How My Daughter’s Love Helped Me Fight Depression

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

These are the words I heard singing from the other side of the bathroom door, where I sat on the floor crying. Until last year only a handful of people knew I was battling depression (along with Borderline Personality Disorder and PTSD). Not even my children knew how much I struggled to “just be happy.”

For many people, depression is often taboo to speak about. We hear countless stories of women who suffered from postpartum depression (to which I was no stranger), as well as people who have suffered from depression in general. We hear that they feel so alone because no one truly understood what was going on.

Being a mom battling this disease is not easy. Often times as parents, we feel that by shielding our children from certain “truths” or “realities” of life, they will be better off. Which is very true to an extent. Why should my child have to worry about my mental capacity and whether or not I can “handle” what’s going on in the moment?

Until February of last year, I thought hiding my pain, my illness — one that I have been struggling with since the age of 18 — was the right thing to do for my children.

But I was wrong.

The days I would take my children to the park, I would usually sit on the bench and watch other moms run around with their kids and play. The biggest step for me was just taking them. It was always in those moments I would think to myself, “If someone just reached out, and talked to me I would feel better.”

Truthfully, that was all I wanted — to feel better, without the medication. But it never happened.

And as more days went by, I slipped deeper into my depression, further into my own guilt, and I withdrew from everyone. Yes, I was seeing a therapist, but it wasn’t enough. She never really understood what was going on deep inside of me.

I wanted to be the mom you see happy and playing with her children, baking cookies, making dinner, doing art projects — but that wasn’t me. It was my husband who was left to do all of that because I couldn’t; and because of that, I felt like crap. 

I skipped our Saturday outings quite frequently and even Friday family movie nights (or marathons of Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives, the kids’ favorite show at the time). I was always in the room, in the dark, and in the bed. My children assumed that I was just tired … at least that is what I thought.

That afternoon last year, I walked into the bathroom, sat on the floor, and cried. For nearly an hour I cried, because it was all I knew to do in that moment.

As a mother (or a parent in general) the hardest thing to do is to come to terms with feeling like you aren’t good enough. Mommy wars aside, one’s personal mom guilt is enough to drive even the toughest woman to the brink of tears. But this is was my daily struggle; I was so depressed that there were days it was nearly impossible for me to get out of bed, and when I did, all I wanted to do was crawl back in and hide. 

I knew that it wasn’t my fault — depression is a serious illness — but I couldn’t help but beat myself up as to why I couldn’t be like other moms.

As I sat there, I heard a little voice singing “You Are My Sunshine.” As she finished, her little fingers slid a piece of paper under the door. The note was simple but very straightforward (especially for a nine-year-old):

Mom,

I just want to see you happy again. I want you to smile, because that is what you do best. Whenever I am sad you always make me happy. So why is it when you are sad I can’t make you happy? You are my sunshine, please don’t take that away. 

Aly

As I read it, I realized that I had been doing my children no favors by hiding what was going on. I won’t pretend that all of a sudden things changed and I instantly became this amazing mom and we were doing all kinds of fun things together and I was actively participating in our family nights again.

It was a battle, one that even today I am still fighting. But it got better.

Chris and I spoke openly with our eldest and told her what was going on. She has grown to understand that this isn’t easy for me, but that I love them more than life itself and for that reason, I will fight to get better.

I never would have imagined that it would be my child who helped me become the fighter I am today. Because of her understanding, I no longer have the guilt I once had about not being like other moms.

Depression is a serious illness, but it is treatable. Symptoms can include losing interest in activities you previously enjoyed; withdrawing from friends and family members; sleeping too much or too little; or consistently feeling sad, anxious, or tired. Read more about depression at WebMD or womenshealth.gov, or see your primary care physician for more information.