I don’t think I can pinpoint the exact moment I knew something had changed. I did not suddenly wake up one morning feeling sad and anxious. The changes in me were subtle and insidious, spanning many years. Depression had spread its roots through me, and I hadn’t even noticed.
Depression was easy for me to overlook. “I’m just feeling a little stressed”, I would say. Or, “I just need to get a little more sleep”. I would wear a smile on my face in public, but internally I was becoming more and more comfortable with my sadness.
I think it started as postpartum depression after I had my son. I thought it was strange that I didn’t feel that incredible bond everyone always told me about. I didn’t feel like a mother….I felt like a caregiver. I could never bring myself to admit that to anyone, though. After all, who would ever want to declare that they failed at the most important task of being a mother: loving their child? So, I smiled and pretended to be the best damn mother I could, while I secretly resigned myself to the knowledge that being a mother was something I never should have been.
There was a moment in the beginning that I sought help. I had reached an exceptional low point around the time Jason was being assessed for autism. I thought that maybe there might actually be something wrong with me. Chemically. MAYBE depression. I made an appointment to see my doctor, which took every ounce of strength within me, only for him to tell me that my sadness was most likely “situational”.
Situational
That word haunted me for years afterwards. I know my doctor meant well, and just didn’t want to prescribe a medication that he thought was unnecessary. But I was vulnerable and raw, and was just given another reason to brush off what I was feeling: once everything settles down, I will feel better. It’s only situational.
It’s amazing how easily you can blame something or someone else for your emotions (or lack thereof) when you are in denial. Moving to another town. Situational. Fight with the husband. Situational. Money stress. Situational. Milk spilled on the floor. Situational. I spent 4 years waiting for each situation to end so that I wouldn’t feel sad anymore. But there was always something new I could blame it on.
After the birth of my daughter, my anxiety got so bad that I never wanted to leave the house. I did, because I didn’t want people worrying about me, but I would come home later and cry. It physically HURT me to pretend I was ok. People would talk to me and ask me questions and make me think and touch me and make too much noise and make too much eye contact and suddenly it would become all too much and I would need to leave the room so I could remember how to breathe again.
……….
Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t scream. Not yet.
……….
Breathe in. Breathe out. Tomorrow will be better. It’s just a bad day. Cry when no one can hear you.
……….
Looking back on it now, especially the year and a half before I got help, I can see that I was living in a fog. I was smothered by feelings of sadness, anger, panic, and….emptiness. To be honest, I don’t fully remember the last few months before I finally had enough. I do remember thinking that it would be nice to drive myself to the hospital and ask if I could be admitted to the psychiatric ward so that I could get some peace and quiet. And I remember thinking that was an odd thought to have….
I made a doctors appointment (with a new doctor). I arrived, sat down in the chair, and opened my mouth to say that I think I might need something for my anxiety to get me over my current situation. You see, my grandmother had just had a stroke, and my son was going through a regression, and I was feeling a little overwhelmed with Christmas coming up, and and and and and I just needed something to help take the edge off. But, instead of all of that coming out, I sobbed. I cried, trying to string coherent sentences together, but my doctor stopped me. “Do you think you might be depressed,” he asked? I nodded. “Then we will help you feel better”.
And that was when my life started again. After spending 5 years living in blacks and greys, a magical pill called Zoloft had me seeing in vibrant colour again. Every day feels like I am outside on a summer afternoon, throwing my arms out wide, tilting my head back, and opening my chest to the sun’s warm rays. I know what happiness feels like again.
While my depression is not something that I would ever like to experience again, I am thankful for it. My experience has made me acutely aware of how hard it is to identify depression in yourself, let alone seek treatment for it. I understand you, my fellow mama who is barely holding it together. I see you. I know you. I was you. I AM you. And I promise that the joy waiting for you on the other side of that darkness is beautiful.