Have you ever pondered how your children will reflect on their memories of you once they grow up? When the endless days of mediating sibling disputes and denying yet another snack fade into the past? When the fleeting hours of quiet time between their bedtime and yours become mere echoes of a different phase of life?
I certainly have. I envision my two sons as adults, reminiscing about their childhood experiences through various perspectives, using different words to recount their stories, much like my own siblings and I do. I can almost picture them, two grown men, playfully revisiting trivial arguments from years gone by. But this time, they can laugh about those moments, recognizing there was no definitive “winner,” and no need to retreat to separate rooms because, as a single mother, I couldn’t afford a three-bedroom home—something they came to expect.
Yet, during particularly challenging times, I often wonder, will they remember me as a sad mom?
Throughout my life, I have battled with depression. The moment I discovered I was pregnant eight years ago, it felt like my depression intensified, swelling uncontrollably like a balloon that had no pin to pop it. No medication could deflate it; it was as if the weight of it all pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. The thought of experiencing that darkness again sends my heart racing and my mind spiraling with anxiety, leaving me terrified of being knocked down once more.
Some weeks were brighter than others, and I made a conscious effort to cherish those moments, just as I do now. However, reaching out to family and friends for support—something we’re often encouraged to do—has sometimes led to frustration. They lack the perspective that comes from having gone through similar struggles.
After a week of constant texts from my mother asking after my well-being, I finally broke down and revealed the truth: “No, I’m not okay; I’m sitting in my car, crying because it’s been weeks since I felt anything other than dread upon waking.” My mother, bless her heart, means well, but she doesn’t fully understand the depths of clinical depression. She offered to come over and assured me that things could be worse, but it’s not that simple.
The reality is that when the shadows finally begin to lift, that sliver of hope can be overshadowed by the guilt of all the moments I missed while down. It’s a heavy burden to carry, knowing that the battle will return, potentially even stronger next time.
While it’s comforting to know that someone cares, it’s crucial to articulate the complexities of your struggle. When I finally explained to my mother that it’s not as easy as wishing to be “okay” again, she began to grasp my reality.
So, even when talking about your feelings seems daunting, please do it. Don’t be silent like I was. I often masked my struggles with humor, joking about how my kids drove me “crazy” and how I needed a glass of wine. What I truly needed was the bravery to share my feelings honestly.
I worry that my struggles with depression have shaped how my children will remember me. Did I ever have control over that perception? Do any parents, really? I fear my eight-year-old might connect the dots and realize that my frequent naps were a way to escape, not just a sign of being tired from work. I worry he’ll recall the fear in his eyes during a particularly rough phase when my depression manifested as anger.
As mothers, what can we do if we feel we’re not broken enough to seek help but are still teetering on the edge? Scared to be the joyful, engaged mom our children deserve—the one who plays, laughs, and brings stories to life?
Don’t wait until you reach the point of wishing for sleep just to escape. Speak to someone about how you feel; they might suggest you take care of yourself, which can feel nearly impossible for some of us. But allow them the chance to listen, and give yourself the opportunity to talk and feel better.
If I could turn back time, I would be more open about my feelings—expressing how exhausted and isolated I felt rather than pretending to be strong. If you still have the chance, seize it! Talk to someone, see a doctor, join a community, or pursue a passion that brings you closer to your authentic self as you carve out your new identity as a mother.
Despite my struggles over the past eight years, I hope I concealed my depression well enough from my children. I trust they will cherish the joyful memories we created and the traditions we established together. They will understand what depression is not just through definitions but through the conversations we’ve had. I hope my ability to confront my demons will leave a lasting impression, transforming what could be a sad memory into something beautiful in their eyes. After all, they are my motivation, and they are the reason I strive to be more than just a sad mom.
Summary
Reflecting on how children will remember us as parents is a profound consideration, especially for those navigating mental health challenges. It’s essential to communicate openly about our struggles, seek help, and take steps toward better self-care to ensure that our children remember us not just for our difficulties but also for the joy and love we brought into their lives.