on being your mom with depression.

Posted bycasey coombsPosted indepression

Some of my earliest memories occurred when I was your age.

And sadly most of them revolve around the divorce of your grandma and grandpa.

I remember being in the bathtub while they were fighting in the living room, sissy came in to cover my ears so I wouldn’t hear them. I don’t ever remember what they said, all I know is there was a lot of yelling and my dad moved out.

I was one of the only kids in my elementary class to have divorced parents, it was a surreal feeling. But looking back I wouldn’t have it any other way. If my parents had stayed together you would never have Grampa Poopsie or Gramma Flower. I know having both of them in my life growing up made me a better person and I know that their presence in your life will do the same.

I have always worried about the day you would be old enough to know when I’m not doing well. I’m not the mom you deserve when I’m in the dark. But you are so resilient. You take such good care of me when I’m lost in my own brain. You heal me. But it’s not fair, you’re only four. I sometimes wonder what I would be like if I didn’t have these demons to battle. Would I be very average and boring? I guess it’s not even worth giving any thought to. This is my trial.

The other fear that has been seeping into me as you get older and wiser is what if my chemical imbalance has passed on to you? I think about how much grandma and grandpa have felt helpless when it comes to the difficulties I’ve been through. Even your dad has been overwhelmed at times.

I guess what I want to say while it is fresh in my mind, is that you have the most spectacular family around you. And your dad, I love Grampa Fish but what I wouldn’t give to have had a dad like your dad. You are his world. The two of you are best friends. With this new life that we are starting I hope that you can grow up feeling as if you have the strongest support possible, and if you ever need it, the safest safety net ever made by two people in love.

The honest truth is that there have been times I have resented you. Times I wanted to be so utterly selfish. This is something that parents aren’t supposed to say out loud. But I know I’m not alone in my feelings, whether other people want to say it out loud or not.

But here’s the thing.

You are the glue that holds me together.

giggle.

You are an eternally optimistic piece of my heart walking around on the outside of my body.

us by kim.

Like God took the very best pieces of me and made you.

either i have a pinhead or she has a big head.

To remind me that even on my worst days, I have something to live for.

my baby and me

I love you so much it hurts sometimes.

And I’m sorry if my hurt ever hurts you.

xo-redmama

101 thoughts on “on being your mom with depression.”

  4. Amazing… I don’t have any kids (yet), but I’m terrified that my depression and anxiety will affect them. I pretty much figure that my kids will need therapy starting in the womb… Thanks for writing this… It’s absolutley beautiful.

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  6. That is so true..that they’re sometimes the glue that holds us together. My imbalance is anxiety. Crippling, paralyzing, life-stealing anxiety. And my poor babies. They’re stuck with me. And I’d be lost without them.

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  8. I feel this. I am a momma who battles depression with a momma who also battles depression.

    I don’t know if it affects you like it does me but, being in Indiana, this is the time of year when fall and winter kick my mental spirits in the nads. And I felt it come on strong this week.

    I am so determined to NOT let this control me this year. But it’s a bitter cycle where I KNOW going and doing stuff will help (like exercise) and yet my depression squashes my motivation to do such things.

    You aren’t alone. And moosh loves you up or down. As moms, we just have to apply that lee press on smile and face the world when we really just want to hide in bed all day. Being a mom is hard, even without that challenge.

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  9. One morning last week, I cried out some intense frustrations (related to my own struggles with depression) all while trying to get my son ready for school that day. He kept bringing me tissues and patting me. He’s almost five. I should be taking care of him, not the other way around. I tried to get myself together as we left. In the car, the tears started again. He asked, “Do we have any tissues in the car?” I told him I had some in my purse and more tears came. He was looking out for me.

    My biggest fear in all this madness that I bear is that my children will resent me. I try, so hard, to make sure that they have childhoods and that they are taken care of by me. But I’ll admit, that when the darkness overtakes me and things seem to spin out of control, I am always glad they are there to ground me and even watch out for me.

    “I love you so much it hurts sometimes. And I’m sorry if my hurt ever hurts you.” – I get that, so very much.

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  10. Oh lady. I know it’s tough. One of those things that I can’t possibly know but do from the other side. I love my Dad both for being honest about the struggle and for still trying to protect us from it, something he’s done admirably. But when he said it out loud, it felt like an invitation to him better and I’m so glad for Moosh that she will never not know you.

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  11. Awwww, crap, now I’m crying.

    You said it. You said it all.

    I had a breakdown in Target when my daughter was 16 months old and she had to hug me and I just about died.

    However, maybe knowing that the risk of her being like me is always there, I can offer her the support that I never had. No matter what, it can be different for the next generation, because we have knowledge, and knowledge is power.

