Tag Archives: Parenthood

Living with Depression

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My husband has been diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder and Emotional Detachment Disorder.

We have tried to face these illnesses as a team, putting up a united front.

However, when my six year old son tells me that he thinks “no one with Depression should be allowed to have kids,” I struggle to stay on the team.

Let me put this as honest as I possibly can, for those of you who might be in a similar position to me: Being with someone with a mental illnesses is fucking hard work.

My husband and I have described his depression as the third person in our marriage, the mistress who clothes herself in darkness to ravish him and tear us apart. Her scent saturates our lives, and lingers like a rancid perfume over dinner, family gatherings, and trips to the park.

How am I supposed to live with this “other woman” ever-present in our marriage? Well, I tried to look online for advice and support for people who are married to someone with a mental illness.

You know what I found? Article, after article, after article, addressing how one can and should support their spouse: what to do, how to create a healthy space for them, what to look-out for, how to get him/her help, each word oozing with sympathy for the person who has the illness.

But, what about those of us who are trying to hold everything together in the midst of the chaos, sadness, depression, and rage?

Even when an article does touch-on what a caregiver can do to take care of him/herself, it inevitably ties it all up by saying that these tips for self-care will make you better at supporting your loved one.

Why can’t it just be about me and my well-being?

Does EVERYTHING have to centre around him and his well-being – even my own health?

I understand that my husband needs support, patience, understanding, and love. Really, I do.

But, so do I.

I have my own battles, struggles, illnesses, and pain.

The difference? He can count on me to be there for him every time, but I can’t count on him to be there for me. I know it’s the illness – he can’t help it.

I try to stay on his team regardless. In sickness and in health.

But, what is one to do when their child tells them, repeatedly, that he has been “trying to get Dad out of the house for years because he makes everything horrible”?

It is incredibly difficult to stay on the team in these moments.

It is hard. It is tiring. It drains me. It hurts.

And, despite how much I like to believe it, the truth is – I am not superwoman.

Maybe there is a lack of information and support out there for people like me because guilt holds us back from talking candidly about our struggles to love someone with a mental illness. We feel guilty about being frustrated, annoyed, and angry; and for thinking (more than once) about leaving. We don’t want to sound harsh, or seem like we don’t understand or care.

So, we suffer in silence.

I think it’s about time we work on removing the stigma associated with being a caregiver to someone with mental illness. We are not perfect. We have our own struggles. We want to quit sometimes. We feel resentment and anger. We feel alone. And none of these feelings mean that we don’t care, that we are heartless, selfish, or churlish.

It means that we are human.

To all of you out there who are doing your best to “stay on the team,” despite feeling exhausted, angry, alone, or judged:

I hear you. I see you. I am here for you.

Living with depression is not easy, and it’s okay to say so. It’s okay to want to walk away sometimes. It’s okay to want an easier life. It’s okay to cry and be angry.

Your feelings, your needs, your safety, and your well-being are just as valid as the person with the illness.

Prioritize yourself.

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/caregiving
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I Hate to See You Go

03 Friday Jun 2016

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I had the joy of being able to drop my child at day care today. At least, it started out as a joy. It soon became one of the toughest, saddest, most horrible moments I’ve ever had as a mother.

We were early leaving today which meant I was so excited at the opportunity to be able to go with my husband to bring my son to day care. “T” was so excited that Mommy was coming with him for a change. The 3 of us strolled along, chatting, in a perfect reverie. As we arrived at daycare, I smiled as I watched my child run down the path towards the front door, skipping and hopping with excitement.

When the door was opened for us, he did a little skip-hop and he was off like a bullet towards the elevator. Arriving on the floor where the toddler room was, he burst out of the elevator.

This is where our joyous morning started to turn sour.

There was a man fixing something in the toddler bathroom with an electric drill. T is nervous when it comes to loud and unfamiliar sounds. He started whimpering, rushed back to where I was and clung to my leg.

“Look, buddy, he’s fixing something in the bathroom with an electric drill.” As he began to whimper more loudly and tightened his grip on my leg, I added, “It’s just like Daddy’s.” Hoping that bringing some familiarity to the situation would ease his anxiety. It didn’t work. When the man pulled out a hammer, his tension eased, as T has 2 hammers he uses at home all the time. So, this was more familiar to him.

He eventually went up the stairs and into the room. Once there, he met one of his teachers who was adding water into a little pool filled with plastic fish. There were 2 fishing rods sitting on the side of the pool and T and I began to try to catch us some of the magnetic fish. We laughed and shared a little bit of fun before he was off and grabbing one of the shopping carts.

