Parenting through Depression

Today would be my dad's 87th birthday. In my journal, I wrote down four to-dos.

1. Meditate

2. Rest

3. Plan

4. Honor Dad

We lost him to suicide in 1995 when he was 60, and if I'm really honest with myself, I still miss him every day. My grief, my unexpressed love, is with me every day in little and big ways. Like him, and maybe also because of him, I, too, struggle with depression. But, again, if I'm honest, I've been consistently depressed since his passing. So much so that when I went on my first antidepressant in late 2018, I realized for the first time I had been clinically depressed for 23 years. Before being medicated, I just thought I was irrevocably broken, astonishingly dramatic, tragically lazy, and overwhelmingly "extra."

By 2018 I was already a parent to 2 glorious humans. And while I ADORED them, I couldn't believe parenting was really this hard. I was disgusted with myself for counting the minutes to bedtime to get a reprieve. I beat myself up constantly for having a short fuse, checking out frequently when we had family time, and not having the energy some days to do anything but sit them in front of a TV. Medication has helped. Lifestyle changes like meditation, exercise, and healthier eating have helped more, but I still have bad days or bad weeks. And let's be honest, a global pandemic did nothing to help the situation.

Because I still struggle, and always will, with depression, I constantly worry about how it is affecting my children. Do they know how loved they are? Do they feel safe? Do they feel like they are missing out? Do they think they got a raw deal? How is this affecting their view of the world? And on and on.

But as I sit here, reminiscing about my dad and our time together, some answers start to appear. You see, up until my parents' divorce in 1994, I had a blissful childhood. My memories all have that warm yellow joy glow to them like Riley's in Inside Out. I knew I was cherished, safe, adored, and deeply loved. I have no memory of my dad's battle with depression or my parent's struggle within their marriage. I was happy and well taken care of and spoiled rotten. This is the lens through which I see my time with my depressed father. Is it a trauma response? Maybe. Is it idolizing the dead? Probably in part. However, I think it's actually the way children see their world. As a child, I could see the truth about my dad and his love for me. I think all children see the best parts of people. I didn't see the haze of sadness, anger, or angst. I believe I saw his truth, his essence and it was one of love.

Now, as a parent with depression, this is such a gift to me. I'm still going to worry. Every parent does. But I know how deeply I love my children and I have faith that this is what shines through in our time together. Not my sadness, but my joy. Not my struggle, but my snuggles. If you are out there with these same worries and fears, let yourself off the hook. Take it from this kid, your love is so much stronger than your depression. Your moments of connection shine exponentially brighter than those moments you need to "check out". Keep showing up for yourself, build your support structure, and love the heck out of your kids.

PS. I write this from my own experience. It is not universal, even within my own family. I'm also not minimizing the effects mental health status has on a family. But I do believe when we have the courage to work on our mental health miraculous things happen.