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  12. Wow. How fearlessly honest of you to put that out there. I think you’re my new hero, seriously! It’s fantastic that you own whatever issues you have. We all have them. But so few acknowledge them let alone admit it to our kids. Matters not if she can read yet, she will one day and know that you were doing the best you could and that she is loved!! Thanks for sharing!

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  13. My own mother went undiagnosed with postpartum depression for about 5 years. It just wasn’t talked about much “back then.” Those were dark times for her. (and my dad…in med school & residency!) I was about age 2-7 during this time and I can vaguely remember times of hearing her cry in her bedroom and sensing that thing weren’t always right but that’s about it. I remember having a happy childhood.

    Talking to her after having my last baby, she expressed to me that during her darkest times she would have one goal for her day: That her children could say they had a happy mom. And I can say that.

    Thinking of and praying for you…and your little girl.

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  15. Sweet, kindhearted Casey. I hope to high heaven that you KNOW, deep down in your soul, that you aren’t alone in this, that you aren’t the first mother to be so terrified of your “hurts hurting her”. It breaks my heart that you live with this fear. So do I. So did my mother, and her mother. Which makes me scared for my own daughter. But thank God for this medium, for blogs, Twitter, Facebook. We know and YOU know that we aren’t alone, here on earth or in heaven. We are being held together by the glue of beautiful children, of supportive spouses, family, friends. Thank God for that.

    Thank you for writing this.
    xo

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  16. Oh, this…this was good. So good. I’m a mom that lives with depression and anxiety, and I’ve often thought about how it will affect my kids – now and in the future.

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  17. Yes, exactly.

    So beautiful, and so true.

    I’m with you. And now that I see my son have “bad days” I simultaneously blame myself for bringing someone into the world with my genes and bless him for his magical healing presence.

    XO.

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  18. I don’t feel like I have the right words to say here… other than the fact that everyone is raised by a family with some sort of baggage or another. I know that as your daughter gets older she will see how hard both you and her dad worked to raise her the best way you knew how – and the best way you could.

    And despite how hard it might be sometimes… it will be enough.

    {{Big hug}}

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  21. The raw emotion seeping through the keystrokes of this post is without question honest to the bone truth. It takes a strong mind to admit feelings and emotions others avoid for self-serving reasons. Many blessings and I look forward to the joy of meeting you offline. You have a skill for the delivery of emotions and thoughts that most avoid when looking in the mirror, let alone putting pen to paper.

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  23. Wow. Casey, you’ve written exactly what I worry about and how I feel. The Moosh will be wiser and better for having had you – complicated and moody you – as a mother.

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  24. That was lovely and raw. Your daughter will love this window into you someday. I wish I had such a window into my own mother, that I could better empathize with her own struggles when I was a child. Keep writing – you do it so well.

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  25. Yeah. I’m not gonna lie: it’s hard when they get older and more aware. My oldest always notices now when I’m really not well. I do worry about what I may have passed on to my children. But they are my salvation, and if I can learn how to beat this beast into submission, maybe one day I will be theirs.

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  26. I wish my mother had attempted to give me this window you just opened for Addie. Instead, she let her chemical imbalances fester into an untreated rage against me.

    Even now, 20 years later … I’d give anything for her to tell me any of the things you just wrote to your little girl. It would really make all the difference.

    Please be well. Both of you.

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  28. I love you so much. I can’t tell you how good and healing it was for me to see you today. I needed to see you…even if it was for a few minutes. We need to take pics with your little fam before you go back home, I love taking your pictures. Huggs sunshine, I hope you realize how much I need you.

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  29. You are my hero!

    I don’t know how you do what you do. I’m so impressed with your honesty.

    Those are some of the most amazing pictures I’ve ever seen in my life. I only see pure joy in both your faces.

    I’m so glad you have the moosh to keep you going when the going gets rough. We all have to have something/someone. It’s good to be needed and loved.

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  30. Oh, finally I feel like I might have some pearls of wisdom to offer. My oldest is almost 16 and has been to me what your moosh has been to you. Even with the other four kids, my oldest is the one who just *knows* about me and the dragons I have to slay every day. Yes, I know my hurt has hurt her. But I also believe she is the compassionate, powerful, expressive person she is because she’s watched and learned and helped and healed me. And letting me show my scars has taught her to show her scars, too, and I think her road will be that much easier than mine because of it. When my own corkscrew-curly-headed blondie was 4 I absolutely feared that our gloomy fate was sealed. But you know what? We’re still here, and we’re doing alright!

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  31. Oh, how I wish I could express this the way I should, but I know that it will come out all jumbled. Forgive me in advance.

