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Embrace Hope: Finding Joy Beyond Depression
by Sarah Mitchell
Sep. 15, 2023
Trigger Warning: Suicidal Thoughts/Attempts
I hear it waft down from the upper floor—a door creaks open, followed by footsteps, and a hesitant voice calls down to me, “Mom?”
For a fleeting moment, I entertain the idea of ignoring him. He should be asleep by now, and honestly, I should be too; it’s that late. But the allure of having the couch all to myself has kept me awake.
“Mom?” he calls again, a little louder this time.
I picture him leaning over the banister, irritation bubbling within me. Emotions clash in my stomach—anger at his wakefulness, fear of disturbing his sisters’ slumber, and a nagging worry that gnaws at me in the dark of night: What if he’s not okay?
I reluctantly unwrap my fingers from around my mug of tea, striving for a steady voice. “What?”
As soon as the word escapes my lips, I hear him retreat. I imagine him straightening up from the banister and pulling the door almost shut behind him. “Nothing,” he shouts back, “I just wanted to make sure you were there.”
“I’m here,” I reply, but it’s more for my own reassurance than for him; he’s already gone.
I’m here.
This mantra, simple yet profound, serves as a reminder to myself—a whispered prayer to the universe, a message of gratitude I began reciting when I was 18, after a dark moment when I attempted to take my own life.
Yes, that’s the part of my story I’ve kept hidden, a truth that sometimes creeps into my consciousness, particularly when I reflect on my life now. How could I have risked this gift? What kind of hubris led me to believe my pain was insurmountable, that it was worth throwing away the future filled with blessings yet to come? The beautiful boy at the banister is just one of those gifts, as are the countless small joys like the comfort I found on the couch tonight.
Yet, even that perspective isn’t entirely accurate anymore. It’s a viewpoint shaped by the lens of a married woman in her late 30s, a mother of four who has sought help, done the work, and eventually discovered a semblance of peace in family, friendships, yoga, and writing. It’s the truth of someone who has created enough distance from that attempt to recognize it for what it was—a moment when worry invaded my everyday life, where it didn’t belong.
Back then, I thought my pain was unique, that no one could possibly understand what I was going through. Those were the lies the darkness whispered to me. I was constantly trying to escape the pain, whether through food, lack of food, exercise, alcohol, distraction, isolation, and relationships. All these efforts culminated in a dangerous game that nearly cost me my life.
But time and distance reveal a different truth: pain and joy coexist. They are intertwined—the labor preceding the joy of birth, the night that gives way to dawn, the storm that nourishes the earth before the blossoms appear. You cannot invite one into your life without the other; I learned this after years of trying to shield myself from pain, wrapping myself in a bubble of false security until it nearly consumed me.
The lesson is clear: you cannot escape pain and still truly live. Pain is an intrinsic part of life, just as joy is. They aren’t opposites; they’re two sides of the same coin.
This life transforms quickly, doesn’t it? That thoughtful boy upstairs was just a dream when I stood in our cluttered dining room years ago and told my partner, Jake, I was ready to start a family. Now, he’s 12, and while he doesn’t often need me, I know the day will come when he’ll need me even less. His sisters and younger brother are growing up fast, and each night, I lean close to them, brushing their hair away from their foreheads, whispering, “I’m here,” like a quiet expression of gratitude.
And I truly am. I’m grateful for the moments I’ve cherished, for the grace that came with my past failures. Each year has expanded my capacity for joy, allowing me to embrace every experience, even the painful ones. Life is beautiful, and pain is simply the cost of entry.
I would pay that price countless times for the simple joys—a breathtaking sunrise, a warm mug of tea, a run through the neighborhood, a hug from an old friend, or a stranger’s smile in a crowded room. For the moments when life calls out to me from the banister, allowing me to respond with the most valuable phrase of all:
I’m here.
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In summary, the journey through depression can be daunting, but embracing both pain and joy is essential for a fulfilling life. Recognizing that these experiences are part of the same journey can help guide you toward hope and gratitude.