see me staring off into space and wonder if I’m alright.
In the years to come, you’ll notice how much I worry about saving money—not just for college or your future wedding, but for unexpected situations, like if you were to fall ill or if your dad and I faced job loss. The anxiety that comes from uncertainty can be overwhelming. You might also see how my moods can shift rapidly and that the days I forget to take my medication often coincide with my more difficult days.
If you ever wake up and find me watching over you, please don’t be alarmed. It’s a moment where I feel I can best protect you, knowing you’re safe and sound. I carry a deep fear of the dangers that exist in the world, and I never want to be the mother who has to face the unimaginable tragedy of losing a child. While the odds may be in our favor, the mere thought makes my heart ache.
I pray every night, thanking God for you and asking for the strength to be the best version of myself. My love for you is immense, and sometimes that love manifests in ways that might be overwhelming or confusing. I worry that my bipolar depression will lead me to react poorly or lose my temper over trivial matters, like a simple conversation your dad has with a waitress.
I hope you’ll understand that if I seem distant or preoccupied, it’s not because of you. Nothing you could do would ever diminish my love for you. Moms often carry a unique bond with their children, a connection that sometimes leads to overreactions. Some mothers, like me, face additional challenges in managing those feelings. If my behavior ever leaves you feeling sad or confused, please remember—it’s about me, not you.
You are perfect just as you are. It’s I who may sometimes battle feelings of paranoia, anxiety, and other struggles. My hope is to practice self-control and be the comforting, loving mother you deserve. But I apologize in advance for the days when I falter, and I ask you to remember, it’s not your fault—it’s mine.
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In summary, I want you to know that my struggles with depression do not define my love for you. You are cherished beyond measure, and I am committed to working on my mental health for both our sakes.