Eleven

Last Thursday I sat on my kitchen floor and cried for 3 hours. My son napped peacefully in his room while my 4 year old sat and watched me cry, begging me to play with her. I was truly over taken by my emotions. After a while I realized I wasn’t crying because I was depressed, I was crying because I was in the best place I had been in months but everyone wanted to still treat me like I was depressed. Everyone wanted to remind me of it. 

When you suffer from depression like I have on and off for the better part of 20 years and to the severity I have for the past 9 months, you count the good days. I was on good day 11. 11 of the most joyful days I have had since March. 11 days of happiness.  11 days of contentment.  11 days of being the best mom I could be.  11 days of being the best wife I could be. And 11 days where getting out of bed was easy. And I even cleaned, the thing I loath the most. Before those 11 days, I had been at the lowest point I had ever been. Depression had taken all my joy. I struggled to get out of bed. I struggled to be a mom. I was sad. I was broken. I was angry. I was ashamed. The days passed like molasses. And let me make it clear, when you are depressed you don’t pick the good days or the bad days. They come and go, just like the Days of our Lives. But you always know when your feet hit the floor in the morning how the day will be. Then Thursday happened, my daughter was home from school with a stomach virus. I had gotten up ready for what the day was going to bring, I had my craft supplies and Lysol ready! I was able to find the joy in an otherwise crappy day. And then I had a conversation with someone close to me and out of anger they said “you need mental help.” Boom. It was a knife to the heart. And after tears, yelling, self-reflection, and praying, I realized this is why people keep mental illness like depression to themselves. It is why we hide, it is why we stay silent. I had been open this go round about my depression. My friends knew, my family knew, my husband knew, his family knew, and my oldest daughter was even slightly aware. I never used it as an excuse for my behavior, I never used it as a crutch, it was just my truth. I didn’t ask to be handled with kid gloves, I didn’t ask to coddled or babied, I didn’t ask to be treated different. All I needed was some empathy and grace. 

And the reason why I decided to share this not so flattering story of my mother-in-law and I, is that a friend reached out to me a month or so ago asking for advice on how to have a relationship with her brother who had been in the depths of depression for a while. She didn’t want to draw attention to his depression but at the same time didn’t want to minimalize it either.  And that Thursday is the best way to tell anyone how to deal with a friend or family member struggling with depression.

What is it that someone who is suffering from depression wants from their family or friends when they have shared their struggle? A lot of things. Are they hard things? No. Do they take a lot of time? No. Do they cost money? No. We need love and understanding. We want our friends and family to know that we feel guilty for our depression. We feel guilty for being sad. We feel guilty that our depression makes us say no when we get invited somewhere. We feel guilty for our emotions. We also do not want our depression to be thrown in our face. We don’t want to be reminded of it at every turn. We don’t want all of our actions good or bad to be excused because of our depression. We do not want you to feel sorry for us. And by all means do not in a fit of anger tell us that we need mental help. Not on a good day. Not on a bad day. Not ever.

There is no right way or wrong way to handle depression. When you see us laugh, laugh with us. When you see us smile, smile with us. When you see us celebrate, join in. When you see us cry, lend an ear to listen. When we say no, keep asking. Don’t forget us. But most of all love us. Love us like you did before we were depressed. Let us know we are wanted. Let us have our bad days. Let us have our good days. 

Friday, the day after Thursday was bad day 1. I was agitated. I was angry. I was alone. I didn’t want to be a mom. I wanted to crawl back into bed and close my eyes. I wanted to dream about the next set of good days. I wanted Grace. I wanted Empathy. And then I got a text from a friend that said “NEWSFLASH, you are worthy and you will tackle this day!” Game Changer. 

So to my friend trying to navigate life with a depressed brother. Love him. Check on him. Ask him how his day is going. Give him Grace. Give him empathy. The next time you think of him, text him. The next time you are at a family function and see him sitting alone, go sit next to him. You don’t have to say a word, your presence is enough. And never give up on him. Deep down he wants to be a part of the family. A part of this world. Just like me he is probably waiting for Good Day #1 to come back around.  But right now he just needs to take a breath, take a time out and he needs to just be.