Now it is time for Mommy and Daddy to go. Daddy gives a hug and says goodbye and then T comes to Mommy and starts crying : “Mommy, don’t go!” I give him a big hug and kiss, say “I love you” and put him down. He immediately starts crying. “NO! Don’t go. Don’t leave!” and he’s gripping at my legs and trying to pull himself back up into my arms.

Now, he is wailing. And our child doesn’t often cry. My heart is breaking and I just want to swoop him up and tell him I’m never going to leave. Instead, I try to calmly say “What’s going on, Buddy?” He just continues to wail “Don’t go! Don’t leave me!” and now, I am broken.

I try to distract him with all the fun things he has to look-forward to during the day: “You can go fishing. You can play with the cars. You can tell everyone about soccer. ..” Nothing is working.

The teacher says “Ok, one more hug and then time to go”. Now, I’m feeling heartbroken, judged and anxious. I give him a few big squeezes, a bunch of kisses and tell him I love him.

I put him down, but he clings to my legs as though he were falling off a cliff.

And then I do something I wish to never have to do again. I push him away from me. “I love you, Buddy! But, I have to go.”

“Nooooo!” he wails, face beat red, tears streaming down his face.

The instant I release my hand, ‘thawump’, he’s suctioned against my legs again. I take a deep breath and push him away a second time. I can still feel his beating chest against my fingers as they attempt to release myself from his grasp.

“Buddy, I love you. But, I have to go.”

This goes on for, what feels like, an eternity. I push him away, he returns. I push him away, he returns.

I push him away.

It’s all I can remember. It’s all I feel. It’s all I can think about.

I pushed him away.

This goes against every fibre of my being. This goes against the deep, raging, maternal instincts within me. And, although I’m sure he had moved on before I even hit the end of the street and then, probably, never thought of it again, I have.

It left a deep wound on my Mothers heart.

And so, tonight I made the absolute most of my time with him. I listened to him closely, held him tightly, sang songs, played games, told stories and then we had some special cuddle time in Mommy and Daddy’s bed before heading to his.

And, as he cupped my face in his little hands, saying “I yuv you, Mommy” before planting a kiss on my forehead, he pulled me close.

He pulled me close.

He pulled me close, he pulled me close.

He brought me home – back to where I belong.

We were together again.

He pulled me close.

 

Being a Mom

22 Tuesday Mar 2016

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It has been said that being a parent is like watching your heart running-around outside of your body.

This has, absolutely, been my experience.

I have always been an emotional, caring, deep and sensitive person. But, being a mother has quadrupled these things and shone a light on them that burns me up like an ant in a magnifying glass.

Everything is so much more extreme now.

I have rage that even terrifies me sometimes. I can only imagine what my husband must be thinking when this beast comes out in place of his wife. He must think I’m a total Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. And, believe me, he wants to hide, when that monster is on the loose.

There is something that was unleashed deep inside of me that is so primal and utterly overpowering the day my son was born. I swear that this juice would allow me to lift an airplane if I had to, or rip a mountain out of its socket. I often picture myself grabbing an intruders rifle in my bare hands and bending it in half as I protect my family. I feel fairly certain that there is nothing I couldn’t do if my child’s well-being depended on it.

The rage I feel towards his safety sometimes reminds me of a cartoon character. I become Yosemite Sam and the smoke starts bellowing from my ears, my face flushes red and my nose starts to screech loudly like a kettle ready to boil over.

But, it’s not just the rage that has intensified, it’s the love as well.

I have always considered myself someone who tends to love too much. And now I find that  I love my child so intensely that it physically hurts at times. Do you remember what it was like when you were a young, early, teen or preteen and you had those first crushes on people? Remember how it would make you feel physically ill and achy at times?

Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way about a peer, but I feel that way about my son every single moment of every single day. The poor kid. When I’m with him, I can’t stop kissing him. I’m a serial kisser. And, now that he’s growing a bit more independent, every time he says something like “I sit in my own chair”, my heart crumbles just a little bit.

I love him more with every day and I’m terrified that one day my heart will just give-out under the immensity of love it has been expected to manage.

I will never be the same person that I was before I became a Mom. This little life has totally transformed me. I could never be the same. He has unleashed so many things inside of me that are completely beyond my grasp.

I am a wild-eyed, steam-whistling, heart-pounding, serial-kissing, intense, dangerous and endless-lovin’, mama.

And I couldn’t be happier.

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