Depression hasn’t always made me the best friend, sister, daughter, or partner. In truth, it has often turned me into a less-than-great version of myself. I tend to isolate, retreating to a quiet corner in my house – often the bathroom (why is it always the bathroom?) – where I lock the door and curl up on the cold floor, hiding beneath a pile of unwashed towels. As I pull away from those who matter most, the fallout is inevitable: harsh words spoken, tears shed. Yet, there’s one silver lining I can attribute to my depression: it has unexpectedly enhanced my parenting.
Let’s be honest—navigating motherhood during a depressive episode is no small feat. It can feel nearly impossible. Smiling becomes a chore, and maintaining composure is a stretch. When my daughter throws a tantrum or refuses to wear her diaper, I teeter on the edge of frustration, often finding myself at a loss for how to respond. Recently, my little one has taken to throwing her food and, if I’m within reach, even slapping my hand or cheek when I attempt to correct her behavior. It’s a constant battle to transform that anger into tears instead.
Even in moments of calm, such as when we’re strolling to the park or curled up together watching Elmo, the quiet can be deafening. My thoughts race, and I become aware of how the “little things” morph into overwhelming, life-altering choices. I feel numb, disconnected from my daughter, who is literally sitting in my lap, her head resting against me. It’s a strange juxtaposition of closeness and distance.
However, these challenging episodes are not my everyday reality. On a typical day, I embrace love and joy. I can clearly see the beauty in taking my daughter to the playground, blowing bubbles, and coloring dinosaurs purple and the sky green—because why not? I can be the fun, generous, klutzy mom I aspire to be.
So, how does my depression contribute to my growth as a mother? My struggles and mistakes, including my short temper and emotional outbursts, are teaching my daughter valuable lessons about the power of apologies. She’s learning about accountability and, perhaps most importantly, how to forgive. Through my experience, she understands that it’s okay to ask for help and that expressing emotions, even tears, is part of life.
My depression shows her the less flattering sides of me. Instead of allowing guilt to spiral me further down, I’m embracing vulnerability. I’m learning to say, “Mommy isn’t okay all the time,” and that it’s not her fault. Sometimes, I’m just sad or irritable due to my illness.
I’m discovering the importance of sharing my feelings rather than shutting myself off. I’m working on keeping the bathroom door open—figuratively and literally—as a way of inviting her in. Apologizing for my behavior doesn’t mean I’m apologizing for my mental health challenges; rather, it’s a step towards understanding and healing.
Despite its challenges, living with depression is not how I envisioned motherhood. Yet, I’m still here, navigating this journey. So, take that, my dear depression. While you make life more complicated, I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything. You are shaping me into a better mom and, more importantly, helping my daughter grow into a compassionate human being.
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Summary:
Depression may complicate my life, but it has also taught me vital lessons that enhance my parenting. Through my struggles, my daughter learns about empathy, accountability, and the importance of open communication. I may not be the ideal mother during depressive episodes, but I am growing and learning alongside my child.
Keyphrase: Depression and Motherhood
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