    This is the letter that I wish my mother would have written to me. She is unfortunately unaware of her depression (she maintains that depression doesn’t exist), and she resented me every day until I moved away from her permanently. She has come close to admitting this a few times in the past few years, but has never managed to put it into words.

    This letter gives me comfort for two reasons: First, there is a piece of me that believes that my mother could possibly one day have a moment of self-realization this deep and poignant. Second, you give me hope that one day, whenever I have children, I can grapple with my own depression issues with the same degree of consciousness that you have verbalized here.

    Sorry for the Tolstoy-length comment. This post just resonated so deeply with me. Thank you for writing it.

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  35. You’re not alone, I do hope you know that. I’ve struggled my entire life with depression- the deep dark kind that grabs ahold of you and you’re amazed you ever come out the other side. My daughter, much like Moosh for you, is my mini-me. I couldn’t have said it better “Like God took the very best pieces of me and made you.” I love that- I just may have to quote you on it. 😉 But I carry the exact same fears as you- that she’ll inherit these demons and given that I barely know how to deal with mine- I’m terrified about how I’ll handle seeing her in all of that pain. It’s still my greatest hope that she got her father’s decent genetic makeup in that department.
    *huge huge hugs* Thank you for your honesty- and letting me know I’m not alone.

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  36. I hate that you have to go through this – but I love how you articulate it for your daughter. Kids are so resilient and I know that she’ll appreciate your insights when she is older – but I also guess that she wouldn’t trade you for any other mother in the whole world.

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  37. My husband and I aren’t planning on having children, for a number of reasons. When I told my mom, she was really honest with me. She said that she doesn’t regret having either of us. BUT that if she knew then what she knows now she might have made different choices. She and I are similarly wired, so I knew what she meant. It was actually a relief for her to say she understood.

    For what that’s worth…

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  38. The honest part is why I’m not sure anymore whether I want to have kids. But the rest of it made me tear and I cansee how worth it she is, how worth it all kids are.
    There’s no such thing as a perfect mom! You’re a human and I think you will have impacted her in your honesty about suffering in a really positive wAy. Trust yourself and your honesty!

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  41. I am a true lurker. I read every one of your posts, but it takes an exquisite post to pull me out of the woodwork. This was beautiful. The true love of a mother’s heart and the desire for her daughter to have the best of everything.

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  42. You are amazing.
    I think all parents feel overwhelmed or even resentment toward their kids at least once. With or without depression. Are we proud of feeling that way? No. I feel guilty when I have feelings like that. I love my kids with all my heart & soul. I know it’s not them, it’s me. Depression sucks!

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  43. I sooooo know what you’re feeling. My daughter is 14 and I worry that she is heading down the same path I am on sometimes. I followed my mom. It’s hard and it’s scary and it sucks big time. I know the guilty feeling I get when I am in the midst of the grey and my kids recognize it and hold me tight. They shouldn’t have to go through this. But they do. We do. IT makes our family what it is.

    My mental issues also make me the wild, crazy, fun parent I am when I’m not in the grey. Not that I’m letting them run wild and crazy- it’s just that the creative side of me allows for a different type of parenting. If I wasn’t the way I am- I might just be another boring soccer mom.

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  44. I love that you can be so open and honest. I wish I could be more like you. It must be very difficult to be worried about your daughter in this way. I think as a parent we are always worried what we are doing to our children with how we are or how we react to stresses in our lives. I know from experience that it is so hard to be your best when you are down so low yourself. It is in those times that your kids almost carry you along. You really need each other to get through it. Thanks for sharing. I hope you can emerge soon. 🙂

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  45. Casey, that was so sweet, beautiful and true. I battle depression, and I hate it when I do not have the control to keep it from hurting my kids.
    On the other hand I am the daughter of a mother who lives with depression and who refuses to admit or deal with it. Your willingness to acknowledge your illness and to get the help that you need is a tremendous gift to Moosh. I am 38 and still run for the comfort of my sissy when my mom is having a dark day. Brighter days always come. (((Casey)))

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  46. So beautiful. What is it about pain that makes art so intensely beautiful? It isn’t fair, like it’s your pound of flesh for being endowed with artistic ability. Your writing, your photography… (I am thinking of John and his genius, here, too.) “You are an eternally optimistic piece of my heart walking around on the outside of my body.” Ah! So true and so poignant!

    I am so glad that you are speaking these thoughts. It will heal you and it will heal Addie. She will know that what is wrong has a name, it is nothing to be ashamed of, and it isn’t her fault. I wish my mom had been open with me about well, everything, but specifically her depression.

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