I don’t talk about this much because I don’t want to come across as a bad mom but parenting with depression is hard. It can be real hard. Depression depletes your energy, at least it does mine, and what little I have left goes to the kids, I know – you can’t pour with an empty cup and all that. But what little energy I have, I have to spend it on feeding, bathing, dressing, and reading to the kids. And of course, getting them to school and back.
Luckily for me, the kids go to preschool for most of the day and I can go to therapy, take time for myself or take a nap before they come home. When they do get home, I get anxious what do with them and just want to lie down. YouTube is watched a lot around here when I’m going through a really bad depressive episode. That’s not something I’m proud of. My mother-in-law helps A LOT, which makes me feel guilty, and I feel like I rely on her too much. And I’m just talking about the depression, I haven’t even touched on my migraines and their frequency.
Because the kids take up so much energy, my showers get missed, I don’t cook dinner for my husband and me, and my house is a disaster. It’s so overwhelming and I feel like a failure on both the mom and the wife front. Then comes more guilt, followed by more anxiety.
Have you ever seen Bad Moms? I can related to one of the characters – Kristen Bell’s character. She happily describes a scene where she’s in the car alone and she gets hit by a car or a truck and has to go to the hospital a long time and basically everyone has to wait on her. Now, I’m not wishing to die here, people. But that scene is funny because a lot of moms can relate to that, whether they admit to it.
Parenting is so hard and it’s even harder with depression. I guess that’s why I love going to my mom’s house because she helps me with the kids and sometimes I don’t have to lift a finger. She cooks all the meals, helps with bath time or even just does it herself. As a grandma, she likes it. I hope.
I know intellectually I’m a good mom. I’m the first person they see in the morning and I’m the last person they see at night. I make them breakfast, pack their lunches and sort of put dinner together. I read to both every night. And I tell them I love them every single day. They are loved and they are taken care of. I know they can see I love them through my actions.
It sounds like I’m trying to convince you but I guess it’s me I’m trying to convince. There will always be this feeling that I’m not enough.
But depression is a liar.
Anxiety is a liar.
My brain just has to come to terms with that.
