Motherhood and Depression
This month I celebrate an anniversary of motherhood. My second child, now a young adult, celebrates a birthday. As the years pass time releases my mind from the trials and tribulations of pregnancy, labor and delivery leaving only a precious mental image, the first glimpse of a tiny human, perfect in every way. On the day of her birth I held two things close: Her and a secret.
Depression: It is a thread that runs through the tapestry of our lives, but we are here today, breathing a story of living.
There is a certificate in my home that says I have met all the criteria needed to teach young children the things they need to know about reading, writing and arithmetic. But where the oxygen gets inhaled that piece of paper means nothing because depression takes away confidence and assurance. When I was just a woman, not a mom, married but still just me, I knew I could run, stay, hide or stand center stage according to life’s difficulties and my ability to cope. Being short on responsibilities and long on choices made disguising mental struggles easier. Then along came Thing 1 and a few years later, Thing 2. Suddenly there was no option other than to stay and be real. Why does this matter and why am I writing about it? Because I’m not special and I want other’s to know it’s going to be alright. I didn’t quit or fail. You won’t either.
In an era of superhuman soccer moms with precision day planners turning out obedient, organic children, I was lacking. My oldest wouldn’t put on her shoes if the sock seams weren’t straight across her toes and we won’t even mention the ponytail issues and fights over hair bows. My youngest negotiated punishment while contemplating compliance versus the cost. Yes, perspective is everything and years later I know the reality and lack of perfection in other’s homes, but that didn’t help in the moment when I was a total failure to those I was supposed to keep alive, nurture and raise to productive citizenship while a dark haze was ever present in my mind. But there is one thing I did right. Just one, so it’s easy to share.
When options were weighed and decisions made, I chose the path that was best for the spiritual development of my children. Their eternal lives are far more important to me than their earthly comforts. From the moment they were born, I wanted only for them to spend eternity with their Heavenly Father and I set a path toward that goal. You might think it was a journey of protection and censorship, but remember? I’m not perfect. The threads in their life’s tapestry are colored with reality. They have seen poverty, they know mom and dad have limited means. They have smelled death and felt its sting. Their hearts have soared on the wings of success and they have hung their heads in defeat and cried themselves to sleep. We disappointed each other many times, but we faced it together in strength and determination. Depression left me no other choice but to be real, and it wasn’t a death sentence, it was life.
I always thought adulting meant working and investing for dependable daily bread days, weeks and years ahead while adding a dash of hope. Depression and motherhood taught me trusting God for each day’s bread and hope for a lifetime is where life must be lived.
Don’t Ever Give Up!
Gretchen
