I’d hate to be a Burden

My mother suffered untreated depression during most of my childhood. It put a great strain both on my parents marriage and on us children. It is something that still makes me angry toward the world (but no more against my parents: they did their best). It was baby blues suffered after my brother was born and due to not been treated properly continued for years.

It puts strain on my life too. Although I am not like my mother in many ways, I do have same melancholic tendencies. And it makes me worried: I’d hate to be a burden for my hubby or my kids. I’d hate to make their lives miserable due to my potential illness. This makes me feel scared of relationship and responsibilities of relationships as well as defective. I don’t want to become my mother.

I’d love to be healthy, wealthy and wise, before I burden anybody else whit my presence. I know I am hunting for perfection impossible to reach. At the same time I’d feel guilty of luring any man to whit-out being honest of my tendency, yet claiming that directly as soon as possible would definitely scare anybody off (me too). It is easier not to get involved.

Yet not getting involved makes me sad. I’ve always seen myself as a marrying kind of woman. I’ve always loved kids and I’d love to be wonderful mother to them, but I don’t know if I can. I’d love to have companionship and adventure of a lifetime whit my hubby, but I am afraid my solo adventure takes me to the roads of blues he should not follow me in. I try to tell myself I am not my mother: at the first signs of depression and angst I actively seek help, instead of hiding. Yet the fear is there.

I am not the only one suffering from the childhood in the shadows of depression and the fears it greates. I wanted to share this with you, even if it is a bit sad.

[This is a subject difficult to write of, so Please, moderate your comments accordingly.]

Some links:

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2 Responses

  1. I can’t help but empathize with you. My parents both come from a culture that de-values psychiatric intervention and any possible hint of mental illness is a sign of weakness and a stigma upon the family.

    I did not realize until several years ago that I, too, was depressed and probably had been since junior high school. I think of how many things in my childhood might have been different if my parents had sought help for themselves. I think about how my life might be different had I been identified as a teen suffering from depression.

    I think that the first step to being a happy “survivor” of this type of parenting involves first understanding or believing that you are not depressed by fate but rather by circumstance. There is a part of depression that is a learned/condiitioned response. You too can be happy (and should be).

    Thank you for posting this. It’s been heavy on my mind the last few days.

  2. Thank you for commenting. My mother was also brought up thinking that mental care is shameful. Some part of her still thinks that way.

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