Let’s talk about families and how depression doesn’t care about how you are raised. It can come knocking on anyone’s door at anytime.
With this, I’ve often wondered about the dynamics of family with a challenging history. Especially since I’m a product of divorce and alcoholism and all that jazz. It’s not a secret that my early years were one of instability and poverty leaving its contentious mark on me.
I’m also a product of statistics, becaming a mother at seventeen. Waaaayyyy too young to be a mother when I had no idea how to be a person let alone a mom. And this was before reality TV began glamorizing teens having babies. Seriously!?!
But there I was on my own with a baby, still a child myself, no father in sight to help. The only thing I knew is there had to be a way out. There had to be a way to raise a child knowing security, knowing love. I just had to figure it out. It took me awhile to get there.
But I promised myself that I would give my kids a home, they would graduate from high school with classmates they knew from childhood, and they would be loved. I wanted normal – whatever the hell that is.
I did my best. Like many young mother’s and wives my marriage ended in divorce. I made mistakes. But I promise you that I did all I knew how to provide for my two children and show them love. They grew up in a small town, a house with their own rooms, vacations, graduated from high school and both went away to college. I worked my ass off to do it, but I gave them my all.
Success, right?
Abso-lt-ly-fu-king-not.
Mental health alert: depression and addiction don’t care how you raise your family. They can come knocking at anyone’s door and can often be hereditary. Check out the Hilarious World of Depression podcast for a funny insightful look at depression with John Moe.
I’ve waffled between enabling to tough love, landing finally on the toughest love of all; letting people I love spiral to rock bottom. And then help them up again. Rinse and Repeat. I’m a classic version of an adult child archetype.
I don’t recommend this walk. It’s hard. It’s rocky. And leaves you wrung out.
My mother suddenly died when I was 22. She had a history of mental illness. That’s another story to share later. My grandmother sat in a pew witnessing her eldest daughter’s funeral. At the time I was numb with grief, a young mother of two and a military wife. I had no earthly idea what my grandmother must have been feeling at the time. How I wish I could go back in time, hug her tightly, telling her how sorry I am. Oh, grandma, I’m so sorry, I whisper to her sad ghost.
Only now, at 51, does my heart plummet into my stomach thinking about burying a child who holds my heart. No parent should ever have to bury a child. It goes against nature. My heart breaks at the thought.
But here’s the truth that is my constant companion; we all have paths in life to walk and only God can walk with us, and yes, like that old adage says, at times He carries us.
I pray to let go… I create boundaries and sometimes watch the lines erode with wave after wave washing over me…but I never stop loving, and I never stop growing.
Sending you love and happiness. ❤️
For more mental health awareness and support go to makitok.org