“Mum, why do you look so sad?”
This was the question my 10 year old
daughter asked me yesterday while we were sat on the sofa sharing a minute of
calm in what is normally a pretty hectic mad house.
“Do I? Ah I’m just tired sweetie,” was my
mumbled reply. It was a lie. I have depression and was having a really foggy day
that day. She looked at me with a sort of puzzled yet knowing look that made me
think she didn’t believe a word I was saying. I couldn’t take her gaze any
longer so I jumped up quickly asking who wanted a biscuit.
Once in the safety the kitchen I grabbed
the biscuit barrel down from the shelf, and it took all my strength not to
blubber over the custard creams. Just breath I told myself, don’t cry don’t let
the kids see you cry.
You see I thought I had been doing a pretty
good job at keeping my depression from the kids. I have been holding things
together and taking my tablets like the doctor said. I was getting through each
day and gradually starting to feel better.
But my 10 year old daughter saw right
through me. I was exposed. She could see a deep sadness etched in my face.
Despite my makeup. Despite the home cooked dinner awaiting her after school.
Despite the bedtime stories and snuggles we shared that day. She could see me.
It’s a strange thing really when I think
about it. No matter how hard I try to paint over the cracks they are there. And
people that know me well must be able to see them despite my best effort to
hide it all behind my blusher.
Even my 10 year old daughter sees it.
My depression is part of me, it doesn’t
ever go away even when I am having a good phase. It’s always there. It’s etched
in my every wrinkle and smile. And she didn’t know what is was, but she saw it.
So I have decided that tonight when she
gets home from school we are going to share a slice of cake and I am going to
talk to her. I will follow her lead and answer any questions she may have to
ask me no matter how awkward I may feel about it. Because I know- that she
knows I am hiding myself from her.
And I don’t ever want her to feel that whatever she is going through or however
she is feeling is something that should be hidden away from others. My daughter
has Dyslexia and this can really affect her self-esteem. So I don’t ever want
her to feel that people won’t accept her for being honest with them. Our mental
health and hidden challenges should never become something that can be brushed
over with makeup like it doesn’t exist.
I am not ashamed of my depression. How can
I be? It’s part of what makes me who I am. And in lots of ways it’s really
helped me. Because there is real magic in speaking to someone who just gets it.
Just understands how you feel and doesn’t need anything in return other than
your understanding. It connects people, and it’s very powerful when you can
make a difference someone else by sharing your own story. It doesn’t mean we
are weak when we say things are tough sometimes, it just means we are human.
She needs to know that in darkness there is
always light and true strength of character is shown when we accept and embrace
the differences we all have. She needs
to hear the positive things about my depression. She needs to hear I am proud
to be me, and maybe then she will be less anxious if she knows that I may look
sad sometimes, but I am OK!
Sometimes in life as adults we feel bad
when we don’t have all the answers and we want to magically make everything
better for our kids, pretend like it is all hunky dory. But I don’t want any of
my children to grow up ever feeling ashamed of who they are. I want her to be
proud of herself, and proud to overcome any challenges that life throws her
way. And I can’t do that by pretending it’s not happening to me in the here and
now.
Her innocence yesterday made me realise
that I need to be more open with my kids, In order for them to learn to love
themselves I have to love me. They need to see that love means opening
ourselves up to other people, not hiding how we feel from our loved ones, and being
accepted for who you are unconditionally.
My depression will ease- it always does.
And it may ravage me again at some point I am certain. But the difference is
that next time when my children ask me why I look sad I will be honest with
them. I am not ashamed of who I am, and I am going to try my hardest to help my
daughter love herself for who she is and never ever to be ashamed of what makes
her- well her- whatever that may be.
(This post can can be found on The Mighty)