This past holiday season, my only wish was for my son to be okay. In years past, when my husband and kids would ask about my Christmas desires, my responses were light-hearted: “A day without sibling squabbles” or simply “nothing.” Occasionally, I’d mention running low on lotion if I felt inclined to help them with gift ideas. Fortunately, we have always had our needs met—though not always abundantly, we’ve managed to stay afloat. Yet, this year, my heart’s desire shifted dramatically.
What I truly wanted was for my oldest son to be alright. Happy and healthy would be wonderful, but right now, I would settle for just okay. I long for the days when he isn’t hurt, overwhelmed, or struggling with despair.
For the past year, I’ve navigated the uncharted waters of parenting a teenager battling depression. It’s an isolating and frightening experience that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. The worry for my son consumes me. My husband and I, already facing challenges, have drifted even further apart during this crisis. With the necessity of constant supervision to avert self-harm, I’ve found myself cut off from friends and support networks. Judgment from my mother has added to my isolation, making it increasingly difficult to navigate this harrowing chapter of my life.
This profound loneliness has compelled me to share my story, hoping that other mothers in similar situations realize they are not alone. A decade ago, I endured a miscarriage during a time when discussing such losses was still seen as taboo. The societal stigma made it difficult to find the love and support that is now blossoming for mothers who have experienced similar heartache. I believe that love and understanding could have made a significant difference in my healing, and I aspire to extend that compassion to mothers facing the mental health struggles of their children.
To all the mothers out there whose sons or daughters are grappling with mental illness, I feel your pain deeply. I empathize with your struggles and wish I could alleviate your burdens. You are not alone—I’ve been right there with you, crying during the drive to work, overwhelmed by the adrenaline that fades as soon as the focus shifts from keeping someone else alive.
I stood with you when your child’s arms looked more like a lattice than skin. I felt your anxiety as you hid over-the-counter medications and household scissors to ensure safety. I understood the reluctance to join friends for outings, knowing you needed to stay vigilant at home. I was with you when strangers returned your child late at night after losing their way during a walk without a phone or coat, knocking on doors in search of help.
This past year has brought me to tears more times than I can count, as I’ve watched my son battle his inner demons. I would do anything to help him—anything. We’ve sought therapy, started medication, focused on healthy sleep routines, increased supervision, collaborated with teachers, and attempted to foster open communication. Yet, at times, I feel we’re in a worse place than we were a year ago.
But on Christmas, my wish came true; my son was okay. We spent Christmas Eve watching TV and sharing laughter. He engaged with family during holiday gatherings and even enjoyed a musical at the movies. When we reminisced about fun memories from the season, he contributed one of his own.
While we’re not yet “happy and healthy,” and I’ve shed many tears while writing this, my son is improving. For now, he is with me, and he is, simply put, okay.
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Summary
This heartfelt narrative reveals a mother’s wish for her son’s well-being amid his battle with depression. It highlights the isolation many parents face and the importance of community and support. Through sharing her story, the author aims to connect with other mothers enduring similar struggles, reminding them that they are not alone while also celebrating small victories in their children’s mental health journeys.