Today, I find myself feeling down. Despite the bright sunshine and the warm summer breeze, my mood doesn’t match the lovely day outside. My younger child is at daycare, and my eight-year-old is lost in her world of dolls, giggling and enjoying life. Everything seems fine on the surface—work is steady, life is “good”—yet I’m not feeling that way. I haven’t for a while.
The reason behind this heaviness is my mental health. I navigate life with bipolar disorder, anxiety, and PTSD, with depression being one of the symptoms I grapple with. I often experience waves of sadness, hopelessness, and apathy, and today is one of those challenging days.
Admitting this isn’t easy; it fills me with guilt and shame. After two decades of living with mental illness, I think I should manage these moments better. Being a parent adds pressure—I feel like I should just be able to shake it off. After all, my kids depend on me, and seeing me in a state of despair isn’t ideal. It feels like I’m failing them and missing out on precious moments together.
A close friend recently reminded me that having depression doesn’t make me a bad mom. I am a loving mom who happens to struggle with depression, and understanding this distinction is vital.
Depression is part of me but doesn’t define me. It’s an illness I manage daily through medication, therapy, and self-care practices like diet and exercise. Like other illnesses such as cancer or heart disease, it deserves acknowledgment and treatment. Accepting that I’m doing my best with the tools I have helps, even if it doesn’t always alleviate the pain.
On tough days, the guilt lingers as I think of the activities we didn’t do—pictures left uncolored and games left unplayed. When depression weighs me down, it’s hard to even get out of bed, and I feel heartbroken when I can’t connect with my children’s love. I sometimes lose my temper, overwhelmed by emotions I can’t handle.
However, my struggles also bring unexpected benefits. When I’m feeling well, I’m fully engaged with my kids. I cherish every moment with them, and I’m open about my emotions. Teaching them about sadness and resilience is a gift in itself. My illness has helped them learn empathy and the importance of apologies, as I frequently apologize for my outbursts.
I wish I didn’t experience these lows, that I could relish those tender moments with my son, or engage fully without needing to retreat to bed for a nap. I often find myself parenting through the haze of the TV, and I can’t count the hours my daughter has spent watching her favorite shows.
Yet, I keep moving forward because I have to for my children. They deserve a mom who is present and perseveres, even when facing the challenges of depression. I am that mom, and I strive to be a really good one despite my struggles.
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Summary: Despite battling depression, I strive to be a loving and engaged mom. This mental illness doesn’t define my parenting—it coexists with my identity as a parent. Acknowledging my struggles and teaching my children about emotions helps create empathy and resilience in our family. I press on, knowing my kids deserve a dedicated and persistent mom.